#and I didn’t notice at all until I stopped and realized just how tight I had to make my work belt

[batsovergotham]

CHAPTER 2 PART 2

so you slept with him. once. respectfully.

pairing - emperor!mark grayson x reader

summary - you were supposed to form an alliance. instead you slept with him three days in and now you have no idea what’s happening.

content notice: 18+. virginity loss. vaginal sex. cunnilingus. handjobs.

a/n: oh dear god.

His mouth finds yours again, deliberate now. Not urgent, not overpowering. Just real. Lips soft but sure, moving with a quiet confidence that makes your stomach twist tight. You’re straddling him, legs spread over his hips, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and there’s no mistaking the heat between you. You can feel him, thick and hard beneath you, even through the barrier of your uniform. But he doesn’t grind up. Doesn’t grab. Just kisses you like he has all night to learn the shape of your mouth.

And maybe he does.

Your fingers curl in the fabric of his uniform, pulling him closer like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. His hands move slowly, one sliding up your side, fingertips skimming the curve of your waist through the thick material, the other resting at the small of your back, just enough pressure to remind you he’s there, that he’s choosing this, choosing you, and not because of some royal obligation or political convenience. This is something else. This is want.

You break the kiss first, gasping, forehead pressed to his, breath mingling. Your body’s trembling, your thighs clenching around him, and you’re painfully aware of just how wet you are. It’s soaked through now, you can feel it, hot and slick against your underwear, your body reacting to the feel of him under you, to his mouth, to his voice, to him.

“I haven’t done this,” you whisper. The confession rips out of you before you can stop it.

His brow furrows, but not in confusion. Just concern. Soft, grounding.

“I mean, just that time. When we were sparring.” Your voice breaks a little. “When I… I was on you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, thumb brushing along your hip. “I could tell.”

“I didn’t—mean to grind on you like that,” you add quickly, heat flooding your face. “It just—happened. I lost control. I didn’t even realize how close I was until…”

“You came,” he finishes for you. There’s no mockery in it. Just the barest edge of awe. “You came on me.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. You nod.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he says, voice lower now, coarse. “The way you were shaking. The way you looked at me like—like it meant something.”

“It did,” you say quickly, too quickly. “I didn’t know what was happening, but, Gods, I couldn’t stop. You felt so good, Mark.”

His jaw tenses and you feel his grip on your hips tighten slightly. He swallows hard. “You feel good now.”

You tilt your hips, rocking forward just slightly, and his breath punches out of him. You feel every ridge of him pressing up between your legs, and your clit pulses from the contact. Your thighs tighten reflexively.

You do it again. Slower this time. Deliberate.

A low, broken sound escapes his throat. His hands glide under your suit, bare skin now, warm fingers skimming your back like he’s trying to calm himself.

“You don’t have to go any further,” he murmurs into your throat, mouth brushing sensitive skin. “I just want you close.”

You press down harder, moaning softly at the friction. “But I do. I want to.”

Your fingers fumble with his uniform, tugging it up, and he helps you without question, lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. He’s warm under your hands, chest hard with muscle, but his eyes stay locked on yours like you’re the thing he’s trying to memorize, not your body. You touch him, tentative at first, palms against his skin, thumbs brushing across the defined lines of his stomach. He exhales through his nose, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur.

He laughs, breathless. “You’re wearing white and straddling me. I’m trying really hard not to come in my pants.”

You laugh, a choked, breathy thing, and kiss him again. This time it’s messier. Your mouths slide together, tongues tangling, lips parting, and you feel him groan into you as your hips move again, rubbing yourself against him. Slow, wet drags, each one sending a spike of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers against your lips.

He flips you suddenly, slow but firm, your back hitting the mattress with a soft gasp. He settles between your legs, still clothed, pressing down into you just enough for your bodies to align again. You’re panting. Your thighs fall open for him instinctively, and his hands settle beside your head, holding himself over you like he’s afraid to crush you.

You reach for his hand, guide it down between your bodies, to where you’re aching.

“Touch me,” you whisper.

He does.

His hand doesn’t go where you guided it, not yet. He follows his own path, slow and unhurried, retracing your shape like he’s mapping something sacred. His palm drifts up from your waist to your ribs, each pass grazing skin that feels suddenly electric. He’s so warm. Grounded. Intent. And when his hand finally curves over your breast, you suck in a breath, back arching under the weight of it.

He doesn’t squeeze. Just holds. Fingers splayed, thumb brushing slow circles around your nipple through the fabric, coaxing it into a tight, aching peak. You bite your lip, not sure if the sound you just made was a moan or a whimper. Maybe both.

Mark watches your face like he’s waiting for you to pull away. But you don’t. You want more.

“I’m okay,” you breathe. “Just—keep going.”

Something in his expression softens. His lips part, but whatever words he had die unspoken. Instead, he shifts down, trailing kisses across your collarbone, then lower, until his mouth is at the edge of your suit’s neckline. His hands tug gently at the fabric, and you lift your arms without thinking, helping him pull it over your head.

The cool air hits your skin and then, him. His breath, his mouth, the warm weight of his gaze drinking in your bare chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he says quietly. Not in awe. Not to flatter. Like it’s a simple truth.

Your breath stutters, but then he leans down and kisses you there. Just above your heart. Then lower. A trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the slope of one breast. When his lips finally close around your nipple, your whole body jerks.

“Mark–” It’s a gasp. A plea.

He hums against your skin, the low vibration rippling straight through you. His tongue swirls slowly, deliberately, savoring every reaction. Your fingers sink into his hair, soft and dark and thick, and you hold him there, helpless to stop your hips from shifting under him, chasing that friction, that heat.

His other hand moves to your other breast, thumb flicking gently over the nipple, teasing it to the same sensitivity as the first. Every inch of you feels lit up. You’ve never been touched like this. Never let yourself be. But here, under Mark, it’s not scary. It’s overwhelming, yes, but safe. Grounded.

“Is this okay?” he asks between kisses, his voice jarring.

“Yes,” you pant, nails curling against his scalp. “It’s more than okay.”

He kisses lower. The valley between your breasts. Down your stomach, his lips brushing over the softest part of you. Your body arches, chasing his mouth.

Then lower still.

He pauses at your waistband, the damp, clinging fabric stretched tight over your hips. His breath is hot against your skin, and you feel your thighs quiver.

His hands move down, slow, reverent, and he hooks his thumbs under the band. But he doesn’t pull yet. He looks up at you, his mouth hovering just above your core.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs.

“I—yeah,” you whisper. “I can’t help it.”

He leans in, kisses just below your navel. “I like that you’re letting me see this. All of you.”

You nod, barely able to breathe. “I trust you.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. Then finally—finally—he starts to tug the fabric down. Inch by inch. You lift your hips to help him, and your soaked underwear peels away with a wet sound that makes both of you groan.

He pulls it down past your thighs, your knees, tossing it to the floor, and you’re left bare beneath him. Exposed. Aching.

Mark’s eyes drag down the length of your body, slow, intense. When he sees how wet you are, slick and glistening between your thighs, his breath catches audibly.

“God,” he says, voice hoarse. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Then he moves between your legs, lowering himself with slow purpose, hands spreading your thighs. You feel his breath against your most sensitive skin, and you nearly come apart right there.

And then, his mouth is on you.

His breath ghosts over your slick folds, lips so close you can feel the tremble in them, the restraint. Your thighs twitch, involuntarily parting wider under the pressure of his hands, spreading open like petals drawn to heat. He doesn’t move yet, just watches you, face poised between your legs, eyes locked on your soaked center like it’s something holy.

The air’s thick, heavy with the scent of your arousal, and when he finally leans in and drags his tongue up your slit in one slow, decadent stroke, your entire spine bows off the bed.

“Mark—!”

Your voice is hoarse, high, ruined. His groan is low and raw, the kind that vibrates against your most sensitive flesh. His tongue doesn’t stop, he traces the shape of you, tongue slow and sure, tasting everything, as if the slick between your legs is ambrosia. You’re so wet you can feel the mess coating your inner thighs, and the way he licks into you, thorough, worshipful, only makes it worse.

He kisses your pussy like he kisses your mouth, like he means it. Like he wants it to last.

His hands slide beneath your ass, lifting your hips slightly, tilting you into the steady motion of his mouth. His tongue works slow at first, mapping the heat and curves of you, flicking, pressing, sliding in shallow strokes that make your thighs quake.

He finds your clit and lingers, tongue circling, then flicking with maddening precision. You cry out, the sound thick with shock, hands clawing at the sheets, searching for something to anchor you as your body bucks toward him.

You grab for his hair instead, fingers tangling in dark, sweat-soft strands. You feel the flex of his jaw, the way his lips seal around your clit, the suction as he sucks gently, then harder, and you’re falling apart by degrees. Your hips grind up into his mouth before you can think better of it, and Mark fucking moans, the deep sound thrumming through your cunt like a shockwave.

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” he murmurs into you between strokes. 

You whimper. “Again! Please, again!”

He grins against your cunt, you feel it, and then he flattens his tongue and drags it up again, slow and heavy, nose brushing your clit while his lips press into the soaked mess of you.

Your thighs try to close around his head, instinctive and desperate, but he shifts, his hands slide up, arms hooking under your thighs, locking around them, and he pulls. Drags your body down the bed, yanking your hips flush to his face with a groan like he can’t stand being any farther away.

“Oh god,” you choke, thighs trembling in his grip. “Mark—what��”

He doesn’t let you finish.

Now you’re half-lifted off the bed, your knees bent over his shoulders, your thighs trapped in the cage of his arms as he pins you open and devours you. His tongue works fast, now relentless, flicking and circling your clit with precision, his face wet with your slick, his jaw working like he’s addicted to the way you taste.

You scream for him. High and sharp and shameless.

“Mark, please—please— I can’t—”

“You can,” he groans, pulling back just long enough to drag his tongue through your folds again, lips slick and red. “You’re so close. I can feel it.”

And you are.

Your whole body is drawn tight, strung up on the edge of something unbearable. Your belly coils, your thighs shake, and he keeps sucking, licking, kissing your clit with filthy reverence, until the tension finally snaps.

You come with a sob, the orgasm tearing through you. Your body convulses, hips jerking, thighs quaking in his hold. He doesn’t stop. He exhales against you, licking you through it, swallowing every twitch and cry like he’s starving for it. Like he wants to own every second of your release.

You’re still gasping when the tremors start to fade, your legs heavy over his shoulders, your chest heaving. He finally lifts his head, lips glistening, hair mussed, eyes wild and warm.

And smiling.

“Fuck,” he cooes, voice breathy, “That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your kiss deepens slowly, like wading into something warm and endless. His lips are slick, the taste of your release still lingering on his mouth, and when your tongue brushes his, you hesitate. You weren’t prepared for the flavor of yourself, thick and heady on him. You pause mid-kiss, startled, cheeks burning.

But Mark doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he kisses you deeper.

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, fingers spreading over your jaw like he’s holding something precious. The kiss shifts, less hunger, more care. He licks softly into your mouth, slow and coaxing, until you’re kissing him back again, letting yourself taste what he just took from you with his tongue, like it’s meant to be shared. Your moan vibrates into his mouth before you can stop it, and he answers with a sound that comes from deep in his chest.

He stays above you, the broad warmth of his body caging yours without pressing, one knee between your thighs, the other leg braced beside your hip. And beneath it, he’s hard. Painfully hard. You can feel it now, thick and twitching where it rests against your bare thigh, just under the fabric of his underwear.

You hesitate, nervous again.

But your hand moves anyway.

It starts slow, just your fingertips brushing the fabric stretched over his thigh. You trace the edge of each muscle on his soft skint, letting yourself feel him. Mark breathes in deep, doesn’t move. Just watches you, eyes darker, lips slightly parted.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs, voice low and serious. “We’re not in a rush. This doesn’t have to be tonight.”

You look up at him. Your hand doesn’t stop moving. “You took care of me.”

“I wanted to take care of you,” he says instantly. “Not because I expected anything back.”

You slide your palm lower, along the edge of the black waistband stretched tight over his hips. The muscle there jumps under your hand, a sharp twitch that makes your stomach flutter. You feel the heat of him beneath the fabric. The hard, heavy length of him, straining against the fabric.

“I want to,” you whisper. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but I want to learn.”

His expression breaks open, relief and heat and something almost tender all flickering at once.

“Then I’ll show you,” he says. “As slow as you want.”

You press your hand fully against him now. He’s so hard it makes your throat tighten. Big. Thick. You trace him from base to tip through the fabric, and Mark shudders, jaw clenched. Your thumb grazes the head where it curves up against his waistband, and you feel it, wetness, hot and sticky. He’s leaking for you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, biting down on his bottom lip. “You’re really messing with my head here.”

You stroke him again, slow, through the material. You feel every pulse, every twitch. Your body’s flushed, still sensitive from the orgasm he gave you, but this, this kind of control, feels new and addictive.

“Can I see you?” you ask, voice trembling with nerves you can’t quite shake.

Mark exhales slowly, like he’s grounding himself. “Yeah. Of course.”

He shifts, lifting his weight off you, his hands moving to the clasp of his cape. You watch him, wide-eyed, as he unhooks it, then peels the waistband of his underwear down. The fabric clings to his hips, then his thighs, and then finally, he’s free.

You suck in a breath before you can stop it.

He’s thick. Long. Heavy, with a soft curve and flushed darker at the tip. The shaft glistens with pre-cum, veins running the length of it, twitching slightly as it springs against his lower stomach. Your thighs squeeze together instinctively.

You stare. Openly.

“Still good?” he asks, voice a little softer now.

You nod. Your fingers wrap around him carefully, trembling just a little. He’s hot, and when you give him a slow, tentative stroke, he groans, his hips jerking forward slightly, his hands curling into the sheets beside you.

“That’s good, baby, keep doing that.” he whispers. 

You stroke again, firmer this time, from base to tip, watching the way his brows furrow, how his mouth parts with every movement of your hand. You can feel the slick at his tip, and your thumb circles over it gently. His reaction is immediate, a deep groan, hips lifting just slightly into your 

Your hand moves in slow, deliberate strokes, and each one draws another sound from him, tight and breathy. His cock pulses in your grip, hot and hard and heavy, and the way he responds, hips twitching, jaw flexing, his chest rising and falling in shallow, shaking breaths, makes you feel powerful in a way you’ve never felt before.

He’s completely focused on you. Every groan, every strained exhale, every time he closes his eyes like he’s trying to hold himself together, that’s because of you. Because of your touch. Your kiss. The way you’re still looking up at him, wide-eyed and flushed, working his length with growing confidence.

Your fingers glide up the thick shaft, pausing at the tip to smear the bead of precum leaking there. It's slick and hot, and he moans into your mouth when you swirl your thumb around it, hips rolling forward into your palm before he can stop himself.

“Fuck—” His voice is hoarse now, buried somewhere between restraint and surrender. “You’re killing me here.”

You don’t stop. You can’t. His reaction is addictive, how his whole body stiffens, pressed to you, how his thighs flex, the way his brows knit tight every time you stroke down to the base and back up again. He’s breathing faster now, the tension winding tighter and tighter beneath his skin.

Then you kiss him again.

You can’t help yourself, he’s so beautiful like this, all raw edges and control slipping, his face flushed and damp, hair mussed, lips parted. You lean up, catching his mouth with yours, and he melts into it. His lips crush yours with heat and hunger, his hand cupping the back of your head as he deepens the kiss. It’s needy, breathless, your mouths sliding together, teeth knocking, tongues tangling as he moans straight into you.

And still, you keep stroking him.

Your hand works him with slow, smooth movements, the pad of your thumb teasing the sensitive underside of his head. You squeeze a little, testing, and he gasps, the sound guttural and low, breaking apart inside the kiss. His hips jerk again, grinding into your hand, and his voice goes ragged.

“Shit—” he mutters, breaking the kiss, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Baby, if you keep doing that, I’m gonna come all over your hand.”

The word baby hits something deep in your chest, something warm and sharp that steals your breath. You’ve never heard anyone say it to you like that before like it’s tender, not teasing.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper, lips grazing his ear. “I want to see you come.”

He lets out a broken laugh, but it’s desperate, strained. “God, don’t say that.”

You stroke him again, firm, wet, sure, and his body shudders. He’s so close. You can feel it in the way he tenses, the way his cock jerks in your palm, the way he grips the sheets like he needs something to hold onto.

And then, suddenly, he reaches down and wraps his hand around yours, stopping the motion with a tight, shuddering breath.

You freeze, eyes darting to his. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He shakes his head, cupping your face with his other hand, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “God, no. You’re perfect. That was—” He groans, breath catching, like the words can’t form. “I just don’t want it to end like that.”

You blink, confused. “You don’t want to…?”

“I do,” he says, kissing you softly, lips lingering. “I want to come with you wrapped around me. I want to feel you.”

His words sink into your chest, heavy and hot. Your thighs clench, your breath goes shallow. You’re still aching from before, still open, still wet. You never stopped wanting him. Not for a second.

“You want to be inside me?” you ask, voice smaller than you mean it to be.

Mark meets your gaze. His voice is low, sincere. “Only if you want it. I meant it when I said we’re not rushing this.”

You nod slowly, heart pounding. “I want it. I just… I’ve never done this before. Not like this.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I know. And I’ve got you. I’ll go slow. I’ll stop the second you want me to. But if you want to feel it…”

You swallow hard. “I do.”

He kisses you again, long, deep, sweet, and when he pulls back, his hand is already moving, trailing down your stomach with infinite care. You part your thighs for him, trembling with nerves and need, your whole body open under his.

And when his fingers find you again, wet and ready, he groans like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers. “All of you.”

His kisses trail down your neck as if he’s resisting the urge to do more all at once, lips brushing your pulse, tongue flicking gently at the sweat-slick hollow of your throat. His hand stays poised between your thighs, fingers spread, warm and steady over your mound. You’re already gasping, your hips twitching up into the weight of his palm.

“You’re so soft here,” he murmurs into your skin. “So fucking warm.”

Then he moves. His middle finger slides lower, dragging through your soaked folds, gliding with effortless ease. The slickness between your legs coats his skin, and he exhales a deep, shaky breath that ghosts over your collarbone.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re still dripping for me.”

Your thighs quiver around his hand, every muscle drawn tight with anticipation. His finger brushes your entrance and lingers, just enough pressure to make you ache, but he doesn’t push in yet. He circles slowly, teasing your hole, letting your body want it before he gives you anything.

You whimper, hips rocking into his touch. “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

He presses in with a slow, steady push, his thick finger stretching your tight walls with careful precision. Your breath stutters, your body clenching hard around him, and he stills halfway in, waiting, watching your face.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle, despite the strain in it.

You nod, barely able to speak. “It’s… big.”

“I know, baby. Just breathe. Let me in.”

He kisses you again, soft, grounding, and his finger eases in the rest of the way. The stretch burns, but only for a moment, dulled by the slick between your thighs and the way he’s murmuring to you, coaxing, soothing.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “You’re taking me so well. Fuck.”

Your pussy clenches around him, the sensation deep and electric. When he starts to move, slowly pulling out, then pressing back in, it’s like the world narrows to just the steady glide of his finger and the heat curling low in your belly.

Then he adds another.

You gasp as his ring finger joins the first, the stretch sharper now, more insistent. He goes slower this time, working you open gradually, thumb brushing your clit with featherlight touches in between each thrust. The dual sensation makes you squirm, torn between the fullness and the teasing pressure against that aching little bud.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmurs, his voice husky now.

“I—I don’t,” you stammer, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling. “Mark—”

“Yeah?” His mouth moves to your breast, kissing along the curve, licking the skin before taking your nipple between his lips. He sucks gently, then harder, and your hips jerk up into his hand, your cunt squeezing down on his fingers.

“Shit,” he breathes, pulling off with a pop. “You’re close already, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, breath coming in sharp bursts. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

“I won’t.”

His fingers speed up, thrusting deeper now, each curl of them hitting something inside you that makes your whole body twitch. His thumb presses more firmly to your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that sync perfectly with the thrust of his hand.

Your head falls back, mouth open in a silent cry as your legs spread wider, desperate for more friction. The sound of it is filthy, wet and obscene, each thrust of his fingers into your soaked cunt making you hear how broken you already are for him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You hear that, baby? That’s you. That’s what you sound like when you’re this fucking desperate.”

His lips are back on your throat now, sucking bruises into the sensitive skin just under your jaw, marking you with each deep stroke of his fingers. He’s no longer gentle, he’s fucking you with his hand now, hard and fast, two fingers stretching your slick hole while his thumb crushes against your clit.

Your thighs clamp around his wrist, your hands clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as the pressure builds and builds.

You’re panting now, close to sobbing. “I—I can’t—Mark, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he rasps. “Let go. Come for me. Come all over my fucking hand.”

And then he hooks his fingers, curling them deep and dragging against that soft, spongy spot inside you.

Your orgasm hits, sudden and violent and impossible to contain. Your whole body locks, every muscle tightening, your cry shattering the silence as you come, your cunt spasming hard around his fingers. The pressure breaks and releases, a blinding burst of pleasure that leaves you shaking beneath him, legs trembling, mouth slack.

Mark doesn’t stop. He fucks you through it, slower now, his voice soothing as your body pulses around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “You did so good. Just let it happen. Let me feel you come.”

You’re barely able to breathe, your chest rising and falling fast as aftershocks ripple through your cunt.

He finally eases his fingers out, soaked and glistening, and brings them to his lips. Licks them clean. And then he looks down at you, blushed, trembling, utterly wrecked.

“You still with me?” he asks, brushing hair from your face.

You nod slowly, eyes dazed. “That was… Gods, Mark…”

He leans in, kisses you again, slow and deep. “Shh, just look at me, baby.”

His cock is still hard, hot against your thigh. And you know what’s coming next.

Mark doesn’t rush.

He watches you breathe, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pulls, then leans down, placing a warm kiss on the inside of your thigh. His lips linger there for a moment, and you feel the softness of his breath, the warmth of his skin. His fingers stroke slowly along your hip, not demanding, just holding.

“Still good?” he murmurs, voice deeper than before, like it’s weighed down with all the restraint he’s clinging to.

You nod. Your body aches in the best way, flushed and open, pulsing from the orgasm he pulled from you with nothing but his hand. But under the tremble of your thighs, there’s something else now. Nervousness. Wonder. Anticipation so sharp it almost hurts.

“I want to,” you whisper, voice small. “I want it to be you.”

His hand cups your cheek, tilting your face up so your eyes meet. There’s nothing playful in his expression now, no smirk, no teasing. Just intensity. Just care.

“It’s only ever going to be me,” he says, and the way he says it, quiet, grounded, true, makes your heart clench.

He kisses you again, slow and deep, while one hand guides his cock down between your thighs. You feel the hot, thick weight of him brushing against your folds, sliding through the slick mess he made of you. Your hips twitch, breath catching, thighs parting wider.

Then he shifts.

He takes your right leg gently and lifts it over his shoulder, his hands smoothing up the back of your thigh as he adjusts you beneath him. The new angle opens you further, exposes your soaked pussy completely to him. He leans over you, chest against yours, his cock resting just at your entrance now, throbbing, impossibly hard, slick with your wetness and his own need.

Mark’s weight is warm and steady over you, his skin slick with heat, arms braced to either side of your shoulders as he holds himself above you, not pressing, not rushing, just there, with that soft look in his eyes like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters right now.

Your right leg is still hooked over his shoulder, and he’s kissing the inside of your knee, his lips slow and reverent, like he knows exactly what this moment means. You’re bare beneath him, open, trembling, and he’s not teasing anymore; every movement, every breath, is full of quiet intention.

The thick head of his cock nudges your entrance again, and this time, there’s no space between you. You’re wet enough to make it easy, but tight enough to feel everything. He’s so much larger than anything you’ve ever felt before, and when he presses forward, slow, patient, not even halfway in, you feel it all at once. The stretch, the fullness, the way your body tenses without meaning to.

You gasp, your hips shifting. Not to pull away. To adjust. To open.

Mark groans low in his throat, hips pausing, his breath stuttering against your collarbone. “You okay?”

You nod, forehead pressing against his, your fingers wrapped around his wrists like they’re lifelines. “I’m okay. Just—slow.”

He kisses your temple. “Always.”

Then he moves again.

The head of his cock slips in deeper, and you feel every ridge, every inch spreading you wider than you’ve ever been stretched. The slow press of it pushes into something deep inside you, and your body clenches reflexively, trembling under the new sensation. It’s more than fullness. It’s being taken, inch by inch, until your walls are pulsing tight around him.

Mark lets out a hiss through clenched teeth. “Fuck, you feel good,” he groans. “God, you feel so good around me.”

You feel the way he holds back, his hips barely rocking, every movement shallow, careful, like he’s waiting for your body to catch up to your need. He kisses you again, lips soft against your mouth, swallowing the whimpers and gasps that spill out as your body adjusts.

“Just breathe,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re doing so fucking good. I’ve got you.”

You do. You breathe. And after a moment, the sharp edge of the stretch begins to soften, fading into something deep and wanting. Your thighs fall further apart. Your pussy pulses around him, wet and throbbing, sucking him in bit by bit.

You whisper, “More.”

Mark grits his teeth. “Fuck. You sure?”

“Yes,” you moan. “I want you all the way. Please, Mark—”

He doesn’t make you ask twice. With another slow, grinding push of his hips, he slides deeper into your cunt, stretching, filling, claiming space inside you no one’s ever touched before. You can feel him pulse, feel the tension in every part of him as he sinks in to the hilt. His pelvis presses flush to your thighs, your clit grinding just barely against the base of him.

Your mouth falls open.

He’s deep. Deep in a way that makes your breath falter, your fingers dig into his back. The thickness of him inside you has your walls fluttering around him in helpless waves, trying to adjust, to hold him. He stays still, breathing heavily into your neck, murmuring soft words that ground you.

“You’re doing perfect,” he whispers. “You’re taking me so well, fuck—so well.”

You feel stretched open, raw and full in the best way, your nerves lit up from the inside. His cock twitches deep inside you, and you moan, your hips rolling slightly in response.

That’s all he needs.

Mark pulls out just an inch, then presses back in, slow, controlled, the motion dragging every inch of his cock along your walls. You both gasp, him at the feel of your wet, tight heat gripping him; you at the way the movement sends shockwaves through your entire body.

He does it again. And again. Each thrust a little deeper, a little more confident.

You cling to him, panting, your leg hooked over his shoulder giving him a better angle to reach deeper with each press of his hips. His pace is still careful, but it’s growing, more rhythm now, more friction. You can feel the way your walls begin to adjust, fluttering less in resistance, more in rhythm with his strokes.

Your clit brushes the base of him with every thrust, and your moans get louder.

“Mark—oh my god—” you cry out, your voice broken, high. “I didn’t know it would feel like this—I can’t— please— I can’t—”

His voice is ragged now, teeth gritted. “This is how it should feel,” he pants into your neck. “That’s it, baby. Just like that. You’re doing so well for me.”

You’re overwhelmed, your body writhing under his, flushed and pulsing, every thrust stretching you to the brink. But it’s not pain anymore. It’s pressure. Need. That low, spiraling pleasure starting to rebuild between your legs, deeper than before.

He doesn’t let go of your hand. One of his fingers stays curled with yours beside your head, even as his other hand wraps beneath your thigh, holding your leg high on his shoulder, giving him room to sink deeper into your dripping heat.

Your walls flutter again, your core clenching as he rocks into you.

He feels it.

“Not yet,” he grits out, slowing just slightly, sweat dripping down his temples. “Don’t come yet. I said wait.”

And you nod, moaning into his mouth as he kisses you again, harder now, your bodies locked together, grinding slow and deep, just on the edge of too much.

Your hands slide up his back, fingertips slipping across sweat-slick skin, nails catching lightly over every tense ridge of muscle. You can feel his heart hammering through his chest, feel it inside you too, echoing in the thick, steady drag of his cock plunging deep again and again, carving space within you that hadn’t existed until him. You’re barely holding on, your entire body wound tight like a bowstring, but the moment your fingers fist in his hair and pull, everything changes.

Mark growls. The sound isn’t human. It rumbles out of his chest and vibrates against your neck, where his mouth moves with more hunger now, no longer soft and reverent. His teeth graze your throat, then bite down, just enough to sting, enough to make you cry out and arch up into him.

“You like that,” he grits, voice cracking as his hips slam forward.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Do it again.”

And he does.

He bites down harder, just above your collarbone, as his hips start to move faster, his cock driving into you in thick, full strokes that make the mattress rock beneath you. You’re so wet, so wrecked, the filthy slap of skin-on-skin is loud now, shameless, matched only by the rhythmic bang of the headboard slamming into the wall behind your head. Each thrust rocks your body upward, your leg still hooked over his shoulder, giving him a perfect angle to bottom out with every grind of his hips.

His cock hits that deep, perfect spot again and again and again, and the way he moans your name, raw and breaking, makes your pussy clamp down, slick and fluttering, your body reacting to every thrust like it’s not yours anymore.

“Mark—” you gasp. “I can’t—fuck—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” he pants, licking up your throat, his hand moving from your hip to the back of your thigh, holding you open for him, taking you. “You are. Taking all of me—look at you, baby. Fucking beautiful.”

He’s sweating above you, his muscles flexing with each brutal thrust, his jaw clenched tight, eyes dark and focused, like he’s watching every flicker of pleasure on your face, like each moan you make is his reward. You feel his body tightening above you, every inch of him flushed and flushed and thrumming with barely leashed tension.

And your body—Gods, your body’s spiraling.

Your clit grinds against the base of him with every thrust, slippery and swollen, and the friction there, combined with the deep stretch of his cock hitting you in just the right way, is sending sparks up your spine, your thighs trembling, your hands scrabbling for anywhere to hold.

You tangle both hands in his hair and pull again, harder this time.

Then his mouth is on you, biting your neck, your shoulder, licking over the marks he leaves like he’s claiming you, branding you as his.

“You’re close,” he groans into your throat. “I can feel it. I know it’s deep, baby. I can feel you shaking.”

You are. You can feel it too, your pussy tightening down hard, your stomach clenching, that overwhelming fullness turning into unbearable heat. Your voice is gone, your gasps ragged and broken as your hips rock up, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing that edge like you’re about to fall off a cliff.

Then he shifts, just barely, hips angling down, perfectly, and when the thick head of his cock drags hard against that sweet, swollen spot inside you, it breaks you.

You scream.

Not words. Not coherent. Just sound, helpless and raw as your orgasm rips through you again. Your pussy spasms violently around him, wet heat flooding your core as you clench and throb and shake. The walls around you lock tight, milking him, desperate and pulsing, your vision blurring with tears as you convulse beneath him.

And Mark snaps.

“Fuck—fuck—baby—” he groans, voice cracking open as his thrusts falter, cock slamming deep one last time as he comes. He buries himself to the hilt, hips grinding hard as he spills inside you, his whole body trembling with it. You feel the first hot spurt of his cum hit deep, thick and endless, flooding your pussy as your walls pulse around him, milking every drop.

His mouth is at your throat, his voice a ruined whisper. “Oh my god—you feel so good—so good—”

You’re still spasming around him, every nerve still lit, your body gone limp beneath the overwhelming wave of it all. The smell of sex is thick in the air, sweet and musky. The room is filled with nothing but your panting breaths, the fading tremble of skin on skin.

Mark collapses onto you gently, still inside, still hard. He shifts your leg from his shoulder and kisses the side of your knee before resting his forehead against your collarbone, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close, careful not to crush you under his weight.

You’re shaking. You don’t even realize it until he rubs slow circles into your hip, his voice low and rough and impossibly soft.

“Shh,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

And he does.

You feel his cum leaking out of you already, warm and sticky between your thighs, the stretch of him still deep, comforting, your bodies still locked together. He hasn’t moved. He doesn’t want to move. You feel the way his hands tighten around you like he’s afraid to let go.

Your voice is hoarse. “Mark…”

He lifts his head, brushes your hair from your forehead, kisses you, slow, deep, tender.

“You were perfect,” he says. “You’re mine.”

You’re still flushed, your breath ragged, body slick with sweat and smeared with the mess the two of you made. Your thighs are trembling, cunt leaking, clenching down on nothing as you lie there under him, your leg unhooked from his shoulder, your chest rising and falling in soft, gasping waves. But the heat hasn't left you. If anything, it’s burning deeper now.

You squirm beneath him, sensitive, overstimulated, but also aching. That feeling hasn’t gone away. That low, throbbing pressure is still sitting heavy in your gut, coiled between your legs. You rub your thighs together, unconsciously seeking friction. His cock slips free from you as he shifts, and even that soft, wet drag of him exiting your soaked cunt makes your body jolt.

Mark immediately notices.

He lifts his head from where he’s pressed against your neck, his voice soft but low. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. Not that. I just…”

You hesitate, embarrassed. You’re not even sure why. You know what you’re feeling, what you still want. It’s just new. Your body feels strange and flushed and restless, and the words feel awkward in your mouth, like they don’t belong to you.

Mark sees the hesitation in your eyes. He cups your cheek gently, brushing your hair back.

“Talk to me,” he says softly. “You can say anything to me.”

“I think I’m still…” You trail off, fidgeting slightly on the sheets. “Still, um… I still feel kind of…”

He waits, patient.

“Aroused,” you finally admit in a rush, cheeks burning. “I still feel aroused.”

Mark huffs a soft laugh, not mocking. Just warm. Reassuring.

“Good,” he says, fingers brushing your jaw. “That’s not a dirty word, you know. You don’t have to whisper it like it’s a secret. It’s okay to want more. It’s natural to feel that after your first time.”

You exhale shakily, your eyes flicking away from his, but he leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“I want you to tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmurs. “If you’re still horny, baby, I’ll give you what you need.”

Your breath hitches.

“I want to try being on top,” you say. 

His pupils darken instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist.

“Yeah?” he breathes, voice deepening with desire. “You want to ride me?”

“I want to feel you like that,” you murmur. “I want to see you. I want to move. I want to… do it.”

Mark kisses you again, harder this time, tongue sliding over yours, groaning into your mouth. Then he shifts, pulling you gently with him as he rolls onto his back, his arms still wrapped around you, not letting you go for a second.

You straddle his waist, your thighs bracketing his hips, your body still buzzing. His cock is soft between you now, but only for a moment. You press your soaked, swollen cunt against him, grinding down with a slow, instinctive roll of your hips, and feel him begin to thicken again beneath you, your slick smearing across his shaft.

His hands find your hips, guiding your motion, eyes locked on your face as you move over him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

You look down and see it, your arousal and his cum glistening between your thighs, coating his cock, your folds glossy and flushed, twitching against him. It’s shameless. Filthy. And it only makes you needier.

“Do you want to ride me, or do you want me to help you?” he asks, voice gentle but breathless.

“I want to try,” you whisper. “But… stay close.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He watches as you reach down, fingers trembling slightly, wrapping around the base of his cock. It’s thick and heavy in your hand, slick with your fluids, already beginning to swell back to full hardness. You stroke him once, twice—slow and deliberate—and he groans, hips twitching under you.

“Line me up,” he says, voice strained. “Go slow. I want you to feel everything.”

You nod, guiding him to your entrance. Your cunt clenches instinctively, still sore, still aching but ready. You lower yourself slowly, gasping as the head pushes in, stretching you again, that same burn and fullness hitting you like a fresh shock.

Mark groans beneath you, head tipping back, muscles tightening.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Look at you. Taking me again already. God, that’s it, baby.”

You sink down inch by inch, legs trembling as your walls stretch around him. It’s different like this. Deeper. More exposed. You feel every inch of his cock as it fills you again, thick and hot and throbbing, dragging along your walls as your cunt clenches tight to accommodate him.

You whimper, bracing your hands on his chest, your head hanging as your hips settle flush against his.

You’re full again. So full.

He strokes your thighs, breathless, reverent. “You’re doing so good. Look at you. My perfect girl. Fuck.”

You begin to move. Slowly, tentatively. Lifting your hips just a little, then sinking back down, gasping as you feel the drag, the pressure, the heat. Mark groans, his hands guiding your pace but not controlling, just supporting, letting you take your time, letting you ride him the way you need.

Every movement lights you up again, your nerves raw and awake, every brush of his cock inside you sending new sparks down your spine. You start to ride him in earnest, hips rolling, thighs burning, your cunt soaked and clenching, the sound of slick friction building between you again.

Mark’s hands slide up to your breasts, cupping them, thumbing your nipples as he thrusts up into you in time with your rhythm. His mouth is open, his eyes locked on your body as you bounce on his cock, your voice breaking into moans, gasps, and breathless cries.

You're in control, and he’s giving you everything.

And neither of you is anywhere near finished.

You move slowly at first, body trembling with sensitivity, your thighs aching from what came before, but the heat hasn’t faded. It’s only sharpened. You grind your hips forward, slowly rolling them down his cock, feeling every ridge, every inch stretch your cunt again as you begin to take him at your pace.

Mark’s hands never leave your skin. One stays low on your hip, fingers splayed across the curve of your ass, grounding you, guiding without forcing. The other slides up your spine, curling between your shoulder blades to pull you down into him as you ride.

Your chests press flush, skin to skin, sweat-slick and hot. His chest is broad and firm beneath yours, his heartbeat a steady thunder against your breasts, which now rub against his with every movement of your body. Your nipples drag over the plane of his chest, already sensitive and tight, and the friction makes you moan into his mouth as you kiss him.

It starts soft, lips parting slowly, breath catching. His tongue brushes yours gently, savoring you. But as your hips begin to roll faster, your body building that rhythm again, the kiss deepens, shifts, his mouth hungry, hot, claiming. You whimper into it as your thighs spread wider, sinking deeper onto him.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching tight, holding onto the tension anchoring you both together. He groans into your mouth as you rise and fall on his cock, your soaked pussy gripping him so tightly with every thrust that you feel him throb inside you.

“God,” he rasps against your lips, his hands gripping tighter now, not holding you down, but feeling every inch of your movement. “That’s good, baby, keep doing that.”

You can’t answer, you’re too focused on the pressure building between your legs again. Your hips roll, grind, the movement slower than before but deeper, dragging his cock along that swollen, sensitive spot inside you with each thrust. You tilt your hips just so, and when the thick head of him drags hard against that sweet, aching spot, your whole body shudders.

Your lips break from his in a gasp, head tipping back, and he immediately leans up, mouth open, tongue sliding along the column of your throat. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach as you ride him in steady, rolling waves.

Every time you drop down onto him, the thick stretch of his cock fills you completely, rubbing deep inside your cunt, pushing slick sounds into the space around you, the slap of your hips meeting his building louder with each thrust. The room smells like sex, wet heat, sweat, and him. Your thighs are shaking, your body quivering, but you don’t stop.

He’s holding you so close now, his arms locked around you, his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re riding me so fucking good,” he whispers, his voice raw. “So tight around me. Fucking yourself on my cock like a good little thing.”

You nod, gasping, nails digging into his shoulders as you grind down, your clit brushing his pelvis, dragging along him with every roll of your hips. You whimper into his neck, and he holds you tighter.

“I can feel you,” you whisper, breathless. “Feels so good… you feel so good inside me…”

He groans, deep and guttural, his cock twitching inside your walls, the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your knees.

“You’re gonna drive me fucking insane,” he growls, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last long, baby, not if you keep fucking riding me like that.”

You slow for a moment, catching your breath, your forehead pressed to his.

“I don’t want to finish yet,” you whisper.

His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks, his gaze locked on yours, hot and dark and aching.

You start to move again, your soaked cunt clenching down around his thick cock, your hips rolling in long, slow circles, grinding the length of him against every sweet spot inside you. He groans and gasps, but stays with you, thrust for thrust, breath for breath, kiss for kiss, as you ride that razor-thin line, your bodies wrapped around each other like they’ve always belonged this way.

You're still riding him, slow and deep, your thighs spread wide across his hips, your breasts pressed to his chest, every inch of your skin connected to his, hot, damp, electric. His cock fills you completely with every roll of your hips, thick and throbbing, dragging along your sensitive walls so perfectly you swear you can feel every vein.

At first, you keep your rhythm steady, your pace deliberate, grinding your clit against his pelvis on every downstroke. Mark's hands stay on your hips, not guiding, just holding, grounding you, letting you take control. His eyes never leave your face, watching the way your brows knit with pleasure, how your mouth falls open with every bounce, every grind.

You're not sure when it happens exactly, but the pleasure begins to crest again. It starts as a pulse in your belly, that same heavy ache that bloomed during your first orgasm, only this time it’s deeper, sharper. Your body knows what’s coming now, it wants it. Craves it. Demands it.

You keep going, but your rhythm starts to faltery, our thighs shaking, your hips stuttering as your clit swells and throbs against his skin. You lean in to kiss him, messy and breathless, but the moment your lips meet his, you moan into his mouth. It's too much. Too good. Your whole body is tightening again, clenching down on him hard, and your thighs start to burn from the effort.

“Mark,” you gasp, head falling to his shoulder. “I—I can’t—too close, I don’t know if I can keep going…”

He reacts instantly.

“I’ve got you.” His voice is low, dark, commanding. His hands tighten around your hips, broad, steady, possessive. He shifts under you, planting his feet against the mattress, bending his knees for leverage.

Before you can even blink, he takes over.

His hands grip you hard and he starts to thrust up, fast and deep, using the strength in his hips to fuck up into you while pulling your body down at the same time. The first slam of his cock makes you scream, your walls stretching, fluttering, pulsing as he drills up into your soaked, overstimulated pussy.

“Oh god—Mark!”

The sound of your bodies meeting is obscene, wet and loud, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing in the room with every brutal thrust. Your breasts bounce against his chest with every slam of his hips, your nipples brushing his sweat-slicked skin, your cunt slick and open and gripping him like you were made to take every inch.

Your fingers claw into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he fucks you from beneath, each thrust hitting deep, hard, unrelenting. His cock drags over that sweet, swollen spot inside you over and over and over until your legs go weak and your voice is nothing but broken gasps and shattered moans.

“That’s it,” he groans, sweat dripping from his brow. “You’re fucking milking me—god, baby, you’re so tight—you gonna come for me again?”

You nod, crying out as your head falls back, your whole body tense.

“Yes—yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop—right there—”

He doesn’t.

He grits his teeth, hips slamming up faster, harder, his hands dragging you down to meet him again and again until your walls clamp down in a vice-tight grip, your pussy convulsing around his cock as your orgasm hits. It’s blinding, white-hot and violent, ripping through your body in wave after wave of electric pleasure.

You scream his name, eyes squeezed shut, thighs locked tight around his hips as your climax crashes over you.

Mark groans, low and deep, his whole body going rigid beneath you as his cock throbs hard, thick pulses spilling inside you as he comes. His cum is hot, flooding your cunt, filling you until it leaks out around his shaft, slick and messy and perfect. He holds you there, impaled on his cock, trembling as he spills everything into you, breath ragged in your ear.

“Fuck—fuck—yes,” he groans, voice broken. “I’m coming—god, baby, you feel so fucking good—”

You collapse onto his chest, shaking, your walls still fluttering, your cunt still twitching around him, milking every last drop.

He doesn’t let go.

His arms wrap around you, holding you tight, pressing kisses into your hair, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach.

And you lie there, both of you wrecked and still joined, your bodies fused in heat and come and sweat, the last shudders of pleasure still echoing through your bones.

You're still trembling against his chest, every inch of your body flushed and exhausted, your breath coming in soft, uneven gasps as the aftershocks roll through you. His arms stay around you, steady and warm, one hand splayed across the small of your back, the other stroking your hair slowly, rhythmically, as if anchoring you to him.

And for a moment, just a moment, it feels like you're suspended in something impossible. Something too big to name.

But then your thoughts start to spiral.

You shift slightly, wincing at the wet, sticky heat between your thighs, the deep ache that lingers where his cock had been buried inside you just seconds ago. The mess is thick and hot, his cum still dripping out of you, and the raw reality of it, all of it, sinks in.

You kissed him. You begged for him. You rode him. You let him see you like that, hear you, feel everything you couldn’t hide. You’d never even let someone touch you like that before, and now…now you’re lying sprawled across the bare chest of Viltrumite Emperor Mark Grayson with his cum leaking down your thighs, your body covered in sweat and bite marks and bruises you’re not entirely sure you didn’t ask for.

What the fuck did you just do?

You bury your face into his neck and try not to think about it. But your thoughts won’t stop spinning, swirling behind your eyes with a creeping kind of dread. Shame slips into your bloodstream like a slow, burning flush. Not because of him. Because of you. Because you wanted it too much. Because you came too hard. Because you couldn’t control your voice, your body, because you liked it.

Too much.

Way too much.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You clench your eyes shut, trying to breathe past the guilt curling at the edges of your chest. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just heat. A mistake. A moment. He’s the Emperor. You’re not even…

It was just sex.

You repeat it to yourself like a shield.

It didn’t mean anything. He was there. You were there. You got caught up in it. Maybe he was just being kind, generous in a moment where you were vulnerable. You practically climbed him. You pulled his hair. You moaned his name like he belonged to you. Gods, you begged for it.

This has to be a one-time thing.

It has to be.

He’s going to get up. You’ll both clean yourselves up. He’ll say something polite, something careful, and you’ll both pretend it never happened. Maybe he’ll smile. Maybe he won’t. Either way, you can survive it. You’ve survived worse.

You shift slightly on his chest, trying to pull away, to start the process of detangling yourself from this moment, from him, but Mark’s arms only tighten around you, warm and firm, his voice low against your hair.

“Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You freeze when he speaks, your entire body tensing against his. His voice is soft, laced with the same steady warmth he’s always used around you, but now, it cuts through your haze like light bleeding through fog. You don’t answer at first. Can’t. You’re not ready to lie, but the truth sits too thick in your throat, heavy with shame and confusion.

Mark feels your hesitation.

His hand lifts from your back and cradles your cheek, thumb brushing gently along your temple. When you don’t meet his eyes, he doesn’t push. He just shifts under you carefully, adjusting your weight so he can sit up without jostling you. You expect him to pull away, to start dressing, to offer you space, but he doesn’t.

He wraps his arms tighter around you and murmurs, “You don’t have to say anything right now, but I can feel you pulling away. You okay?”

Your throat tightens. “I’m fine,” you whisper. “Just… tired.”

He doesn’t call you on the lie. Doesn’t press.

“Yeah,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve been through a lot. First time’s not just physical. It’s a lot. You did good.”

You nod, barely, eyes stinging. He could make this so much worse. If he started explaining or apologizing or making it clinical, you might shatter right there. But he doesn’t. Instead, he eases you off his lap, gently laying you back against the bed. He slips away only to stand, completely naked, broad shoulders flexing as he moves toward a discreet panel embedded in the wall.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice small.

“Taking care of you.”

The panel lights up under his touch. He taps a few quiet commands, and moments later, a soft chime sounds deeper in the ship, followed by the low rush of water.

“I told the ship to prep the bath,” he says without looking back at you. “I didn’t want to just toss you a towel and call it a night.”

You watch him, throat tight, heart fluttering in a strange, twisting way that feels far more dangerous than anything physical. His back is strong and scarred, marked with old battles, but there’s a tenderness in his movements that unnerves you more than any show of strength. He turns and walks back toward you, stopping to kneel beside the bed.

“I want you to soak. Warm water helps with soreness. And you’re gonna feel that tomorrow.” He smiles, gently. “Trust me.”

You nod silently.

He reaches for you again, not pulling, not insisting, just offering his hand.

“Come with me.”

You take it.

The bath chamber is clean and sleek, built into the private quarters with the same quiet luxury everything on this ship seems to carry. The tub itself isn’t really a tub at all, it’s sunken into the floor, broad and deep, steam rising gently from crystal-clear water as the soft ambient lighting casts everything in gold and shadow.

Mark helps you step in first, holding your hand as you ease down into the water. The heat hits you instantly, coaxing a low moan from your throat as it spreads through your sore thighs, your hips, the deep ache between your legs. The water seeps into every raw, tender inch of you, chasing away tension with each breath.

He slips in behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, guiding your back to rest against his chest.

You let yourself sink into him, his warmth, his silence, the steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

His hands move slowly, reverently, down your arms, over your ribs, pausing to stroke your hips. Not sexual. Just gentle. Reassuring. He presses kisses to the back of your shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You know it’s not just about your body, right?” he says. “It never was.”

Your breath hitches. You stare down at the water, rippling gently with every tiny movement, your fingers trailing across the surface.

You whisper, “I don’t know what this is.”

“I don’t either,” he admits. “But I know I’m not walking away from it.”

You press your face into his neck and close your eyes, letting the water hold you. Letting him hold you. Because whatever this is, it happened. And he’s still here.

You rest in the water with his arms around you, his chest a steady, warm wall at your back. Every breath he takes moves through you too, your bodies molded together beneath the surface, tangled not in tension now, but something slower. Something quiet. Something real.

The ache between your legs is fading under the heat of the bath, replaced by a soft throbbing awareness. Not need. Not urgency. Just the echo of him still inside you, his shape, his weight, the imprint of his voice in your ear, and his hands on your skin. The water soothes, but it doesn’t wash him away.

You feel his hand move gently, smoothing down your side beneath the surface, then resting just above your hip. He’s not touching you to arouse. He’s just there. And somehow, that touches deeper.

You tilt your head slightly, just enough to glance up at him.

His gaze is already on you, steady, searching, like he’s waiting for you to decide what happens next. Like you’re the gravity he’s fallen into. His lips are slightly parted, damp from steam. His eyes are soft in the light. Not guarded. Not playing.

You turn your face toward his.

And kiss him.

It starts soft. A gentle press of your mouth against his. Not greedy. Not hurried. Just there, shared breath and heat and the slow tilt of your head as your lips mold to his. His hand tightens subtly on your waist. He shifts behind you to lean in, deepening the kiss just a little, his tongue brushing yours in slow, lazy strokes. His body is solid against your back, thighs bracketing yours beneath the water, cock soft but resting warm between your cheeks as he pulls you closer into his lap.

You breathe into his mouth.

The kiss lingers.

You pull back just a bit, your nose brushing his. “I’m not trying to start again,” you murmur, lips still grazing his. “I just… I wanted to.”

His hand rises from the water and cups your cheek, guiding your face back to his.

“You don’t have to explain wanting to kiss me,” he says, voice low. “You can just kiss me.”

So you do.

You turn in his lap, water sloshing gently around your waists, your knees now bent against his sides. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, and you kiss him again, deeper this time. Slower. Like you’re letting him taste something you didn’t trust him with before.

His hand cups the back of your neck, fingers sliding into your wet hair, tilting your head just enough to open you further. He kisses you like you’re not just something to claim, but something to worship. Something he never thought he’d have, and now that he does, he’s not wasting a second.

Your chest presses against his. The water laps around you. The bath is silent, save for your soft breaths, the slick sound of your mouths parting and rejoining. There’s no rush now. No agenda. Just lips and tongue and breath and touch, more intimate than anything either of you said aloud.

When you break the kiss, your forehead rests against his. His hand slides back down your spine, slow and reverent.

“You’re still with me?” he asks, voice almost reverent.

You nod, eyes closed. “Still with you.”

Still wanting.

But not for the same reasons as before.

You stay like that for a moment, forehead to forehead, breath shared, his arms warm around your waist and the water rippling softly around your bodies. The intimacy isn't loud anymore. It hums, slow, steady, insistent. Like the beating of a second heart just beneath your skin.

Then, slowly, you shift.

Your knees adjust on either side of his hips, thighs brushing his under the water. You settle onto his lap again, your bare, tender heat sliding naturally into place over his cock, not guiding him in, just there, pressed against him, your slick folds gliding along the length of him as you shift forward to straddle him fully.

Mark’s breath catches.

You feel it instantly, the twitch beneath you. The subtle, slow throb of him thickening again, right beneath your core. Not fully hard yet, but getting there, responding to the soft, wet friction of your cunt against his shaft as you move just slightly in his lap.

You look up at him, your hands sliding over his shoulders, down his arms, anchoring yourself to the strong lines of his body. His eyes are darker now, his pupils wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“You feel that?” you murmur, barely above a whisper.

His hands settle on your hips, holding you gently in place. “Yeah,” he says, voice thick. “I feel you.”

You shift again, slowly, deliberately, and his cock slides between your slick folds under the water, pressed right up against your clit now. The contact sends a shiver up your spine, and his grip on your hips tightens just a little, not stopping you, just feeling. Letting you set the pace.

You move your hips in a slow, grinding roll, dragging yourself against him from tip to base. The motion is smoother than before, slick with the mix of water and cum still between your thighs, your pussy still flushed and aching, still needing even through the tenderness. Your breath hitches, your mouth parting with a quiet moan.

Mark growls low, his eyes flicking from your face to where your bodies meet beneath the water.

“God,” he rasps. “You’re still this wet for me?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “It doesn’t go away.”

His cock twitches against you, already swelling thicker, harder, the feel of him unmistakable now beneath your core. You keep grinding slowly, your clit catching on the ridge of him with every pass, the pressure blooming back to life inside you. He’s getting harder with every movement of your hips, and soon he’s pressing thick and hot along your slit, the head of him nudging just beneath your entrance with each shift.

You moan softly, your hands sliding into his hair.

Mark lifts his gaze back to yours, eyes heavy-lidded. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t answer with words. You roll your hips again, a little more insistently now, your eyes locked to his, your mouth parted as you drag your pussy over the length of his cock, coating him with your slick. He throbs beneath you, and you feel him fully harden, the head of him swelling and nudging perfectly against your entrance under the water.

He groans, his fingers digging into your waist now, breath coming faster. “Fuck. You're gonna ride me again, aren’t you?”

You lean in, lips brushing his. “If you'll let me.”

He bites back a groan and nods.

“I’ll give you everything.”

Mark’s hands never leave your skin.

Even as you grind down on him again, slow and steady, letting the hard line of his cock slide along your slick folds, he holds you carefully, fingers firm on your hips, anchoring you, but not restricting you. He watches you like you're something delicate and divine at the same time. Like he’s resisting the urge to take over, to thrust up, to flip you and drive himself back into your dripping cunt, but he doesn’t. Not yet. He’s giving you space, even as you feel him pulse harder and thicker beneath you.

His cock is fully hard now, pressing perfectly against your entrance with every slow roll of your hips. You can feel the way your body is already reacting to him again: your clit swollen, your walls clenching reflexively, still loose from the way he stretched you earlier, still aching to be filled again.

Mark leans up slightly, his mouth brushing your collarbone, his voice low and deep and close.

“Go slow,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, your breath catching, and reach between you to line him up. He lets you, his hands moving to stroke your thighs instead, soft, coaxing circles of touch that ground you even as you feel his cockhead nudging at your entrance again. The heat of it makes you whimper softly, the tender stretch of your slick pussy already straining to take him back inside.

You sink down.

Inches at a time, his cock slides into you. Your walls part around him with slow, aching resistance, and your fingers curl into his shoulders, nails biting down. He’s thick. He’s so thick. Even slick and open, the stretch is real, and you can feel every vein, every ridge dragging along your soaked inner walls as you take him again.

Mark groans under his breath, his hands flexing around your waist. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good. Just like that, nice and slow.”

You keep your forehead pressed to his, gasping softly as you inch lower, your thighs shaking, your cunt wrapping around him tighter and tighter until finally, you bottom out again. You can feel the base of him grinding against your clit, the tip of him pressed deep inside, just shy of too much.

You whimper. “God… you’re all the way in.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “And you’re so full, fuck. Can feel you pulsing around me.”

He doesn’t move.

He just holds you there, keeping you pressed tight to him, letting your body adjust again. His hands stroke up and down your back, over your spine, dipping down to cup your ass gently. His cock throbs inside you, but he doesn’t thrust. Doesn’t push.

“You don’t have to do it like before,” he says, mouth brushing your ear. “Just stay right here if that’s what you want. Let me do the rest.”

You nod into his neck, but when your hips twitch, trying to rock forward again, he moans lowly.

“Not yet,” he breathes. “You’re still shaking.”

“I want to move.”

“I know.” He kisses your jaw. “Relax, baby. Let me take over if it’s too much.”

You go still in his lap, heart pounding. He lifts you slightly, his hands under your ass now, and then eases you back down again, his cock dragging along your walls, slow and impossibly smooth. The motion is hypnotic. Full. Deep.

You moan brokenly, clutching his shoulders, thighs spread wide over his hips, head thrown back.

“There you go,” he groans, kissing your throat. “Let me hear you, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You do.

His cock drags so slowly that your entire cunt feels like it’s clinging to him, every wet inch of you fluttering around his shaft as he lifts and lowers your body with maddening control. He doesn’t piston. He doesn’t slam. He moves you, like he’s teaching your body how to take him, how to want it.

You melt against him, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hips rolling in time with his slow, deep rhythm. His cock hits your sweet spot over and over, your clit grinding along his skin, and your moans grow higher, needier.

“You’re gonna come like this,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna make you come just like this, slow and deep.”

You nod, dazed. “It feels so—so good. I feel everything.”

He pulls your hips down again, grinding against you in one long, slow press, and your walls tighten violently, your breath catching as you shudder above him.

“Say it,” he growls, voice hot against your ear. “Tell me it’s good.”

“It’s so good,” you moan. “Mark—fuck—it’s perfect. I feel so full, so hot, I—Gods, I need—”

“You have me,” he whispers, cupping your face now, kissing you between every word. “Right here. All of me. You’re not going anywhere, baby.”

You whimper into his mouth, your hips now grinding desperately as he moves you up and down his cock in that same perfect, deep rhythm. You can feel the tension starting to build again, higher this time, slower, but unstoppable.

And he’s right there with you, panting into your neck, cock twitching deep inside as he whispers all the ways he’s not letting go.

His grip changes.

One second he’s just holding you, warm, steady, reverent, and the next his fingers tighten around your hips like a command. He digs into your flesh, thumbs pressing into the curves of your pelvis, and suddenly you feel it, that shift in the air, in him. The soft, slow rhythm that had carried you both is gone, replaced by something deeper, heavier.

You gasp against his neck, your body trembling with anticipation, but he doesn’t ask permission this time. He doesn’t have to. Your cunt is already clenching around him in anticipation, your body still slick, still aching, still needing.

Mark thrusts up hard, burying himself in one sharp motion that drives a moan straight from your chest. His cock slams deep inside, the sound wet and loud, echoing against the tiled walls of the bath chamber, your thighs hitting against his hips as water sloshes violently around you.

You cry out, clutching his shoulders for balance, your nails dragging across sweat-slick skin.

His rhythm changes entirely now. He isn’t lifting you slowly anymore, guiding you gently. He’s pulling you down hard onto him with every thrust, slamming his hips up to meet yours with brutal precision. The sound of skin slapping skin grows louder, wetter, more obscene with each thrust, the sharp smack of it drowned only by your gasping cries and the growls he’s letting loose against your neck.

“Let me kiss that pretty mouth while I fuck you,” he groans out breathlessly. 

You feel every word in your gut, in your clit, in the deep, aching flutter of your cunt as he thrusts into you, hitting the end of you with every powerful grind of his hips as you press your lips to his. You’re a mess, slick dripping down your thighs, your inner walls tightening around him like you can’t bear to let him go, your moans spilling out uncontrollably.

“Mark—” You sob his name as your body begins to fold, the heat in your belly building too fast, too bright. "Touch me again—please—I can’t take it."

He groans and grabs your ass, spreading you wider, slamming you down harder. “Yes you can,” he nips your throat. “You’re taking me so fucking well. You’re mine. You’re gonna come on my cock again, and you’re not gonna stop until I say so.”

You whimper, walls clenching hard around him, every nerve screaming as your clit grinds into the base of his cock with every desperate bounce. He’s fucking up into you with reckless rhythm now, deep, punishing thrusts that leave your mind unraveling, your thoughts shattering like glass. All that’s left is need, the way he fills you, the way he owns your body in this moment.

And then it happens.

Your orgasm doesn’t rise. It snaps.

White-hot pleasure slams through you, your cunt spasming so violently it pulls a scream from your throat. Your thighs lock around him, shaking uncontrollably, your body jerking as wave after wave of ecstasy tears through you like you’re breaking. Your inner walls tighten around him like a fist, milking him, pulling him deeper.

Mark curses, his control finally shattering. “Fuck—baby—gonna—”

He slams up into you one final time, hard enough to drive the breath from your lungs. His cock swells deep inside, and then he’s coming, hot, thick pulses spilling into your pulsing pussy as he groans brokenly against your neck. You feel it all, the way his whole body trembles, the way his cock twitches inside you, the warmth of his cum filling you until it leaks out between your thighs in thick, wet streams.

He doesn’t pull out.

Not immediately.

You collapse forward against his chest, gasping, your cunt still fluttering around him, your body barely able to stay upright. Your arms are limp over his shoulders, and his hands are stroking you now, soft again, returning to that tender rhythm even as you tremble in his lap, completely used, completely wrecked.

His breath is warm in your hair. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it go. I’ve got you. I’ve got all of you.”

And you believe him. Because right now, in the hot, messy aftermath, with his cum dripping out of you and your heartbeat tangled with his, you belong to him.

The water has gone still around you. The world has gone quiet.

He strokes your back, his voice low and hoarse against your ear.

“You were perfect,” he murmurs. “You’re still perfect. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Because in his lap, wrapped around his cock, leaking his warmth, held like you’re the only thing that matters in the universe, you’re safe. Ruined. Loved. And utterly his.

Your body is limp in his arms, all nerves reduced to a hum beneath the water, your muscles soft and useless after being wrung out, used, and worshipped. Your cunt still aches with the shape of him, fluttering tenderly with each breath, every subtle shift in the bathwater brushing against the oversensitive flesh and drawing a low, half-conscious shiver from you. You’re sore, soaked, spent, and still he holds you like you’re precious. Like you’re not a mess. Like you’re his.

Mark doesn’t speak, and neither do you. There’s a reverent stillness between you now, one that doesn’t need filling. His hand glides down your back, fingers trailing through the damp strands of your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles between your shoulder blades. You’ve never felt so warm. So held.

And then, gently, he begins to move.

He shifts your weight in his lap until you’re reclining more fully against the solid breadth of his chest, one of his thighs cradling your bent knees beneath the water. You let him move you, pliant and trusting, your breath soft against the side of his throat. When he reaches to the edge of the bath, you hear the faint click of a compartment opening, the small hiss of a seal releasing.

He draws out a fresh cloth, thick and soft, along with a sleek glass vial of oil-slick bath soap. The ship must’ve warmed it automatically, because the scent of lavender and something faintly herbal curls through the air immediately, calming, clean, intimate.

He pours a ribbon of the soap into the water between your bodies, swirling it gently with one hand. The water shifts from crystal clear to a soft cloudy glow, the lather rising in gentle spirals around your skin. Steam curls upward from the bath’s surface, and you sink deeper into him.

“Just relax,” he murmurs near your temple, his voice a low vibration against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, the motion barely a twitch. You’re still trembling slightly, overstimulated in a way that feels raw and exposed, not painful but overwhelming. And yet his touch… his presence... makes it bearable. He begins at your shoulders, soaking the cloth and wringing it out before running it over your skin in slow, reverent passes.

The first swipe sends a shiver through you.

The cloth moves down your collarbones, along your chest, his motions slow and methodical. He doesn’t linger over your breasts, doesn’t tease or gawk, just washes you, thorough and patient, like he’s honoring the aftermath of what your body gave him. Every inch of skin he touches is cleaned with the kind of care that makes your chest ache.

He shifts you slightly, lifting one arm gently out of the water. You let it happen, boneless and quiet, watching the way his hand wraps around your wrist as if you’re something fragile and sacred. He glides the cloth down your arm, over your elbow, to your fingers, one by one.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs suddenly. His lips brush your temple again. 

You flush under the praise, heat blooming in your cheeks even now.

He lifts your other arm, repeating the ritual. Then moves lower, over your sides, your stomach. When he reaches your thighs, he adjusts you again, drawing your legs over his so you’re draped entirely across his lap, your cunt nestled against the warmth of his lower stomach. His hands are large, encompassing. Gentle. You can feel the tension in his muscles beneath you, still there, but he keeps it on a leash.

Then the cloth finds the space between your thighs.

You twitch, gasping softly, your hand tightening in the fabric over his shoulder.

“I know,” he says, voice steady and low. “I’m being gentle.”

And he is. Painstakingly so.

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t invade. Just cleans you, slow and methodical, washing away the thick mix of slick and cum that’s still leaking from you. You feel it float away in the water as he drags the cloth carefully along your folds, over your inner thighs, even the backs of your knees. It’s not erotic. Not exactly. It’s tender, almost overwhelming in its intimacy.

You let out a shaky sigh, and your head falls heavier against his chest. Your eyes start to flutter closed.

“You’re tired,” he murmurs, brushing wet strands from your face. “You don’t have to fight it.”

“M’not,” you mumble, barely intelligible. “Just… warm.”

He smiles against your hair. “You’ll fall asleep if you stay still like that.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “Feels nice.”

His hands continue moving, slower now. Just touches. Tracing patterns into your skin. At some point, he sets the cloth aside and shifts lower in the bath, submerging both of you more fully in the heated water. You’re half-floating now, weightless and cradled in his arms.

You barely register the moment your breathing deepens.

Your fingers slacken where they’d been curled in his chest. Your body goes heavier, fully relaxed now, even your legs unmoving. Your face is pressed to the hollow of his throat, lips parted slightly, lashes damp and fluttering.

Mark exhales slowly, watching you.

His thumb brushes your jaw, then your cheek, the corner of your mouth. He doesn’t wake you. Doesn’t speak.

He just holds you in the quiet, watching steam rise into the air around you as your breathing evens out completely. As you slip under.

And in the stillness of the bath, with your body curled in his arms and your warmth pressed against his chest, Mark closes his eyes.

And lets the world stop.

The water has gone still. You’re asleep, truly asleep now, your breath soft and even, lips parted against the curve of his chest, your bare body draped over him like you were meant to be there. Your limbs are limp, completely relaxed, one arm slung loosely across his stomach. Your skin is warm and dewy from the bath, and the smell of lavender clings to both of you, sweet and calm in the dim blue light.

Mark stays like that for a while.

One hand cradles your back, the other resting just beneath your thigh, fingers brushing the soft curve of you in slow, absent strokes. His eyes are half-lidded, the edge of exhaustion brushing his bones, but he doesn’t move yet. He watches you.

You’ve ruined him. He knows it.

Not just with your body, though that’s certainly carved into him now, the way you feel around him, the way you moaned his name like it meant something bigger than just pleasure. No, it’s more than that. It’s the way you curled into his chest afterward without thinking, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, even when you were too embarrassed to say what you wanted. It's the fact that when he washed you, you let him. Trusted him.

You weren’t supposed to matter like this.

He breathes in deeply through his nose, then exhales slow, watching the ripple of steam curl toward the ceiling.

You’re a warrior. From another world, another throne. You don’t belong here, not on this ship, not tangled up in the complicated grief of a Viltrumite empire trying to pretend it still has a soul. And yet… here you are. In his arms. Breathing softly against his chest, like the weight of the galaxy doesn't reach you when you’re close to him.

‘She’s not mine,’ he tells himself. ‘She’s not staying.’

But gods, it feels like you are.

Eventually, the water cools. Mark moves with care, rising slowly from the bath with you in his arms. You don’t stir. He cradles you against his chest, one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back, your head tucked against his shoulder, hair damp and clinging to his skin.

He carries you through the quiet corridor, feet bare against the metal floor, steam rising from your bodies as he moves. His pants cling to him, still soaked, but he doesn’t care. His shirt is long gone, left in a tangled heap somewhere near the bed or bath or maybe both. It doesn't matter.

Your quarters are dark, the lights dimmed to a warm glow at the edges, and the sheets are still tangled from when he tucked you in earlier with Marky, before all of this began. Before you fell into him like you were always meant to.

He lays you down gently, easing your body into the sheets, pulling the soft blanket up over your waist. You stir just slightly, brows twitching, a soft sound catching in your throat, but then you settle again. Like you know it’s him, even half-asleep.

He hesitates.

He should leave. His pants are soaked, his uniform streaked with sweat and everything else. His body aches, but his mind is worse, buzzing, pulling in too many directions.

But he doesn’t go.

He sits on the edge of the bed first, one hand braced behind him, his head bowed. You shift slightly, and your hand, still barely conscious, brushes his thigh. Like you’re reaching without knowing. And that’s all it takes.

He exhales once, quietly, and slides in beside you.

The sheets are soft against his bare skin. You curl against him without prompting, nestling into his side like you’re drawn to the heat of him even in sleep. Your thigh drapes over his, your cheek finding the spot above his heart, and your hand settles lightly over his ribs.

He stares up at the ceiling for a long time.

And thinks.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’

He’s got a universe to manage. Viltrumites to keep from imploding. Peace to keep on a knife’s edge. His daughter. His son. You? You’re from another world entirely. You have a destiny with your sword and your light and your impossible strength. He’s seen it in your eyes, in the way you don’t look at yourself like you belong in war, even though you fight like you do.

And still…

He looks down at you, at the way your lashes rest against your cheeks, at the bruises he left on your collarbone and neck, faint and fading.

You’ve become something he didn’t expect.

He didn’t plan for you.

And yet the thought of waking up without you in this bed, in his arms, of you slipping away back to Eternia like this was nothing but a passing storm, makes something in his chest twist tight.

You sigh in your sleep, curling closer.

Mark pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders, then lays his arm around your waist, tucking you against him as if that will keep the universe from touching you while you sleep.

Just for tonight, he thinks.

Just for now.

But his fingers tighten gently at your hip, and the thought that follows, quiet, buried deep in the back of his mind, is one he doesn’t say out loud.

‘I hope she doesn’t leave.’

Mark’s eyes are just beginning to grow heavy.

You’re curled into him, your body limp from the bath and everything before it, wrapped in the softness of the sheets and the fading steam still clinging faintly to your skin. One leg drapes over his hip, your arm tucked between your bodies, your head resting on his bare chest like it belongs there. The scent of lavender from the soap still lingers, but underneath it is the raw, unmistakable imprint of what the two of you did, your sweat, his come, the heat of it all still cooling slowly in the quiet dark.

His arm is draped over your waist, holding you close but not tight, his hand splayed across the dip just above your hipbone. His thumb strokes there, absentminded, as if his body hasn’t quite realized the high is over yet.

His eyes close.

And then, Knock knock knock.

The sound is soft. Hesitant. Three light taps. Barely audible through the quiet hush of the quarters.

But it cuts through everything like a blade.

You shift faintly in his arms, letting out a low murmur, your leg twitching across his thigh. You don’t wake, but the sound grazes the edge of your rest, unsettles the peace settling into your bones.

Mark’s eyes snap open.

He listens.

Then, after a pause, a voice comes, small, muffled, barely more than a whisper through the door.

“…Daddy?”

Mark’s stomach drops.

He exhales through his nose, slowly. Carefully, he lifts his arm from around you, moving gently, inch by inch, so he doesn’t disturb you. Your body stirs with the loss of his warmth, brow knitting, but you stay asleep. The soft glow from the corridor spills in through the door’s edges, painting a halo around your silhouette beneath the sheets.

He crosses the room barefoot and shirtless, pants still damp and low on his hips, hair disheveled from steam and sleep. The heat from the bath is fading from his skin, but inside, his heart pounds with something worse than alarm, guilt.

He palms the panel beside the door. The metal slides open with a quiet hiss.

Marky stands there.

Barefoot, sleep-tousled, his oversized nightshirt slipping off one shoulder. He clutches a plush dinosaur against his chest with one arm, and with the other, he’s rubbing his eyes.

He’s not crying, but he looks close.

Mark crouches immediately, instinct overriding everything else. “Hey, bud,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

Marky doesn’t answer right away. His lower lip trembles. His fingers curl tighter into his shirt.

“I woke up.”

Mark nods slowly. “You okay?”

“I… I heard noises.”

Mark stills.

“What kind of noises?” he asks, though he already knows.

The boy looks up at him with wide, dark eyes. “Like thumping. And screaming.”

Mark’s gut twists. His breath catches in his throat.

“I thought—” Marky swallows, voice even smaller now. “I thought she got hurt. She sounded like she was.”

Mark draws in a slow, steadying breath. “She’s not hurt. I promise.”

Marky’s eyes dart to the open doorway, into the room beyond, where your sleeping form is still barely visible under the blanket.

“…Is she mad?”

Mark flinches inwardly. “No. She’s not mad.”

Marky hesitates. “She screamed a lot.”

“I know.” Mark doesn’t try to deflect. He kneels, placing both hands gently on his son’s shoulders. “She’s okay. Really. She’s just tired now.”

The boy looks down at his feet. “I thought she liked me.”

Mark’s heart squeezes. “She does like you. She told me. She said you were smart, and polite, and brave.”

Marky’s head lifts slightly. “Really?”

Mark nods. “Really.”

A pause.

“Can I see her?”

Mark doesn’t even think. He scoops Marky up into his arms, the boy’s small frame tucking instinctively into the crook of his neck, the dinosaur crushed between them. Mark stands, careful not to jostle him, and turns into the room, the door sliding closed behind them with a quiet hiss.

You’re still asleep.

Your body lies half turned toward the doorway, one arm curved beneath the pillow, hair fanned across the sheets, your shoulders bare and kissed by the low gold lighting that glows at the edges of the walls. The blanket clings to your waist, and the marks from earlier, light bruises, faint bite prints, flushed skin, are still visible in the dim light.

But your breathing is soft. Steady. Undisturbed.

“She’s okay,” Mark murmurs.

Marky peers over his shoulder. “She’s really sleeping?”

Mark nods. “You wanna say goodnight?”

The boy nods quickly.

Mark steps closer and kneels beside the bed again, letting Marky lean in. He looks down at you, eyes wide, cautious. Then, slowly, he reaches over and sets his dinosaur down near your hand, tucking the plush gently against your fingers where they rest near the edge of the blanket.

“…Goodnight,” he whispers. “I hope you feel better.”

You stir faintly, your fingers curling around the soft toy in your sleep.

Marky’s smile lights up his whole face.

Mark’s chest aches.

“She likes you,” he says, voice rough around the edges.

Marky looks up at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. And she’s not going anywhere right now.”

The boy nods once, solemn. “Can I stay?”

Mark hesitates only a moment.

Then he shifts, easing Marky onto the far side of the bed. The boy lays down, facing you, one hand still resting gently near yours. He curls onto his side, tucking his knees up, eyes already beginning to flutter closed.

Mark watches him for a long moment, then looks back at you.

You’re still curled on your side, breathing deep, eyelashes fluttering slightly with each exhale. Your fingers still cradle the stuffed dinosaur.

He should leave. He knows he should.

His pants are cold, clinging to him, and his body is still sore in all the best and worst ways. He should clean up. Clear his head. Try to compartmentalize what just happened.

But instead, he steps around the bed, slides under the blanket beside you, and lets it all stay.

You exhale in your sleep, and your body shifts instinctively, your bare back pressing into his chest like it knows he’s there even unconscious.

And Mark, the Emperor, the father, the mess of a man trying to hold too many pieces together, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Just for a minute.

Just to stay.

The room hums in silence, broken only by breath and the low, constant murmur of the ship’s environmental systems. It’s warm. Dim. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.

Mark lies on his side, shirtless beneath the blanket, his arm stretched across your waist. Your back is pressed to his chest, your body soft and warm where it molds into him, one leg curled over his, the other tucked beneath the sheets. Your breath is steady. Rhythmic. Your face is turned into the pillow, one hand loosely cradled around the stuffed dinosaur Marky had brought in with him.

Marky sleeps beside you now, nestled against your front, his small body curved naturally into yours like he was made to fit there. His cheek rests on your arm, his tiny fist balled up near your collarbone, the edge of the blanket pulled up over his shoulder by Mark’s hand before he’d settled in.

Mark lies behind you, holding both of you in place.

But his eyes don’t close.

He’s still.

His mind isn’t.

He’s had people in his bed beforeto, o many, probably. He's been held, and he’s held others. He’s felt bodies against him, has taken comfort in closeness, even in chaos. But this… this is different.

Because this hasn’t even been a day.

He met you yesterday.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, you stepped off a winged beast with wings, wearing armor that didn’t shine, it warned. You weren’t like the other envoys. You didn’t smile, didn’t posture. You didn’t flirt or flatter. You didn’t try to charm him. You introduced yourself like it was a formality and watched the ship’s interior like you were measuring it for weaknesses.

You walked like a soldier. Talked like one too. Straight-backed, quiet, all mission. No nonsense.

And now you’re here.

Asleep. Soft. Tangled in the sheets of his bed. His son curled in your arms like he’s always belonged there.

It doesn’t make sense.

Mark stares at the back of your neck, watching the slow flutter of your pulse beneath your skin. He can still feel where your body held him. The ghost of your moans still echoes behind his ears, low and trembling and real. Not practiced. Not performative. Every second of it was new for you, and you didn’t hide it.

You told him you didn’t do this. That this was different. That he was.

And it should terrify him.

Because he barely knows you.

He doesn’t know how you take your coffee. Doesn’t know what music you like, or if you even listen to any. He doesn’t know how you laugh. He’s never seen you drunk, or angry, or grieving. Doesn’t know your middle name. Doesn’t know your favorite memory, or what Eternia looks like when it rains. He doesn’t know what scares you, or what you’ve lost.

But he knows the sound you make when you’re coming.

He knows how you kiss when you’re trying not to cry. How your fingers tremble when they clutch the sheets. How your body fits against his like the space was always meant for you. He knows the sound of your voice when it’s stripped of all armor, when it’s just you, whispering that you wanted him to be the first.

He knows how carefully you touched Marky when you spoke to him, how you crouched beside him, kept your voice gentle, even when you didn’t have to.

He knows you didn’t have to allow him into your bed tonight. That it wasn’t power. Or duty. Or strategy.

That it was choice.

And that terrifies him more than anything else.

Because if this means nothing, he’s already gone too deep. And if it means something? If you mean something?

Then what the fuck does he do next?

Mark tightens his arm around your waist just slightly, anchoring himself to the feeling of your body beneath his hand. He watches the way your spine rises and falls with each breath. The little twitch of your fingers against Marky’s stuffed toy. You’re not afraid in your sleep. You’re not tense.

You’re at peace.

With him.

He wonders if you’ve had that, lately. If you’ve ever had it. Or if it’s as new for you as it is for him.

His gaze shifts over you and lands on Marky. The boy’s breathing is slow and even, his brow smooth, his tiny mouth parted slightly in sleep. His hand is still tucked against your chest, touching you in the same way he does to Mark when he needs comfort and isn’t awake enough to ask for it.

Mark’s throat tightens.

This shouldn’t feel like something complete. Like something full. You’ve only just arrived. You’ve known each other for a blink. But already, his son trusts you enough to curl into your arms. Already, he wants to wrap you in his.

And for all the cold, brutal things Mark’s seen in his life… this?

This is the thing that makes his chest ache.

He presses his forehead lightly to the back of your shoulder, closing his eyes.

He’s never believed in fate. Not really. He’s seen too many people bleed out on the wrong side of fate to trust it. But tonight, holding both of you in the low warmth of this ship, his son against your chest, your body molded to his, the smell of your skin still sweet in the sheets, he wonders if maybe… just maybe, fate brought you to him.

Even if it’s only for one night.

Even if everything else burns tomorrow.

He’ll remember this.

And slowly, finally, with your body soft against his and Marky’s slow breathing filling the space between you, Mark Grayson, Emperor, warrior, father, man, lets himself drift.

And sleeps.

✮♛ ♚✮⋆˙

taglist is OPEN. drop a comment in the replies if you wanna be tagged in future updates.

@saturnalya / @liliesclouds / @maki-ki / @isnt-itstrange / @camilo-uwu / @noxiousness-obnay / @ketsuekiakane / @nympheagain / @verysynical / @gvre / @cookiemonsterboss / @weirdstartshere / @wifeofmarkgrayson / @pixviee / @sugawoonie / @uselesstutor09 / @monaekelis / @tr3nzit444s / @mikevi / @the-good-kooshe / @moraxussy / @ladynoirx321 / @just-a-harmless-patato

[inkbyme]

Hi if you’re taking requests could you do the Mha boys accidentally hurting reader during training, and they have to go to recovery girl? If not that’s ok!

₊˚ෆ MHA Characters When They Hurt You During Training ₊˚ෆ

Featuring: Izuku Midoriya ✧ Katsuki Bakugo ✧ Eijirou Kirishima ✧ Shouta Aizawa ✧ Hanta Sero ✧ Hawks ✧ Tenya Iida ✧ Shoto Todoroki ✧ Denki Kaminari

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

When training gets a little too real—here’s how the MHA boys handle accidentally hurting the one they love. Expect guilt, chaos, and soft apologies wrapped in bandages.

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Izuku Midoriya

• He immediately freezes the second you go down. You barely have time to say “I’m okay” before he’s already at your side, eyes wide and filled with panic.

• “I—I didn’t mean to hit you! That wasn’t aimed for—oh god, I’m so sorry!”

• He’s practically vibrating with nerves the whole walk to Recovery Girl, clinging to your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him from spiraling.

• After you’re treated, he won’t stop apologizing.

• “You trusted me and I hurt you… I’ll never forgive myself for that. You’re supposed to be safe with me.”

• He ends up writing out a training safety plan the next day, color-coded and everything.

⸻

Katsuki Bakugo

• He hears the thud of your body hitting the ground and goes stone still.

• The moment he realizes it was his explosion that knocked you back too hard, his heart plummets.

• “Shit—Y/n—dammit, I wasn’t aiming for you! You weren’t supposed to dodge that way!”

• He scoops you up and runs to Recovery Girl, refusing to let anyone else touch you.

• Once you’re patched up, he stands in the corner of the room with his fists clenched, looking like a kicked puppy.

• “I don’t lose control. I never lose control. But I did… and I hurt you.”

• Later, he mutters a soft, “Won’t happen again. Promise.” with his forehead resting lightly against yours.

⸻

Eijirou Kirishima

• The moment your body flies back and lands wrong, he’s sprinting toward you. His weapon drops. Nothing else matters.

• “No, no, no—please tell me I didn’t do that. Y/n? Can you hear me?”

• He carries you bridal style straight to Recovery Girl while panicking aloud the whole way.

• “I pushed too hard, didn’t I? I wasn’t paying attention to your stance—I should’ve noticed you were off-balance!”

• He stays beside you the entire time you’re being healed, apologizing and holding your hand.

• Later, he says: “I wanna be strong—but not at the cost of hurting you. That’s not manly at all.”

⸻

Shouta Aizawa

• He’s usually hyper-aware of his surroundings, especially when you’re around. But during a fast-paced spar, one of his binding maneuvers ends with you slammed harder than intended into the mat.

• He doesn’t panic—yet. He crouches beside you instantly, hands steady, but his voice is low and tight.

• “Don’t move. Let me see what I did.”

• As soon as he confirms it’s not life-threatening, he quietly scoops you up and carries you to Recovery Girl. Not a word spoken during the walk. But you can feel his grip trembling.

• Once you’re healed, he stays seated beside your bed, arms crossed, face unreadable.

• “This is why I don’t get close to people.”

• He finally looks at you—tired, vulnerable. “I train people to survive, not to break them. I should’ve known my limits when it’s you.”

• Later, he makes you promise to call him out next time you even feel pushed too hard. It’s not bossy—it’s fear disguised as authority.

⸻

Hanta Sero

• Training was all fun and games—until his tape accidentally yanked your ankle mid-jump, sending you crashing down hard.

• He panics immediately, bolting to your side like he just broke something priceless.

• “Oh my god—Y/n?! That wasn’t supposed to happen—I thought you’d dodge!”

• He carries you straight to Recovery Girl, rambling apologies the whole way.

• “I swear I didn’t mean to pull that hard—please don’t hate me, I’m such an idiot—”

• Once you’re patched up, he’s unusually quiet, guilt all over his face.

• “I mess around a lot, but this? Hurting you? That’s not okay. You matter too much.”

• He later sends you 27 memes and a handwritten apology with a stick figure drawing of himself getting tape-slapped.

⸻

Hawks

• He was being cocky, zipping around you with his wings mid-training, showing off. Then one feather veered wrong—too sharp, too fast.

• You flinch as it slices across your arm. Blood. A lot more than either of you expected.

• His heart drops.

• “Oh no. Baby, no no no— I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—dammit, I thought I had perfect control—”

• He immediately bundles you in his wings and books it to Recovery Girl, panic fully kicking in.

• “I’ve done missions in the sky under gunfire and still kept control. Why is it the one time I let loose around you, I mess up?”

• He can’t sit still while you’re being treated. He keeps trying to crack jokes, but his voice cracks too.

• When you’re stable, he sits beside you, voice soft. “I move too fast sometimes… Forget that the people I care about don’t have wings like I do.”

• He presses a kiss to your bandaged arm. “I’ll slow down for you. Every time. Just say the word.”

⸻

Tenya Iida

• The second he sees you knocked down by one of his high-speed moves, he skids to a halt so fast he nearly crashes.

• He’s already at your side, rattling off injury protocols and doing everything by the book—except his voice is shaking.

• “I was reckless! I should’ve adjusted my path! I’m so sorry, that was entirely my fault!”

• He insists on carrying you to Recovery Girl himself.

• While you’re being healed, he keeps pacing back and forth, muttering about how this was “a disgraceful lapse in control.”

• Once you’re okay, he bows so deep it’s dramatic. “I promise to train even harder to ensure this never happens again.”

⸻

Shoto Todoroki

• When you drop from the blast of his ice wall, he immediately rushes over, his calm face cracking just slightly.

• “That wasn’t meant to hit you. I misjudged your position—I didn’t calculate the ricochet.”

• He picks you up so gently, like you might break if he moves wrong again.

• During the healing, he stands silently nearby, but his eyes never leave you.

• “I don’t let my power hurt the people I love. I failed at that today.”

• Later, he asks to redo the whole exercise—with roles reversed, so you can be the attacker. “If I can’t protect you, I want you to know how to take me down.”

⸻

Denki Kaminari

• He fires off one of his electricity blasts as a joke mid-spar—and accidentally zaps you square in the shoulder.

• His face drains of color as you drop to your knees with a pained gasp.

• “OH MY GOD—WAIT, I DIDN’T—CRAP—I THOUGHT YOU MOVED!”

• He practically short-circuits himself trying to get you to Recovery Girl.

• While you’re being treated, he’s holding ice to his own face because he slapped himself in panic.

• “You’re never training with dumbass-me again. I’ll just stand there and cheer. Like emotional support.”

Thank you so much for sending this in! It was such a cool request to write. Hope it hits you right in the feels like you wanted!

Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post. I hope you enjoyed reading this!

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[solxamber]

Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

[fuddaround]

HOME › paige bueckers x fem!reader

⌗ summary : paige makes sure to see her ex girlfriend one last time before leaving for dallas.

⌗ warnings : mentions of other people, arguing, toxic, cunnilingus, slut shaming, slapping, strap-on (r!receiving), degrading.

⌗ word count : 4.5k

⌗ kay’s notes : pazzi one is coming trust😓

you’re still fixing your shorts when the front door opens.

no knock. no heads up. just unlocked and walked the fuck in.

you freeze in the hallway, half-dressed, barely done saying bye to the girl who just gave you the worst head you’d had in weeks—and there she is.

paige fucking bueckers.

standing in your doorway like she lives there.

her eyes flick from you to the girl behind you. the one adjusting her top, all flustered and confused, like she just walked into some shit she shouldn’t be a part of.

“oh,” paige says. flat. emotionless. “you’ve been busy.”

you don’t answer.

you’re too busy trying not to argue with her right there.

the girl mumbles something awkward, grabs her phone off the table, and slips past paige without even looking at her. the door shuts soft behind her.

then it’s just you and paige.

your heart’s still racing. your lips still swollen. and she’s just standing there with that look on her face.

arms crossed. jaw locked. eyes burning.

“you fucked her,” she says.

“you’re leaving,” you shoot back.

wrong move. her eyebrow lifts.

“you know damn well that’s not the same thing.”

you roll your eyes. grab your water off the counter like you’re not shaking inside.

“you didn’t call. didn’t text. didn’t say shit. what, you thought i was gonna sit around and wait for you to come crawling back?”

she steps closer.

“i wasn’t gonna come crawling.”

“clearly.”

you both stare at each other for a second too long. it’s heavy. old.

you’re both breathing hard. and not because of the girl who just left.

“why are you here, paige?”

“you know why.”

you snort. look away. sip your water even though your throat’s dry as it possibly be could be.

“what, one last fuck before you go play house in texas?”

“nah,” she says. “i wanted to see if you’d say that shit to my face.”

you look back at her. and there it is.

that look.

the one that used to make you fold mid-argument and drop to your knees without a second thought.

you hate how fast your body remembers.

she notices. of course she does.

“did she make you cum?” paige asks, voice low. loaded.

you don’t answer.

“nah,” she smirks. “she didn’t. you’re still wound up. i can see it.”

“fuck you.”

“you tried.”

you slam your cup down. too hard. water splashes onto the counter.

“get out.”

she doesn’t move.

just watches you. eyes soft now. like she knows she’s already won.

“i’m not here to fight, baby.”

“then what are you here for?”

she walks over. real slow. stops in front of you, close enough to feel her breath.

“you already said it.”

you don’t even realize you’re shaking ‘til she touches you.

thumb brushing your jaw. hand sliding into your hair. soft, but not gentle.

never gentle.

“one more,” she says. voice barely above a whisper. “then i’ll go.”

you swallow.

“one more fuck, and you leave for real?”

“if that’s what you want.”

you stare at her. chest tight. throat burning.

because you don’t want her to go. and you hate yourself for that.

but you nod anyway.

because you do want her.

and she knows it.

her hands are on your hips before you can blink.

strong, sure. like she’s done this a thousand times. probably with a thousand girls.

she lifts you up like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing without her, and sets you on the kitchen counter. hard enough to make the cabinets rattle.

your thighs spread on instinct.

and she steps between them like she never stopped belonging there.

you don’t say anything.

just breathe hard as her hands slide under your ass, squeezing until you whine into her. its like she’s pissed that someone else got to touch you. taste you. fuck you.

her mouth crashes into yours, all tongue and teeth and heat. you kiss her back just as rough. desperate. angry. dizzy from the way her lips move like punishment.

she pulls back, breathing heavy, lips slick with spit.

“so,” she says. low. dangerous. “you let that bitch fuck you on our couch?”

you look away. jaw clenched.

wrong move.

her hand snaps up. grabs your chin. not hard, but enough to make you face her.

“answer me, baby. use your words.”

you blink at her. your whole body’s on fire.

“yeah.”

she smirks. slow. mean.

“that’s crazy.”

her fingers trail down, brushing the hem of your shorts.

“you ride her face?”

you flinch.

“paige—”

“nah, mama. don’t start actin’ shy now. you looked real bold when she was zipping up her jeans. so go ahead. tell me what you let her do.”

you squirm. her fingers press harder. not inside, not yet. just enough pressure to make you feel every damn word.

“she ate me out.”

“how long?”

you breathe through your nose. feel your pulse in your throat.

“not long.”

“yeah,” paige scoffs. “figured. probably didn’t even know how to hold your thighs right. probably had my girl so uncomfortable.”

you bite your lip.

she leans in, mouth brushing your jaw.

“did you cum?”

you don’t answer fast enough.

she slides one hand into your waistband. knuckles pressing into your pussy. not moving, just sitting there.

“did you cum, baby?”

“no.”

“fucking knew it.”

she kisses your neck. bites it.

“she ever make you beg?”

“no.”

“make you cry?”

“no.”

“make you say please like a good fuckin’ girl?”

you shake your head, eyes glassy.

paige grins.

“thought so.”

then her fingers slip under your shorts completely.

no panties again.

“damn, ma,” she breathes. “you’re so fuckin wet.”

you gasp when her thumb finds your clit, already swollen and aching.

“see what happens when you stop fuckin around and let me handle it?” she murmurs, dragging her mouth along your collarbone. “pussy’s throbbin for me.”

her fingers slide lower. she teases your entrance. just circling. not giving in yet.

“you gonna let her see you like this again?”

“no.”

“you moan for her like this?”

“no.”

“you save it all f’me, huh?”

you nod. frantic.

“say it.”

“saved it for you.”

“that’s right, baby. my pussy.”

her fingers push in slow.

and your whole body folds into her.

she shoves her fingers in deeper. slow at first. deep. steady. then rough.

your hips jerk. you choke on a moan. her hand grips your throat, light but warning.

“keep fuckin still.”

you nod, trying. but she curls her fingers just right and your body bucks.

“needy ass bitch.” her voice drops. full of heat. venom. love. “you let someone else warm me up? really, baby?”

you gasp.

she slaps your tit. quick. sharp.

your back arches off the counter.

“answer me.”

“i—i didn’t mean to—”

“nah,” she spits. “you meant to.” her fingers slam into you harder. your thighs shake. you claw at the counter.

“you wanted someone to touch you,” she growls. “you just picked wrong.”

“paige, fuck—”

she slaps your other tit. watches it bounce.

smirks.

“look at you. such a fuckin mess for me.” her thumb finds your clit again. circles slow.

“you like that? huh?”

you nod.

“yeah, you do. such a slut, aren’t you? sittin here drippin like you didn’t just cum for someone else.”

“i didn’t—i didn’t cum—”

“damn,” she laughs. dark.

“you let her eat you out and you didn’t cum?”

you shake your head. tears welling.

“then why the fuck you let her touch what’s mine?”

you don’t know what to say. you don’t even care.

“you wanted to feel something,” she mutters. “but this the only thing that ever made you feel, huh?”

she thrusts deeper. faster. you scream.

her hand claps over your mouth.

“shut up.”

your eyes roll. you nod.

“that’s right. take it.” her fingers keep going. relentless. you’re so close it hurts.

“gonna cum?” she asks.

you nod, frantic.

she pulls out.

you whimper.

“aww,” she mocks. “poor baby.” she taps your clit. soft and taunting. your legs tremble.

“you don’t get to cum yet.” slaps your pussy. just once. you jolt.

“slut.”

you bite your lip. sob.

she pushes her fingers back in. slower this time.

but deeper. crueler.

“you know why i do this?”

you blink up at her. lost. wrecked.

“’cause nobody else can.” she kisses your jaw. your ear. “nobody else will.”

you moan. desperate.

she licks your neck. grins against your skin.

“you gonna cum for me now, baby?”

you nod. crying. grinding against her hand.

“you better make a mess.” her voice is thick. rough. serious. “i want it on my fuckin fingers. on the counter. everywhere.”

you cum hard. loud. shaking. clenching around her like your body was waiting for this all damn week.

and she doesn’t stop. she fucks you through it, hand tight on your throat. your eyes flutter. body going limp.

“my nasty little whore,” she whispers. “always knew how to make a scene.”

you’re still shaking when she pulls her fingers out.

slow. wet. dripping.

she kisses your forehead, soft and warm.

too gentle for how she just ruined you.

then she picks you up. arms under your thighs, chest to chest. like you don’t weigh a thing.

you bury your face in her neck. you’re still twitching. still soaked. she smells like sin and safety.

“you good, baby?” she murmurs.

you nod against her skin.

“words.”

“yeah,” you whisper. “i’m good.”

she carries you into the bedroom. lays you down easy. like you’re breakable.

paige brushes your hair back. kisses your cheek.

lets you breathe. lets you settle. then sits on the edge of the bed, hand on your thigh.

“what’s the color?” she asks.

you blink up at her. already floating.

“green.”

“you sure?”

you nod, “green, mama.”

her jaw tightens like she’s proud and she’s starving.

“you want more?”

you nod again, “please.”

she leans down, kisses your mouth slow, “good girl.”

she kisses you once more. then stands up, eyes raking down your body like she’s starving.

“look at you,” she says. low. thick. filthy. “laid out for me like. i only wanna see you like this for me.”

her fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts.

pulls ‘em down slow. slow like punishment.

her eyes never leave yours. not even when she drops to her knees.

“this body?” she mutters. “this shit’s only mine, mama.”

your thighs spread on instinct. she licks her lips.

“fuck,” she whispers. “you’re so pretty when you’re ruined.” kisses your inner thigh.

“bet she didn’t even look at you like this.”

a kiss higher.

then a bite.

you gasp.

“bet she didn’t worship this pussy.”

her tongue presses to your clit, light. a tease. a warning.

you whimper.

she pulls back. grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

then she devours you.

mouth locked. tongue ruthless. not sweet. not soft. just raw.

she eats you like she’s pissed. like she needs to make you forget anyone else ever existed.

your hips jerk. she throws her arm over your stomach. holds you down.

“don’t run, baby. take it.”

her tongue circles, flicks, drags over your clit.

you’re already shaking. already crying.

she moans into you. moans. like she’s the one getting off.

“fuck, ma,” she breathes. “tastes like you missed me.”

you grab at her hair, mind gone.

“she didn’t even know what to do with this, did she?” another slow lick.

you sob.

“you let her try?” she spits on your pussy. sloppy. filthy. rubs it in with her tongue.

“but you saved this mess for me.”

your thighs close around her head. she slaps the inside of your leg.

“open.”

“yeah. that’s it, mama. let me ruin you.”

she starts sucking your clit. hard. wet. relentless. no rhythm. just chaos.

you’re already close. too close. you cum with a scream. loud. raw.

but she doesn’t stop. just keeps licking. teasing. working her fingers in now. slow. two deep.

you cry out. your whole body jolts.

“one’s not enough,” she mutters. “this pussy’s just so greedy, huh?”

you nod. crying. shaking.

“fuckin perfect. all of it.” she kisses your stomach. your hip. then goes right back to sucking your clit while her fingers curl inside you.

you cum again. it rips out of you. like your body’s got no choice.

she still doesn’t stop. over and over.

“you’ll never let anyone else touch you again,” she growls. tongue dragging down. “they don’t deserve you.”

you try to pull away. she grabs your thighs. pulls you back to her mouth.

“don’t you dare.” she slaps your pussy again, making you cry out.

“take it, slut.” she grinds her tongue into you. you’re soaked. ruined. gone.

“my mess. my girl. my fuckin pussy.” each word is a followed with a kiss. a thrust. a claim.

“say it.”

you sob, “yours.”

“louder.”

“yours.”

she kisses your clit one more time. soft, like a thank you.

and you collapse. eyes fluttering. body twitching. completely gone.

you’re still shaking when she climbs off the bed.

your thighs glistening. twitching. pussy pulsing.

you whimper when she moves away. voice all broken. soft.

“where—where are you going?”

paige smirks. glances over her shoulder.

walks to your drawer. her drawer. where the strap’s already waiting.

“calm down, baby,” she mutters, digging it out.

“actin like i’m not about to ruin you again.”

your breath catches. eyes wide. pupils blown.

“but i want you now,” you whine, so soft. so sweet.

she raises a brow.

“oh, now you want me?” straps it on slow. cock heavy, mean-looking. snug against her hips.

you nod, lip trembling. “please.”

she chuckles. low. condescending.

“you don’t even know what you’re beggin for.”

walks back over. lazy. cocky. like she’s got all night to break you.

you spread your legs, still leaking.

“look at you,” she mutters. grabs your hips, flips you over. you yelp.

she presses your face to the mattress.

“needy fuckin brat.” spits on her hand. strokes the strap. lines it up with your soaked pussy.

“you sure you can take it, mama?”

you nod. whiny again, “please, i need it.”

“oh, you need it?” she leans down. mouth by your ear. grinds the tip against you. not in. just teasing.

“say that shit again.”

“i need it. i need you. please, paige—”

that’s all she needed.

she pushes in slow.

you gasp. arch.

she grabs your waist, pulls you back onto it.

buries it deep.

“there you go,” she growls. “take it. just like that.”

you’re already moaning. can’t help it.

“f-fuck, it’s big—”

she laughs. dark. “nah, ma. you’re just tight. ain’t been fucked right in a minute, huh?”

you whine. nod into the sheets.

she starts thrusting. slow at first. deep. rough. her hips smack your ass, rhythm mean.

you’re sobbing again. back arching.

“what happened to all that shit you were talkin earlier?” a slap to your ass. sharp.

you cry out.

“you was bold when she had her tongue in you.”

another slap, “now you’re just my whiny little slut again.”

“i am—i’m yours—”

she grabs your hair. yanks your head back.

bends over you.

“say it like you fuckin mean it.”

“i’m yours,” you cry. “all yours. nobody else—”

“that’s right.” she lets go. slams her hips in harder.

“this pussy’s mine. this body’s mine. this fuckin mouth—” leans down, kisses the side of your face.

“mine.”

you’re clenching around her. it’s too much.

you can’t stop whining.

“shhh, baby,” she coos. mocking. gentle. fucks you through every moan.

“you wanted this. remember?” drives it in deep. holds it there. you scream.

“you fuckin asked for this.” pulls out. slams back in.

your legs give out.

she grabs your waist, holds you up. makes you take it.

you’re babbling. nonsense. praise. desperate apologies.

“you look so pretty like this,” she mutters.

“gettin fucked dumb. can’t even think straight.”

you sob. eyes rolled back.

she slows, just a little and rubs your lower back.

“you good, mama?”

you nod. barely conscious.

she kisses your shoulder. then starts up again.

paige slows down just to watch it. her hands spread across your ass, big and possessive. thumbs pressing into the dimples on your lower back.

“god damn, baby.” she moans like she’s the one getting fucked. like your ass alone could get her off.

grinds her hips into you, slow and deep. drags the strap all the way out just to slam it back in. your whole body jolts forward with the impact.

she stares down, eyes glassy. obsessed. you’re leaking down your thighs. ass flushed, moving with every thrust.

“look at this fuckin ass,” she breathes. rakes her nails down your sides.

you whimper, barely holding yourself up.

she smacks it. loud. sharp. the sound bounces off the walls.

you moan like it’s your name.

“you know how long i missed this shit?” another slap. harder. she grabs both cheeks after, spreads you wide.

“nobody else gets this view,” she mutters. “nobody else even deserves it.”

your face is buried in the sheets, crying, ruined.

“you been walkin around actin like this ass don’t belong to me,” she says. starts fucking you harder. deep, cruel strokes.

“but i know it does.” she’s panting. voice cracked.

you’re babbling again, sobbing into the bed.

“you hear that?” slap. grind. thrust. “that’s mine, mama.”

her hands stay on your ass. one gripping, the other slapping. then both squeeze hard enough to bruise.

you whimper into the sheets, “too much—”

she grabs your hips. yanks you back. the strap drives in deeper than before.

“don’t care.” her voice drops. deadly calm. “you wanted me, remember?”

you nod. choking on your moans.

“wanted to fuck one more time before i leave.” another hard thrust. your legs almost give out.

“this what you wanted, right?” she pulls out. slaps your pussy with the tip.

you sob.

“answer me, slut.”

“yes—fuck—yes.”

“yeah you did.” she slams back in.

you scream.

“nobody ever gonna fuck you like this again.”

her hands trail up. grabs your tits from behind. pinches your nipples.

“not like me.” she bites your shoulder.

you shiver. melt.

“they don’t know this body. and won’t ever knownit like i do.” her hand reaches down. rubs your clit slow while she fucks into you hard. over and over. like she wants to imprint herself inside you.

“you know why you keep lettin me back in?”

her voice is ragged. desperate.

you shake your head. can’t even speak.

“’cause this pussy belongs to me.” she leans forward, cock buried deep. grinds into you. you feel her everywhere.

“this ass—” grabs it again, spreads you wider “all mine.”

you’re losing it. legs twitching. body soaked.

she starts fucking you faster. rough. hard. unrelenting. her hips slamming into your ass like she wants to live there.

“cum for me,” she growls. “make a mess all over my cock.”

you try. you fight it.

she slaps your clit. just once.

you explode. scream into the sheets. body collapsing.

she doesn’t stop.

“that’s my girl.” thrusts slow now. deep. lets you feel every inch.

“fucked dumb. used up. perfect.”

you can’t move. can’t breathe.

she finally slows. pulls out. watches your hole twitch. open. dripping.

“so so beautiful,” she whispers.

she leans down. kisses the small of your back.

“you still mine, baby?”

you nod into the mattress, “always.”

she lays over you, still in the strap. lets you feel her weight. mouth against your spine.

“my good girl.”

you’re still shaking when she rolls onto her back.

chest rising slow. cock still strapped in, glistening with you. hands behind her head. eyes smug.

“come sit, mama.” voice low. taunting. like she didn’t just break you for the billionth time.

you blink down at her. ruined. but something in you switches. snaps.

you crawl up. slow. straddle her waist. reach back and grab the strap.

her brows raise, “you got more in you, huh?”

you line it up. sink down. both of you gasp.

“fuck,” you whisper.

“yeah,” she grins. “that’s it.”

you start to move. hips grinding slow.

she doesn’t touch you yet. just watches.

“look at you,” she mutters, “bouncin on my dick like you ain’t just get your soul snatched.”

you roll your eyes, “you act like you’re the only one who knows how to fuck.”

she laughs. smug, “prove me wrong then.”

you start riding harder. hands on her chest, using her for balance.

“don’t worry,” you pant. “i will.”

she reaches up, grabs your tits. squeezes. plays with them, “these still mine too?”

you slap her hands away, “you wish.”

she grabs them again anyway. harder.

“nah, mama. they always been mine.” leans up, mouths at one. sucks hard. you moan, grind down rough.

“you’re so cocky for someone i made cry like a lil bitch ten minutes ago.” she pulls off your tit with a pop. smirks. “you’re still crying.”

you are. you don’t care. you’re still fucking yourself on her.

“maybe ‘cause you talk too fuckin much.” you dig your nails into her chest.

she laughs again. cocky. feral.

“keep runnin your mouth, baby. all you do is prove how much you love this dick.” she grabs your hips now. helps you grind. just to watch your face crumble.

you try to stay mean. but it’s too much. she’s too deep.

you stutter out a moan. hips slowing.

“tired already?” she taunts. “thought you had somethin to prove.”

“shut up,” you breathe.

“make me.”

you lean down. kiss her hard. bite her lip.

she moans into your mouth. hands still on your tits. still playing. like they’re hers.

“fuck, ma,” she groans. “this pussy was made for me.”

you bounce harder. faster. chasing it now.

“you ain’t shit without me,” she whispers. “just some messy lil slut that needs my dick to feel whole.”

you hold onto her chest, “and you ain’t ever gonna fuckin leave me alone.”

she grins. wild. possessive.

“never.” her thumb finds your clit. circles it.

you gasp.

“you’re mine, mama. all of you.”

you start falling apart again.

body jerking. mouth open.

“cum on it,” she growls. “right now. let me feel it.”

you do. hard. violent. you scream her name, claw her biceps.

she grabs your ass while you’re twitching.

presses you down. keeps you there.

“fuckin knew it,” she whispers. “can’t fuckin leave me.”

you collapse on her chest. shaking. wet.

“i hate you,” you mumble. voice hoarse.

she kisses your temple. “i know, baby.” grins. “i hate you too.”

you’re still on her. chest to chest. breath ragged.

cock still buried deep inside you.

she’s got one hand on your ass, squeezing. other in your hair. but you’re glaring.

“so who the fuck was that girl?” your voice is cracked. still breathless, but angry now.

paige blinks. scoffs.

here we go.

“seriously?” grips your waist tighter. ruts her hips up once. sharp.

you moan. slap her shoulder.

“don’t fuckin dodge it, bueckers.”

she laughs under her breath. that condescending one.

“you were literally getting fucked when i walked in.” another thrust. deeper. “and you’re seriously worried about me?”

you flinch. gasp. but you don’t stop riding. if anything, you slam down harder.

“you didn’t look bothered,” you spit. “walked in like you still owned the place.”

“i do have a key still.” her voice is flat. eyes sharp.

you grip her shoulders, nails digging in.

“you fuck her?”

she grinds up into you slow. smirks, “you want the truth?”

you hesitate.

she leans up. mouth to your ear. thrusts slow, brutal.

“nah. i didn’t. but i could’ve.”

your whole body tenses.

“fuck you.” you start riding again. angry. fast.

she groans. loves it.

“you’re so full of shit,” she mutters, palming your tits again, rough.

“actin jealous while this pussy’s still mine.”

“you don’t own me.” you’re breathless. grinding hard.

“nah?” she sits up. wraps her arms around you.

starts fucking up into you, rough now.

“then why you still let me in here?” kisses your jaw. your neck.

you moan, try to pull away.

“why you still let me fuck you like this?” bites your collarbone.

“because i love you, dumbass!”

that makes her pause.

just for a second.

then she slams up into you again.

you cry out. nails in her back.

“say that shit again.” her voice is low. cracked.

“i love you.” you’re sobbing. grinding on her like you need it to breathe.

she groans. throws her head back.

“fuck, mama.” hands on your ass again, bouncing you.

“you love me like this?”

slams up harder.

you nod. gasping.

“you love me when i fuck you like i hate you?”

another thrust. mean. deep.

“when i own you?”

you sob out a yes.

“you love me when i’m a fuckin problem?”

“always,” you cry. “always, paige.”

she pulls you down. kisses you hard. all teeth and tongue.

“mine,” she growls. “mine forever.”

you fall apart in her arms again. crying into her mouth. clenching around her.

“say it back,” she demands.

“yours,” you breathe. “always yours.”

she fucks you through it. slow now. deep. possessive.

“i love you.” she whispers as she kisses your neck. “don’t ever forget it.”

she wipes you down with your favorite towel.

the one she bought you. kisses your thighs like an apology she’ll never say out loud.

wraps you in her arms after, still naked.

still inside the mess of it. you’re both quiet. just breathing.

“i’m gonna fuckin miss you,” you whisper.

barely more than a breath.

she pulls you closer.

“i never stopped.”

you blink.

“what?”

“missin you,” she mumbles, lips against your shoulder, “even when i was right here.”

you turn to face her, press your forehead to hers.

“don’t be soft now,” you whisper. smile cracked, eyes glossy.

she shrugs, “too late.”

you kiss her. slow. tired.

she stays the night, arm over your waist, face buried in your neck. you both pretend it doesn’t hurt. just for a little longer.

© fuddaround

[odilesgrimoire]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

Bakugo doesn’t notice it at first.

Not until one morning, when he walks into class and sees you sitting at your desk, head resting on your arms. You look tired. More than usual. Dark circles under your eyes, the slight puffiness, like you had been crying.

Something twists in his chest. He likes it.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you like this, vulnerable, affected, satisfies something deep inside him. It means you still care. That even if you’ve been ignoring him, even if you’ve been acting like you’re fine, you aren’t.

And that means… you haven’t moved on.

The thought settles in his mind, dark and selfish. He should feel guilty. Should feel bad that you’re clearly hurting.

But instead, he feels something close to relief.

Because it means you still think about him. That even after everything, he is still the one lingering in your mind. Not anyone else.

Him.

And for now, that’s enough.

But then—

"Are you okay?"

Midoriya’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

Bakugo watches, eyes narrowing, as Midoriya crouches beside your desk. His brows are furrowed in concern, his voice soft, too soft. And you? You look up at him, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just didn’t sleep well."

Liar.

Midoriya doesn’t believe it either. He pulls something out of his bag, his notebook. "Here, I copied the notes from yesterday. You missed a lot."

You blink, surprised. Then, a genuine smile blooms across your face.

And Bakugo hates that.

Hates the way Midoriya makes you smile. Hates the way he’s looking at you, like you’re precious. Hates that you’re letting him.

It doesn’t stop there.

At lunch, you sit with Midoriya and the others instead of the usual squad. Bakugo doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Except he can hear you laughing. Can see the way Midoriya nudges your tray closer when you barely touch your food. Can see how you lean into him when he whispers something to you.

And worst of all, he sees the way Midoriya looks at you.

It’s the same way you used to look at him.

The rumors start soon after.

"Did you hear? Midoriya might like her"

"I mean, have you seen them lately? They’re always together."

"Honestly… kinda cute, don’t you think?"

The words slip through the classroom like a slow-moving poison.

Bakugo isn’t even trying to listen, but the whispers reach him anyway, each one pressing into his skull like a dull, persistent ache.

His fingers twitch. Then curl. Then clench into fists so tight, his nails bite into his palms.

Why does it bother him?

Why does his jaw tighten every time he sees you together?

Why does it feel like a punch to the gut when you walk into class and don’t even look at him?

Why does it piss him off so much when he catches Midoriya blushing because of you?

—

The breaking point comes on a normal day.

Bakugo’s already irritated, he doesn’t even know why anymore. Everything just pisses him off. The way Kirishima laughs. The way Denki’s chewing too loud. The way you are standing so damn close to Midoriya near the lockers.

Then, Midoriya reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small gesture. Barely anything. But it makes something in Bakugo snap.

Before he even realizes it, he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you away.

"We need to talk."

You stumble but quickly regain your footing, yanking your hand out of his grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What the hell is yours?" Bakugo snaps back. His eyes are burning. "You and Deku. Why the hell are you always with him?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"You—" He grits his teeth. "You don’t even wait for me after training anymore. You don’t—"

And that’s when you laugh.

It’s bitter. Cold.

"Bakugo, are you serious?" Your voice is steady, but your eyes, there’s something sharp in them. "You knew I liked you, didn’t you?"

He freezes.

You tilt your head, studying him. "You knew. And you let me believe I had a chance."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Did you ever care?" you whisper.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Because the truth is sitting in his throat like a stone, too heavy to swallow.

You watch him, waiting. Just hoping a little that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something that makes this all worth it.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists clenched, teeth grit, jaw locked too tight and, nothing.

And that’s when you know.

You exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. More like… exhaustion. Like the last bit of hope you had has finally withered away.

"That’s what I thought."

You turn to leave, but for a second, just a second, you hesitate. Like you’re waiting. Like you’re giving him one last chance.

But Bakugo stays silent.

So you exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Then, you walk away.

Bakugo doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just stands there, watching as you disappear down the hall, watching as you walk out of his reach.

And this time, you don’t look back.

This time, you won’t come back.

[kitty384]

The Day You Forgot

Summary: Bucky forgets their wedding anniversary. Y/N tries to play it cool—but old wounds from a life of being unseen come back with a vengeance. When Bucky realizes what he’s done, he does everything in his power to make it right.

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, emotional neglect (accidental), trauma references (implied past emotional abandonment), self-worth issues, mild crying, soft apology, romantic fluff, married couple dynamic

It wasn’t the missed dinner reservation that stung.

Or the fact that Y/N had spent the whole afternoon curling her hair, soft makeup dusted across her cheeks, slipping into a dress that still had the boutique tag on it from six months ago.

It wasn’t even the fact that she had reminded him.

Twice.

No—what hurt most was the silence. The way he walked into their shared apartment like it was any other day. Tossed his jacket on the hook. Pulled his boots off with a tired sigh. Didn’t even look her way before muttering something about “another long day at the compound” and disappearing into the kitchen.

No kiss.

No smile.

No “Happy anniversary, doll.”

Y/N stood there like an idiot, one hand lightly brushing the necklace she wore—his wedding gift to her last year. A single gold charm in the shape of a star, for the one he always said guided him home.

Tonight, he hadn’t even noticed it.

She told herself it was fine. That he was tired. That maybe Steve had needed him or Sam got on his nerves again or there was another mission briefing he couldn’t get out of. Maybe he'd planned something but was waiting until later. Midnight surprise. A private dinner in the park. Anything.

But when she padded quietly to the kitchen and found him elbows-deep in leftover pizza from the fridge, her heart sank.

There was no secret plan.

No gift tucked away in a drawer.

Not even a flicker of recognition when she softly said, “Hey, um… do you know what today is?”

Bucky looked up with a mouth full of pepperoni and blinked.

“Uh… Thursday?”

Her throat closed.

She gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. Thursday.”

And then she turned before he could see her eyes water and walked straight to the bathroom, locking the door with shaking hands.

She sat on the edge of the tub, trying to breathe through it.

It wasn’t about the anniversary, not really. It was the feeling that always followed her like a shadow, no matter how many years had passed since Hydra or how much healing she thought she’d done. The feeling of being forgettable.

Unseen.

As if she was only important when someone needed her. A tool, not a person.

Her past was paved with broken promises and missed birthdays. Foster homes that “forgot” to pick her up from school. Scientists who treated her like a number. People who never looked twice.

And tonight—he had forgotten.

The one person who always saw her. The man who’d held her in the middle of the night when she couldn’t stop shaking. Who traced her scars like they were constellations. Who married her with a trembling voice and a look in his eyes that promised forever.

He forgot.

She wiped her eyes quickly and stood. No breakdown. No spiral. Just—quiet. She opened the cabinet, pulled out a pack of makeup wipes, and began erasing the hours she spent trying to look like someone worth remembering.

Bucky noticed too late.

Way too late.

It wasn’t until he heard the sink running that he glanced at the clock on the microwave—and froze.

April 3rd.

His chest went cold.

“Shit.”

He dropped the half-eaten slice of pizza, heart racing. Panic bloomed in his throat as he ran through every second of the day—had she said something? Had he missed the signs?

Of course he had. Because he was tired and distracted and so sure he’d set a reminder but hadn’t. His phone was on silent all day. He hadn’t even looked at the date.

He sprinted down the hall, knocking lightly on the bathroom door.

“Doll?”

No answer.

His gut twisted.

“Y/N, sweetheart, I—can I come in?”

Still nothing.

He pressed his forehead against the door. “Please.”

There was a pause. Then the lock clicked softly.

The door cracked open a sliver.

She stood in the doorway, in her pajamas now. Her hair pinned up, makeup gone, eyes rimmed pink. The star necklace was gone.

His heart broke in real time.

“I forgot,” he said immediately, voice raw. “I forgot, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared at him with the saddest smile he’d ever seen.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“No. It’s not.” He reached for her, hesitating just before his hands touched her arms. “Please, baby. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—dammit, I was gonna plan something, I swear. I just…”

She looked down.

He finally touched her—soft hands sliding to her waist, pulling her close. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just the date, Bucky.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” Her voice cracked. “Because when you forgot, it felt like I wasn’t important. Like I was just another thing that didn’t matter unless someone needed me. And I know that’s not true. I know you love me. But my brain still goes there. It still whispers all those awful things I grew up hearing.”

He hugged her tighter. “You do matter. More than anything. I don’t deserve you, but I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. And I will spend every single day proving that to you. Even on the days I fuck it up.”

Her arms curled around his waist, and she buried her face in his chest.

He kissed her hair, voice muffled against her. “I’ll make it right.”

“You already are,” she murmured.

That night, Bucky dragged the couch cushions to the floor and made a makeshift fort in their living room with twinkly fairy lights and every blanket they owned. He heated up hot cocoa. Made her sit on a pile of pillows while he massaged her feet and read her poetry from one of the books he’d gotten her last Christmas.

And when she fell asleep curled into his side, his heart aching from the guilt, he whispered into her hair:

“I’ll never forget again. You’re unforgettable, doll. Even when I’m an idiot.”

She stirred slightly, her fingers clutching his shirt.

And for the first time that night, she smiled.

Masterlist

Request

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Kuroo (NSFW)

You’re not sure when it started. Maybe sometime last week, maybe even before that—but the switch flipped quietly, without warning. One minute you were just a little tired, a little bloated, trying to get comfortable with the weird limbo that is second trimester pregnancy. And the next?

You were staring at your husband like he was carved from marble. Like every movement of his arms under that damn fitted black t-shirt was offensive. Like the way his voice dipped when he answered a work call should be punishable by law.

You hadn’t touched him in days—partly because you were tired, partly because the two of you were still adjusting to the wave of appointments and vitamins and new routines. But now, now your skin feels too tight for your body. You can’t stop thinking about his hands. His stupid smirk. The stretch of muscle across his stomach when he reaches for the top shelf. You keep shifting in your chair at the kitchen table, thighs pressed together as you half-watch him move around the apartment, trying not to combust every time he bends to grab something or stretches his arms over his head like a personal attack.

You're four months pregnant, and your hormones are holding you hostage.

But how the hell are you supposed to say that? Hey honey, I want you so bad it’s making me delusional? You’re turning me on just by walking?

You'd rather burst into flames.

So instead, you sit quietly, pretending to scroll through your phone while your eyes flicker up to him every ten seconds like a heat-seeking missile. You’re trying to be subtle. You really are.

Unfortunately for you, Kuroo Tetsurou has known you long enough to spot a mood shift from fifty paces away—and he’s been watching. Smugly. Patiently. Waiting.

The first hint that you’ve been caught comes when he strolls by with a bowl of chopped strawberries, casually plucks one from the bowl, and leans over to offer it to you without a word. You’re caught off guard, lips parting automatically as he feeds it to you. Your teeth graze the tip of his fingers, just barely, and his lips twitch.

He doesn’t move. Just watches you chew. Slow. Calm.

Then, in a voice dipped in dry amusement: “You’ve been staring at me for twenty minutes.”

You blink, swallow. “I haven’t.”

“Mm,” he hums, straightening up. “Sure you haven’t.”

You grit your teeth. Heat burns your cheeks. You can already feel the spiral beginning.

He doesn’t press. Just walks around the kitchen like he didn’t just call you out for mentally undressing him on the spot. His movements are so casual it’s infuriating. He grabs a dish towel, wipes down the counter, opens the fridge, all while your brain is on fire.

You stare down at your phone, eyes unfocused, and will yourself to get it together. You just need to act normal. You’re not gonna combust. It’s fine. It’s just hormones.

“You okay?” he asks, voice far too neutral. You glance up. He’s leaning against the counter now, arms crossed over that broad chest, eyebrow lifted in feigned innocence.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re flushed.” His head tilts. “You hot?”

“I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

You shift in your seat, pressing your knees together. “Yes.”

Another pause. Then:

“You hungry?”

Your eyes shoot to him instinctively—and that’s when you realize he knows. Not just suspects. Not maybe. Knows.

And worse: he’s enjoying it.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You look away again, hands gripping your phone like it might save you from yourself.

When he crosses the room, you don’t even notice until he’s crouching beside your chair, resting one arm on the armrest, the other hand brushing lightly over your thigh. You freeze.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice dipped in syrup, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “you’ve been lookin’ at me like you want to climb me.”

You blink rapidly. “That’s not—”

“You sigh every time I stretch.” His fingers trace up to your knee. “You squirm when I talk. You’ve eaten, slept, and had your iron supplements. So unless there’s a sudden new strawberry emergency—”

“Tetsuro.”

“—I think,” he murmurs, leaning closer, “there’s something you’re not saying.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning into your palms. “This is so embarrassing.”

He laughs softly, warm breath fanning over your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your temple. “It’s adorable.”

“It’s feral, Tetsu. I feel like a monster.”

“Monsters don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice low against your skin. “They don’t whimper every time I bend over.”

You groan louder, but your body leans into him on instinct.

“Say it,” he teases. “C’mon. Say you want me.”

“I hate you.”

“You want me.”

“I’m four months pregnant and deranged, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, pulling you gently into his lap, “you’re carrying my kid and horny for me? I’m the luckiest bastard alive.”

Mortified beyond recovery, you squirm your way out of his lap, muttering something unintelligible as you bolt from the kitchen. It’s half an attempt to escape, half a desperate grab for your dignity. You make it three steps into the hallway before you hear him laugh—low and knowing—and then feel his hands at your hips.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he murmurs, lips brushing the curve of your ear as he tugs you back against him. “You’re not getting away from me after saying all that.”

You fumble for a response, but it vanishes the second his hands find the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing your skin with unbearable slowness. You tilt your head back without thinking, breath catching.

“Tetsurou—”

“Yeah?” he answers, already kissing down your neck, voice infuriatingly calm. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

You don’t. You can’t.

Instead, your hands find his wrists and guide them higher. You melt into him like wax to flame.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your jaw. “That’s more like it.”

Before you can catch your breath, he has you gently turned, your back pressing against the hallway wall. His hands settle firmly on your hips, then slide lower, fingers working with a confidence that has your knees buckling. You gasp when he pops the button of your pants, the sound deafening in the quiet space between your bodies.

“Tetsurou—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over your collarbone with the lightest graze, voice so low and deliberate it sends a pulse through your spine. His hand dips beneath the waistband of your underwear with a languid slowness, his knuckles dragging along your skin like he wants you to feel everything.

“Let me take care of you, yeah? You’ve been trying so hard to hold it together.”

You inhale sharply as his fingers slide deeper, seeking out the ache you’ve been trying to ignore for days. When he finds it—you—it’s like your body short-circuits. Your breath stutters, hips jolting forward as if your body’s been waiting for this exact moment, this exact touch.

His fingers move with maddening precision—expert and unhurried—stroking you in a rhythm that melts the strength from your knees. He presses you harder into the wall, not with force but weight, anchoring you there while your body twists and trembles under his control. His mouth trails along your neck, slow kisses blooming across your pulse point as you gasp, the sound catching in your throat.

"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, "Let me make it better."

Your hands cling to his arms, fingers digging into his sleeves as your body arches into him. The tension coils tighter and tighter, strung high by weeks of restrained want, the heat of your own embarrassment fueling the need. He murmurs low praise into your skin—good girl, so soft, so perfect, so fucking sweet like this—and the words alone nearly undo you.

And when you do come, it’s a quiet, raw thing—your body trembling in his hold, face tucked against his shoulder, a muffled cry of Tetsurou slipping from your lips like confession. He holds you steady through it, one arm around your waist, the other still curled low, fingers easing you through every last tremor.

When your breathing slows, when the fog begins to lift, his hand gently slips free and he cradles your face, brushing back damp strands of hair with the same fingers that just unraveled you.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “My gorgeous, needy wife. All mine.”

Your breath comes out in short, shaky bursts, still reeling, still trembling in his hands. “I can’t believe I—” you start, but the words collapse in your throat, too breathless, too flustered to finish.

Tetsurou chuckles softly, and before you can even think about collecting yourself, he’s hooking one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you with effortless strength.

You yelp, arms flying around his neck as he princess carries you down the hallway, your face burning hot against his shoulder. “Tetsu—! What are you doing?!”

He glances down at you, grin smug, eyes molten. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he murmurs, already walking with you in his arms toward the bedroom. His voice is velvet and heat, wrapped around every word, promising more. “I’ve got you all night, baby. You’re not going anywhere.”

[rebelssvy]

kiss it better. ✧.*

bakugo x reader ·˚ ༘

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

summary: making out with hot frat boy baku at a collage party, in a closet. no sex or heavy petting, just really hot making out and lots of dirty talk.

thinking about, frat boy bakugo. despite all your efforts to not be here, your new roommates dragged you to this party. you had zero interest being here and zero intention flirting with anyone that came your way. sexually frustrated and maybe a little tipsy wasn’t a willing combo for you. it wasn’t until you bumped into a sweaty back that left you cursing under your breath. what shocked you more was the response you got in return. a line of curses that had your mouth wide open. this guy messed with the wrong girl and that was for- fucking sure.

“excuse me?” you said craning your neck up to the guy, tapping him on his shoulder to make him face you.

“you got a fucking problem?” the sassy blonde replied to you, now fully aware of your presence. turned around facing you, arms crossed in anger.

“your my fucking problem asshole.” mocking him with each syllable, you stocked towards him. you were at a physical disadvantage but that wasn’t stopping you. no, not when this guy is making you already bad night, worse.

without another word you were now being dragged through the halls, brushing up against people against your will. this random man had you in his grip, tight but not loose enough for you to slip through his fingers. if you wanted to you could’ve fought your way out of his hands, but a part of you wanted to see where this lead. notices in his handsome face and muscular tone when he turned around. this was a battle worth fighting.

the hard surface of the door against your back brought you back from your imagination, he had you cornered in this random room. wait. it was closer to a closet. you really didn’t have anywhere to go. his huge frame trapped you, you now got a better look at him. you realized you weren’t gonna run anyways he was just to gorgeous.

breaking the silence, he started-“listen, i’m not gonna let some pretty random girl ruin my party.” you gasped at his words, they were simple, but his tone was harsh. “so when we leave this closet your not gonna be out there looking so upset. your gonna act like your having a good time. got it?” he finished.

“you think i’m pretty?” you asked toying with him. the scowl on his face seemed permanent.

he tugged at his shirt collard, clearing his throat before saying, “yeah but it doesn’t matter how pretty you are with your fuck ass attitude.” you laughed in his face as a reply.

“you think i have a bad attitude? fuck off, you are clearly so much worse then me!” you said through giggles.

“just shut up oh my fucking god.” he groaned while his hand flew to his hair.

“make me.” you pushed yourself up, onto your tippy toes. testing him to see what type of guy he was you flushed at your own behavior.

without another word, his hand found the back of your neck and you were pulled against the man in front of you. his lips finding yours with fastness. the kiss was rough, teeth clinking against each other. you gasped when you felt his hand move from his spot on your neck, to its new position on your waist. pulling your body harder against him your lips now worked in rhythm, the harshness was now seductive. sloppy and wet.

slowly, he parted away from your lips, his hands never leaving your body. you grabbed onto his shoulders for balance. slightly lightheaded as you stumbled back.

“you could be a problem for me.” he said through hot breaths, himself also regaining composure.

“oh really tough guy?” before you could laugh farther, he silenced your laughing in his face buy laying his lips back on yours once again.

“stop arguing with me like a good girl and be fucking quiet.” he mumbled against your lips, his words making your mouth part. his tongue ventured into the new space taking the opportunity to catch you off guard. the two of you getting very hot and bothered now, fighting for dominance.

dry humping each other you caught his groans in your mouth. pulling apart he moved away from you slowly.

through rushed breaths, he said “if you feel the same way i feel about you meet me upstairs in five minutes. room 12, it’s my room.”

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

thinking bout a hot HOT part two.

the part two is up!!! check out my master list

[calypso-rt]

01 | acts of service

| one | | two | | three | | four | | five |

and how Rafe shows it

-> Rafe x F!Reader

Rafe Notices Things

The morning air is crisp, the kind that makes you want to curl back into bed and forget responsibilities exist. But life doesn’t work that way, so here you are: half-asleep, wrapped in a hoodie, trudging toward your car with coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off your shoulder.

You slide into the driver’s seat with a sigh, reaching for your keys. The second you turn the ignition, your brain finally registers something is off.

The gas tank.

It’s full.

That’s impossible.

You distinctly remember last night: running late, exhausted, and fully intending to stop for gas but ultimately deciding, Eh, future me will deal with it. Well, future you is here, and somehow… the problem is already solved.

Your eyebrows furrow as you pull out your phone. You definitely didn’t fill up the tank. There’s only one person who could have.

You: You filled my gas tank?

The three dots pop up immediately.

Rafe: You run on fumes. Got tired of watching.

You roll your eyes, even as something warm unfurls in your chest.

You: You’re so dramatic. Rafe: You’re so irresponsible.

You bite your lip, suppressing a smile. Before you can reply, another text comes through.

Rafe: Check the glove compartment.

You do, confused, until your fingers brush against something small and familiar. Pulling it out, you find a pack of your favorite gum, a brand you only ever remember to buy after you’ve already run out.

Your heart does a weird little flip.

You: Are you stalking me? Rafe: If I was, I’d be charging you for all these services, sweetheart.

You huff, tucking the gum into your pocket.

You: Thanks, I guess.

You can feel his smirk through the phone.

You: Just don’t make this a habit, Cameron. Rafe: Too late.

You shake your head, start your car, and drive off. And even though you won’t say it, you spend the entire ride smiling.

Because maybe, you kind of like it.

...

Rafe the Protector

The festival is insane.

It had been fine at first: the air buzzing with energy, music thrumming through the ground, neon lights painting the night in a kaleidoscope of color. You’d been laughing, drink in hand, caught up in the electric joy of it all.

But then, somewhere between one act ending and another beginning, the crowd shifted.

People pushed in from all sides, bodies jostling, voices blending into an overwhelming roar. You lost track of where you were, of where anyone was. One second, Rafe had been right beside you, and the next...

He’s gone.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t panic easily. You don’t do helpless. But right now, all you can see is a sea of strangers, pressing in too close, blocking every path, and—

A hand wraps firmly around your wrist.

You flinch, but before the fear can fully hit, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Hey, hey—got you.”

Rafe.

The relief is instant, crashing over you like a wave. He’s there, standing solid and steady in front of you, his grip grounding, reassuring.

“I—” Your voice falters. You hadn’t realized just how hard your heart was pounding until now.

He doesn’t let go. Instead, he shifts closer, his other hand pressing lightly against your back, guiding you in. “You okay?” His voice is low, only meant for you.

You nod quickly, swallowing against the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I just—”

“Got caught up.” He finishes for you, watching you closely. “I know.”

The crowd surges again, another rush of bodies pushing past. Instinctively, you grab onto him this time. Rafe doesn’t hesitate. His arm slides fully around you, pulling you in against him, a barrier between you and the chaos.

“We’re getting out of here,” he says, tone leaving no room for argument.

You let him lead.

He doesn’t shove or fight his way through, just moves with quiet confidence, navigating the crowd effortlessly. And the whole time, he doesn’t let go.

Not even when you’re finally in the clear, standing at the edge of the festival grounds where the air is easier to breathe.

Not even when you should let go, when the moment has passed.

Instead, he looks down at you, brows slightly furrowed. “You good now?”

You exhale, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks.”

His thumb brushes absently over the back of your hand before he finally, reluctantly, lets go.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he didn’t just anchor you when you needed it most.

You don’t mention it.

But later that night, long after the festival has ended, you’ll still remember the feeling of his hand in yours.

...

Rafe the Caretaker

It starts with a knock.

A sharp, insistent knock that makes you groan because moving right now feels impossible. You’re bundled under a mountain of blankets, head throbbing, nose stuffed, body aching in that feverish way that makes everything miserable.

You ignore it.

But then, the door opens anyway.

“Seriously?” Your voice is hoarse, but it’s all the protest you can manage as Rafe strides in, arms full of stuff.

“Did you think I wasn’t gonna show up?” He kicks the door shut behind him, setting his haul down on your nightstand.

You blink at the pile: medicine, soup from that overpriced deli he likes, some kind of fancy tea that looks like it belongs in a wellness spa. There’s even a bottle of Gatorade, your favorite flavor.

You sniffle. “How did you even know I was sick?”

Rafe rolls his eyes, tugging off his jacket. “You think I don’t notice when you don’t text me back?”

You had gone suspiciously radio silent, but still. “That doesn’t mean you had to—”

“Yes, it does,” he interrupts, giving you a pointed look. “Because you suck at taking care of yourself.”

You scowl. “I do not.”

“You do,” he counters easily, already unpacking the medicine. “And now, I’m in charge.”

You open your mouth to argue, but it’s useless. Rafe’s already grabbed the thermometer, tapping the end of it checking if it works.

“Open up.”

You glare. “I’m not a child.”

“You’re sick.” His expression is flat, but there’s something undeniably soft about it. Like even if he’s being bossy about it, he actually cares.

You grumble but let him take your temperature anyway.

When he sees the number, he mutters something under his breath—probably cursing you for not calling him sooner—before reaching for the cold medicine.

“You’re taking this.” He hands you the dose. “Then drinking all of that tea.”

You eye the steaming cup warily. “That looks disgusting.”

“Yeah, well, deal with it.” He shoves the cup into your hands, then grabs the extra blanket from the chair and drapes it over you.

You blink up at him. “Are you tucking me in right now?”

Rafe scoffs. “Shut up.” But he still pulls the blanket snug around your shoulders, knuckles grazing your cheek as he checks your forehead.

His hand is warm. Gentle. You lean into it without thinking.

Rafe stills for half a second, then just shakes his head, muttering, “Pathetic.” But his voice is softer than before.

He stays.

Puts on some terrible daytime TV. Grumbles about your taste in shows. Forces you to eat the soup even when you insist you’re not hungry.

And at some point, when you’re drifting in and out of sleep, you feel the weight of him settle beside you on the bed, his arm slung over the back of your pillows like he belongs there.

“You better not get sick,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion.

Rafe huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

But he doesn’t move.

And when you wake up later, still feverish but a little less miserable, he’s still there, fast asleep, head tilted back against the headboard.

As if taking care of you was the most natural thing in the world.

...

When it Really Matters

It’s one of those days.

The kind where everything is too much. Where your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting from exhaustion, stress pressing into your ribs like a vice. You’re running on fumes, eyes stinging from holding back frustrated tears, and the idea of dealing with one more thing makes your stomach churn.

So you don’t text him.

You don’t call.

You just sit there, curled up in the dim light of your apartment, staring blankly at the pile of unfinished work on your desk, the notifications stacking up on your phone, the way your hands shake just a little from how tense you are.

Then there’s a knock.

A familiar one. Steady. Insistent.

You don’t answer, but the door opens anyway.

And there he is.

Rafe takes one look at you and his whole expression shifts. The teasing, the smug confidence, all of it softens into something quieter. Something only you get to see.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just sets a takeout bag on the table, tosses your phone onto the couch to silence the endless buzzing, and then crouches down in front of you.

“You ate today?”

You try to lie, but your silence gives you away.

Rafe exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but he doesn’t scold you. Doesn’t tease. He just grabs the takeout bag, pulls out the food, and sets it in front of you like it’s not up for debate.

“I’m not hungry,” you murmur.

Rafe doesn’t even blink. “Don’t care.”

Your lip wobbles. You hate that it wobbles.

His brows pinch together, and then he’s shifting forward, arms hooking under your knees and around your back before you can protest.

“Rafe—”

“Shh.” He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you over to the couch and settling you in his lap, wrapping you up in his arms like it’s second nature. Like he’s done this before.

And you don’t even fight it.

You should. Should push him away, should pretend you don’t need this. Shouldn’t let yourself sink into him like he’s the only thing keeping you from unraveling.

But you do.

You fist your hands in his shirt, bury your face in the crook of his neck.

And he just holds you.

One hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back. The other tucks into your hair, fingertips pressing into your scalp in a way that makes you melt.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “Just breathe, alright?”

You inhale. Shaky, uneven.

Rafe’s arms tighten.

And for the first time all day, you finally exhale.

...

Realizing this is Love

It sneaks up on you.

Not in some grand, sweeping declaration. Not in the way you’ve always imagined love would feel.

No.

It happens in the little things.

Like now.

You’re sitting on Rafe’s couch, bundled up in one of his hoodies, the sleeves swallowing your hands as you watch him move around the kitchen. He’s grumbling under his breath, muttering something about how you never stock anything useful in your fridge, rummaging through the cabinets like he owns the place.

It’s nothing new.

Rafe has a habit of doing things without being asked: grabbing your keys when you forget them, keeping a water bottle in his car because he knows you never bring one, making sure you actually eat even when you insist you’re fine.

And it’s so effortless. So casual.

But tonight, something about it hits differently.

Because this isn’t just him being overprotective. This isn’t just him being stubborn or bossy or playing some game.

This is just… him.

And it always has been.

The realization settles in your chest like a slow, warm ache.

Rafe comes back with a plate, nothing fancy, just toast with the exact amount of butter you like, because of course he knows that. He sets it on the coffee table and flops down next to you, throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“Eat,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You don’t move. Just watch him.

He frowns. “What?”

You shake your head, lips pressing together, heart pounding at the weight of what’s suddenly sitting between you.

“Nothing,” you murmur.

His eyes narrow slightly. “You’re being weird.”

“You’re always weird,” you counter.

Rafe snorts, rolling his eyes, but there’s a flicker of something behind them, like maybe he feels it too. Like maybe he knows what you aren’t saying.

You could say it.

Could lean in, cup his face, tell him what you just realized.

But instead, you reach for the toast.

You take a bite.

Rafe watches you, something unreadable in his expression, but then he just shakes his head and looks away, like he knows this is something you’re not ready to say out loud yet.

And somehow, that just makes it even more real.

[pbaz7]

FLIGHT 2136: PART 8

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

word count: 13.9k

A/N: I have nothing to say I’m sleepy lol. Very minimal proof reading. I hope you enjoy 🫶🏼 leave live reacts, comments and any suggestions that you have!!

—————————————————————————

3rd Person POV - October

Paige would be lying if she said she wasn’t sick to her stomach lying next to her girlfriend right now. The warmth of Azzi’s body should have been comforting, grounding like usual—but instead, it only fueled the unease twisting inside her. For the past four days, she had woken up alone, the sheets cold beside her, Azzi nowhere to be found. The first few times, she’d call, voice still thick with sleep, confusion laced in her words as she tried to figure out where her girl was. But each time, Azzi had given her some vague response about where she was.

At first, Paige had believed her, of course she did, it was Azzi. But the more she thought about it, the excuses never quite made sense. Not with the way Azzi avoided eye contact afterward, not with the way she brushed off Paige’s questions as if she was overthinking things.

By the third morning, Paige stopped asking. Stopped calling. Instead, she let the silence stretch between them until Azzi reached out, a quiet attempt at self-preservation. But now, lying beside Azzi, she couldn’t keep the words down anymore.

Azzi was here—warm, close, and wrapped around her like nothing was wrong. But Paige couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut, couldn’t pretend she didn’t notice the distance in Azzi’s tone in an attempt to avoid Paige’s questions. So she swallowed the hesitation clogging in her throat and finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Where do you go in the morning Az?”

Azzi stirred slightly, her body heavy with exhaustion from practice as she barely registered Paige’s tone. She nuzzled closer against Paige’s side, her face buried against her shoulder, completely oblivious to the storm of questions raging in her girlfriend’s brain.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, go to bed.” Azzi mumbled, her words thick with sleep.

Paige tensed. “What do you mean, don’t worry about it?”

Azzi let out a breath, her hand lifting sluggishly to Paige’s jaw, fingertips grazing her skin in an attempt to soothe her to sleep. She sighed, her voice barely audible now. “Nothing,” she mumbled, already slipping further into unconsciousness.

Paige exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling. Azzi wasn’t even awake enough to realize how much her answer—or lack thereof—was eating her alive.

There was nothing Paige could do. Not tonight. So she took another slow, measured breath, forcing herself to close her eyes. Even if sleep felt impossible, which it was for most of the night.

The next morning, Paige woke up alone in Azzi’s bed. Again.

She stared at the empty space beside her, her throat tightening as tears welled in her eyes—but she blinked them away. She swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to get up. She brushed her teeth, grabbed her phone and her bag, and left without another thought, heading for her suite.

When she walked in, Ice and Jana were sprawled on the couch in the common area. They both glanced up as Paige wordlessly dropped into the chair across from them, her body sinking into the cushions like all the energy had been drained from her.

Ice arched her eyebrow, tilting her head. “Who shat in your cereal?”

Paige slumped further into the chair, running a hand over her face before mumbling, “I think Azzi’s cheating on me.”

Jana and Ice burst out laughing almost immediately.

“You gotta be trolling,” Jana said, shaking her head.

Ice added, “Yeah, and I think the sky’s purple. We can be delusional together.”

The two of them laughed again, fully entertained by the absurdity of the idea—until they noticed Paige wasn’t laughing with them. She just sat there, lips pressed into a tight line, fingers playing with the ring on her finger.

The laughter died down and Ice leaned forward, her expression turning serious. “Paige bro, please be serious.”

Paige met her gaze. “I am.”

Ice blinked at her, still trying to process Paige’s words. “There’s literally no way Azzi is cheating on you.”

Paige exhaled, shaking her head. “She’s been gone every morning this week when I wake up and she turned off her location for everyone.”

Jana and Ice exchanged a look but still didn’t seem convinced.

Ice shrugged. “Okay… yeah, that’s a tiny bit weird. But come on—we’re talking about Azzi Fudd here. The same Azzi that is probably the textbook definition of down bad when it comes to you.”

Paige didn’t respond. Their words were supposed to be reassuring, but they did little to ease all the questions in her head. She leaned back in the chair, absentmindedly twisting the ring on her finger, her thoughts spiraling.

Ice and Jana sighed in unison before giving each other a look. Without a word, Jana pulled out her phone and started dialing.

Paige frowned. “Who are you calling?”

Jana didn’t answer. Instead, she pressed speaker as the call connected.

“Hello?” Caroline’s voice came through, sounding slightly confused.

Jana didn’t waste time. “What the hell is Azzi doing?”

There was a pause on the other end.

“Huh?” Caroline genuinely sounded completely lost.

Jana didn’t hesitate in adding. “Paige thinks Azzi is cheating on her.”

There was a loud what?! in the background, followed by clatter—something dropping, then frantic shuffling.

A second later, Azzi’s voice cut through the speaker, calmer this time. “What did you just say?”

Jana glanced at Paige, silently asking if she should keep going. Paige quickly shook her head, eyes wide, mouthing no.

But Ice ignored her. “Paige thinks you’re cheating on her.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Where’d you hear that?” Azzi asked.

“From Paige,” Ice answered bluntly. “She’s sitting right here actually.”

Paige groaned, sinking further into the chair as she dragged her hands down her face. She could feel Azzi’s reaction through the phone, even without seeing her.

Azzi exhaled sharply. “Give her the phone.”

Jana handed Paige the phone, and she took it off speaker, pressing it against her ear.

“Hello,” she said, her voice quiet.

There was a pause on the other end before Azzi spoke. “Baby, what’s going on?”

Paige swallowed, shifting in her seat. “Nothing.”

Azzi sighed. “Paige.”

“What?” Paige responded. There was a distance in her tone that Azzi immediately picked up on.

“Are you seriously thinking I’d cheat on you?” Azzi asked, her voice softer now.

Paige stared at the floor, rolling the ring on her finger. “I don’t know what to think right now.”

Azzi was silent for a moment before saying, “Baby, come on.”

Paige closed her eyes at the nickname but didn’t respond.

Azzi exhaled. “Talk to me.”

Paige hesitated before finally saying, “You’ve been gone every morning this week.”

“And that makes you jump to the conclusion that I’m cheating?”

Paige’s grip on the phone tightened. “I don’t want to think that,” she admitted. “But you won’t tell me where you are without lying about it. What else am I supposed to think?”

Azzi let out a slow breath. “Paige… I promise you, I'm not cheating on you. I would never do that to you baby.”

“Then tell me,” Paige said, still distant.

There was a pause, and Azzi’s tone turned almost guilty. “I will. Just… not right now, okay?”

Paige nodded even though Azzi couldn’t see her. “Okay.”

Azzi sighed. “Paige—”

“I have to go. I'm tired,” Paige interrupted. She wasn’t mad, she doesn’t know what she is, but she also didn’t want to keep going in circles.

Azzi hesitated, then said softly, “I love you.”

Paige closed her eyes for a second before saying. “I love you too.”

But when she hung up, the weight in her chest was still there.

Wordlessly, she tossed the phone back to Jana and stood up, not bothering to explain herself. She walked to her room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

When Paige got to her room, she didn’t bother with anything else. She pulled her phone out and set it to Do Not Disturb, the familiar action a small, automatic comfort. Then, without a second thought, she pulled off her hoodie and crawled into bed, burying herself under the covers as if they could shield her from everything.

On the other side of campus, Azzi was sitting with Caroline, surrounded by an array of balloons and flowers.

Azzi let out a frustrated sigh, throwing her head back against the wall. “Fuck, I didn’t think this through.”

Caroline raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys were good. Why is she jumping to conclusions?”

Azzi shook her head, rubbing the back of her neck. “Her ex cheated on her,” she stated simply.

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

When Azzi didn’t say anything in return Caroline added, “I really thought she’d piece together you were doing something for her birthday.”

Azzi shook her head, letting out a long breath. “She doesn’t like her birthday. She probably doesn’t even know it’s tomorrow.”

Caroline nodded. “What do you want to do?”

Azzi grabbed her phone, unlocking it and scrolling to her and Paige’s messages. She paused when she saw that Paige’s phone was set to Do Not Disturb. A wave of frustration hit her as she stared at the screen for a moment.

She sighed, tossing the phone onto the floor. “Let’s just finish this. We’re almost done.”

…

Practice was the first time Paige and Azzi saw one another that day and Paige was doing everything in her power to keep her distance. She focused on the drills, moving mechanically–perfectly and stayed glued to KK’s side whenever possible.

Their only real interactions came in fleeting touches—quick hand slaps after a good play, a murmured "good pass" before moving on. Paige barely looked at Azzi, her focus trained on anything but the girl who had the ability to break her with a few words.

Even when Paige took a hard fall, landing awkwardly and grimacing as she reached for her lower back, she kept the wall up. Azzi was there in an instant, her hands outstretched, eyes scanning Paige with concern. Paige let her help her up.

“You good?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded, forcing out a small, “I’m good.” And then she was already walking away, putting space between them once again.

It wasn’t that Paige was mad at Azzi. Paige just didn’t know what to think, her thoughts were too scattered and her only solution to making sure they didn’t get anymore scattered was to be perfect in practice. She would talk to Azzi later if her girlfriend tried to.

…

Later that night Paige had been trying to force herself to sleep for some time now—she really had. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop thinking. She was confused. Her and Azzi had never even really argued, so none of her trains of thought made any sense. The silence in her room was suffocating, and the questions spun in her head faster than she could catch them.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she heard a knock on the door. She chose not to respond, hoping it would go away, but the door creaked open anyway, and she knew it was Azzi.

Azzi shut the door quietly behind her, her eyes immediately finding the lump on Paige’s bed. She knew that Paige wasn’t asleep—she could never fall asleep on her side like that.

With a soft sigh, Azzi slipped off her hoodie and shoes before climbing into the bed beside Paige. She didn’t say anything at first, letting the silence linger, hoping maybe Paige would be the one to break it. But when the quiet stretched on, Azzi couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Baby,” Azzi said softly, her voice full of the weight she felt.

Paige, still tucked under the covers, murmured, “Hm?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment before asking, “Can you look at me, please?”

Paige slowly pulled the covers back from her head, her eyes shifting to Azzi. Her gaze held the same softness she always had for Azzi but there was a distance in it. Azzi let out a soft sigh when she saw the expression on Paige's face.

“I’m not Leah, Paige,” Azzi said. Her voice was tinged with frustration and a hint of hurt.

Paige blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know that, Az.”

Azzi’s gaze softened, but the tension in her chest was still there. “I’m not cheating on you. I promise. You don’t need to worry about that.”

Paige just nodded, her emotions too tangled for her to find the right words.

Azzi leaned closer. “What do I need to do to prove it to you?”

Paige shook her head slightly, her gaze dropping. “You don’t need to prove anything to me. I’m fine.”

Azzi wasn't convinced. “You’re not.”

Paige opened her mouth to argue, but Azzi cut her off. “Did you or did you not tell Ice and Jana that you thought I was cheating?”

Paige let out a deep sigh, looking away for a moment before she spoke. “I was just talking, baby.”

Azzi shook her head slowly, her eyes serious. “No, Paige. You weren’t just talking. You were worried and that’s okay, but you have to talk to me about it…”

Paige opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. She hesitated, her thoughts tangled up with her emotions. She licked her lips, her gaze steady on Azzi before she finally spoke. “I wouldn’t survive if you cheated on me.”

Azzi’s heart clenched at her words. Without thinking, she reached for Paige, gently cupping her face in her hands. “I Promise I’m not. I just need you to trust me. Like you’ve been doing since we met.”

“I’m serious, Azzi,” Paige whispered. She paused, gathering her thoughts, before continuing, “When I say I wouldn’t survive, I mean that...I—I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and I’ve... I feel like I’ve given you a part of me, and I don’t know what I would do if…”

Azzi didn’t let her finish. She couldn’t—not when she saw the way Paige’s eyes glistened, the way her voice wavered.

“Paige,” Azzi murmured, her thumbs gently brushing against her cheeks. “Baby, look at me.”

Paige blinked rapidly, her throat working as she tried to steady herself.

“I know what you’re trying to say,” Azzi said, her voice softer now, more certain. “And I need you to hear me when I tell you that you will never have to find out what that feels like.”

Paige’s jaw tensed, her lips pressing together, but she didn’t pull away. Azzi took it as permission to keep going.

“I know what it’s like to give someone a part of you, because I’ve given you a piece of me.” Azzi said, her hands still cradling Paige’s face, grounding her. “And I know how terrifying that is. But, baby, I’m holding what you gave me with everything I have. I swear to you, I would never break you like that.”

Paige exhaled shakily, her hands lifting to rest over Azzi’s. Her fingers curled around Azzi’s wrists, holding onto her like she needed to feel the promise in her words.

“I love you Paige Madison,” Azzi whispered, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “More than anything, more than I ever thought I could love someone. And I need you to believe me when I say that you don’t have to be scared of me hurting you.”

Paige let out a breath, a small, broken sound, before she nodded. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t all at once, but Azzi felt the shift. The walls Paige had built out of fear the last few days weren’t down completely, but they were cracking, letting Azzi in.

“I love you too,” Paige whispered, her voice a little steadier now.

Azzi kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment before wrapping her arms around Paige, pulling her into her chest.

The two of them laid silently like that for a while. Azzi’s words linger as Paige allows them to untangle all of the thoughts in her head.

After a while Azzi breaks the silence with a small smile on her face. “Damn, you really love me, huh?”

Paige groaned, closing her eyes as if she could physically block out Azzi’s teasing. “Azzi.”

“What? You basically admitted that you wouldn’t survive without me.” Azzi smirked. “Kinda obsessed, don’t ya think?”

Paige let out a soft huff, but Azzi didn’t miss the way her lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile. “Shut up.”

Azzi chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to Paige’s forehead. “You love me.”

Paige sighed dramatically, finally opening her eyes again. “Unfortunately.”

Azzi gasped. “Unfortunately?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause now I’m stuck with you.”

Azzi grinned, rolling onto her back and tugging Paige with her so she was resting against her chest. “You sure are”

Paige let herself relax, listening to the steady rhythm of Azzi’s heartbeat beneath her ear. The tension from earlier wasn’t completely gone, but it had eased into something lighter.

After a beat of silence, Paige mumbled, “You should’ve just told me if you wanted to have a secret girlfriend.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “Shut up. I just can’t ruin the surprise.”

Paige furrowed her brows, lifting her head slightly. “Surprise?”

Azzi’s body went still for half a second before she quickly recovered, shrugging. “Nothing.”

Paige narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Azzi.”

Azzi looked away dramatically. “Wow, look at the time. We should get some rest, it's pretty late.”

Paige huffed but let it go, settling back against her. “Fine.”

Azzi smiled to herself, tightening her arms around Paige. “Goodnight, stalker.”

Paige pinched her side, making Azzi yelp. “Goodnight, princess.”

Azzi chuckled, pressing one last kiss into Paige’s hair before they both let their eyes drift shut.

…

The next morning Paige stirred against the warmth beneath her, her face buried against soft skin as she slowly drifted toward consciousness. She barely registered the gentle weight of a hand resting on her shoulder, fingers absentmindedly tracing over her back. A quiet sigh left her lips when she realized Azzi was still here. She shifted slightly, mumbling something incoherent.

Azzi chuckled softly, setting her phone down and glancing down at Paige with a smile. “Good morning, birthday girl.”

Paige let out a low grumble, her forehead pressing against Azzi’s thigh as she squeezed her eyes shut. “S’too early for allat,” she mumbled, her voice still raspy from sleep.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, running her fingers through Paige’s hair. “Too early for your own birthday?”

Paige frowned slightly, still half-asleep, before cracking one eye open in confusion. She blinked up at Azzi, her mind sluggishly catching up. “…Wait.”

Azzi’s smile widened. “Yeah, genius. It’s your birthday.”

Paige let out another groggy noise, her face pressing back into Azzi’s lap like she could hide from the realization. “Mmm. Five more minutes.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she gently tugged at Paige’s arm. “Nope, no hiding. You’re officially the birthday girl, and I’m officially on annoying girlfriend duty.”

Paige groaned dramatically, but there was no real protest as Azzi leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “Happy birthday, baby.”

A small smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “Mmm. Now a kiss, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You have morning breath.”

Paige scoffed, eyes finally opening fully as she shifted to look up at Azzi. “That’s never stopped you before… If I remember correctly, there was this one time where you were begging me to—”

Azzi immediately cut her off with an eye roll, already knowing exactly where she was going. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.”

Paige pouted dramatically when Azzi still didn’t give her a kiss. “I thought it was supposed to be my birthday or something.”

Azzi let out an exasperated sigh but couldn’t hide her smile as she shifted, adjusting so she could comfortably lean down. “You’re annoying,” she mumbled before pressing her lips against Paige’s.

The kiss started slowly—the kind that made Paige melt further into Azzi’s lap. Azzi’s hand slid up, cupping Paige’s jaw, her thumb tracing the edge of her cheek as she deepened the kiss just slightly. Paige responded, tilting her head, her fingers curling around Azzi’s wrist to keep her close.

Azzi hummed against her lips, letting the kiss stretch longer than she intended. It was too easy to lose herself in the warmth of Paige, in the way her lips moved against her own. Paige let out a quiet sigh, her other hand gripping at Azzi’s thigh.

When Azzi finally pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, she smirked down at Paige. “Satisfied now, birthday girl?”

Paige’s lips were still parted, her eyes half-lidded as she took a second to process. Then, with a grin, she muttered, “That’s more like it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. She let her fingers brush lazily through Paige’s hair for a few more moments to give her some time to fully wake up before shifting beneath her and saying, “Alright, time to get up.”

Paige barely reacted at first, her eyes still half-lidded as she remained comfortably curled up against Azzi. But then the words actually registered, and she blinked up at Azzi like she had lost her mind. “What?”

Azzi smirked, tapping her shoulder. “You heard me. Get up.”

Paige groaned dramatically, burying her face back into Azzi’s stomach. “Why can’t we just stay in bed all day? My back still hurts.”

Azzi’s smirk faded, her brows knitting together. She immediately sat up a little straighter. “Wait—are you serious?”

Paige hesitated for half a second, realizing too late that she had triggered Azzi’s worry. She let out another groan, knowing she couldn’t just brush it off now. “I’m okay,” she mumbled. “It’s just a little sore.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, scanning Paige’s expression like she was trying to gauge if she was lying. Then, without warning, she grabbed a pillow and smacked Paige with it.

Paige let out a startled noise, sitting up with wide eyes. “What the hell?!”

“That’s for making me worry, idiot,” Azzi huffed, but there was clear relief in her voice.

Paige pouted, rubbing her head where the pillow had made an impact. “Abuse. On my birthday.”

Azzi rolled her eyes before tossing the pillow aside. “Yeah, yeah. Now get up.”

Paige grumbled as she got up heading for the bathroom. Azzi followed behind her.

Once they had both showered and brushed their teeth, Azzi now leaned against the dresser, her gaze trailing over Paige as she finished getting dressed. “You look too good.”

Paige laughed, tugging the sleeves of her orange hoodie over her hands. “I didn’t even do anything special.”

And she really didn’t. Just a hoodie and beige splatter jeans—simple. But to Azzi, Paige looked good in anything. Too good when she wasn’t in oversized sweats. Her hair was down, slightly tousled, and it only made things worse. Azzi sighed, reaching out to play with the ends of Paige’s hair between her fingers, mumbling something under her breath.

Paige smirked, catching the soft words. “What was that?” She stepped closer, tilting her head as she pulled Azzi in by the waist.

Azzi huffed, avoiding eye contact. “Can you at least put your hair up?”

Paige chuckled. “That’s what you want me to do, pretty?”

Azzi nodded, a little too quickly, and Paige shook her head with a quiet laugh. She reached for one of the hair ties on her wrist, gathering her hair and putting it into a low bun. Once she finished, she turned back to Azzi, raising an eyebrow. “How’s that?”

Azzi groaned, running a hand down her face.Because somehow, somehow, Paige still looked too good. Maybe even better. The bun was too perfect.

Paige chuckled, reaching out to tug playfully at Azzi’s jacket. “Doesn’t matter what I look like. You look better, baby.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the slight upturn of her lips gave her away. She had thrown on a brown set she’d just gotten from a Savage X Fenty ad—a cropped top that showed off her piercing, paired with matching sweats. A jacket was draped over her shoulders to keep herself warm, but Paige still caught glimpses of her toned stomach every time Azzi moved. To top it all off, she had on a pair of Paige’s shoes that matched perfectly.

Azzi didn’t bother to address Paige’s compliment, she just grabbed Paige’s hand, intertwining their fingers as she pulled her toward the door. Paige followed, but her brows furrowed slightly when they stepped into the common area, and it was completely empty. Considering they had today off, she had expected at least some of their teammates to be lounging around or causing chaos.

She glanced at Azzi. “Where is everyone?”

Azzi smiled, grabbing her keys from the counter. “I banned them from bothering you today.”

Paige laughed at that, amused but also silently wondering how long that ban would actually last. Their teammates weren’t exactly known for respecting personal space—especially on birthdays.

Azzi led them out, and as they walked toward the car, Paige instinctively veered toward the passenger side, only to watch in amusement as Azzi did the same. She stopped, giving Azzi a look as the other girl casually opened the door and slid inside.

Paige just shook her head, laughing under her breath as she got into the driver’s seat. “Passenger princess.”

Azzi shot her a glare, but the effect was ruined by the way she was already reaching for the seat heater and adjusting the radio.

…

When they got to the diner, Paige slid into the same side of the booth as Azzi, pressing up against her like it was second nature. Azzi just rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything, the small smile tugging at her lips giving away just how much she liked it.

Azzi picked up the menu, scanning it for options, but Paige didn’t even bother. Instead, she rested her chin on her hand and just stared at Azzi, watching her like she was the most interesting thing in the room.

Azzi didn’t look up as she spoke. “The answer to what you’re going to eat isn’t on my face Paige.”

Paige smirked. “I meannn…”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “I’m serious.”

Paige just shrugged. “You can order for me.”

Azzi finally looked at her, raising a brow. “I’m not your mother.”

Paige grinned. “You’re my girl.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, but this time, a faint blush dusted her cheeks as she glanced back at the menu. “Whatever, idiot.”

When the waiter approached the table, Paige and Azzi were leaned in close, their forearms resting against the table as they talked. The space between them was practically nonexistent, their faces just inches apart as Paige whispered something that made Azzi bite back a smile.

The waiter hesitated for a second too long, eyes flickering between both of them as if she couldn’t decide which one to focus on..

Clearing her throat, the waiter straightened her notepad. “Hey! Welcome in. Are you guys ready to order?”

Azzi gave a polite smile, her voice smooth as she said, “Good morning. Yeah, we are.”

Paige smiled at how effortlessly charming Azzi could be, but instead of saying anything, she reached under the table, lightly tracing her fingers along Azzi’s leg. Azzi, already scanning the menu, didn’t even flinch.

“She’ll have the pancakes, her eggs scrambled with cheese, and a side of bacon—extra crispy,” Azzi said, eyes still on the menu.

Paige grinned, pleased with the order, but she wasn’t done bothering Azzi. She slid her hand up slightly, fingers toying with the hem of Azzi’s cropped top. Azzi casually smacked Paige’s hand away without even pausing.

The waiter blinked, caught between amusement and curiosity as she watched the interaction unfold.

“For me, the avocado toast with an extra egg, and a side of bacon and fruit,” Azzi said, as if nothing had happened. Paige, still being annoying, nudged their knees together, her smirk growing. Azzi sighed through her nose but kept her cool. “Two coffees please, one just black and the other with cream.”

The waiter nodded, scribbling down the order, though her gaze still flickered between both of them. Azzi had this quiet confidence about her, like she was used to being listened to. And the way they interacted, how effortlessly Azzi spoke for Paige and how easily Paige let her, it was enough to make anyone curious.

“Got it. I’ll, uh, get that in for you guys,” the waiter said quickly before scurrying off.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Paige tilted her head, still watching Azzi like she was the only thing in the room. “You see that? You made her nervous.”

Azzi scoffed, not even addressing Paige’s comment as she went back to the story she was telling Paige before the waiter came over.

When the waiter returned with their food a bit later, Azzi was now leaning in close, her lips just barely brushing against Paige’s ear as she whispered something. Whatever she said had Paige’s eyes slightly blown, her jaw tightening as she tried to keep her expression neutral. But Azzi knew better. She smirked against Paige’s skin, satisfied with the effect she had on her.

The waiter hesitated, clearing her throat as she carefully set the plates down. Azzi turned to her with a polite smile. “Thank you.”

Paige exhaled slowly, trying to pull herself back together as she finally looked up. The moment the waiter locked eyes with her, she froze. She hadn't actually seen Paige’s eyes last time—hadn’t realized just how beautiful and striking the shade of blue was. And paired with whatever intensity Paige was still carrying from Azzi’s words, it nearly knocked the air out of her.

“Th—” The waiter stumbled over her words but quickly recovered. “Th-there you go, enjoy.”

Paige swallowed, her voice slightly rough as she murmured, “Thank you.”

The sound of it, sent the poor waiter fumbling with the cream and sugar box she was holding. It tipped forward, teetering off the tray, and before she could react, Paige’s reflexes kicked in. She caught it.

Azzi let out a small chuckle, clearly amused.

The waiter, meanwhile, looked like she was about to pass out. “Oh my god, I am so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Paige said, lips twitching slightly as she handed it back.

The waiter quickly nodded, backing away, clearly rattled. “R-right, okay, enjoy your food!” She practically rushed off after that.

Paige finally turned back to Azzi, who was watching her. “What?” Paige asked, reaching for her fork.

Azzi just shook her head, pretending to focus on her plate. “Nothing.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Azzi.”

Azzi finally looked up, smile growing. “You flustered her.”

Paige scoffed. “You flustered me.”

Azzi hummed, tilting her head slightly. “Exactly.” Then she picked up her fork, completely unbothered.

The two of them enjoyed their breakfast. Talking casually, Paige listened as Azzi talked about her classes and how excited she was for the season to pick up.

As the waiter returns with the check, she finds Paige and Azzi still seated close together, plates mostly empty. Azzi’s arm is draped lazily along the back of the booth behind Paige, her fingers tracing against her neck.

The waiter sets the check down and lets out a small laugh. “I have to say, you two are probably the most attractive couple I’ve ever seen in person. It’s actually kind of unfair.”

Paige smirks, sitting back slightly, but it’s Azzi who responds with a small laugh. “You’d be surprised about how often we hear that.”

The waiter chuckles. “I bet. What do you guys do, anyway? You look like models or something.”

Azzi shakes her head. “We play basketball.”

The waiter’s eyebrows raise in interest. “Oh, like for college?”

Azzi nods. “Yeah, UConn.”

The recognition is immediate. “Wait—UConn? Like, UConn UConn?”

Azzi grins. “The one and only.”

The waiter whistles. “Damn. No wonder you both look like that.” She glances between them again, eyes flickering over Paige, who just quirks a brow but stays quiet.

“Something like that,” Azzi says, clearly entertained.

The waiter shifts on her feet before hesitating. “Okay, so… this is probably super inappropriate, and I swear I don’t usually do this,” she says, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “But I have to ask because I’ll never get this opportunity again and I’ll probably regret it later if I don’t at least try—are you two looking for a third?”

Paige, mid-sip of her water, immediately chokes, coughing hard as she nearly knocks the glass over. Azzi’s amusement disappears. “Oh my god—baby, breathe,” she says, concern lacing her voice as she rubs Paige’s back. Paige tries to wave her off, but Azzi isn’t having it. She grabs Paige’s drink, checking how much is left to figure out how much she choked on before pushing it aside and reaching for a napkin.

Paige, still coughing, manages to wheeze out, “What—I—Azzi, what did she just say?”

The waiter winces.

Azzi exhales, shaking her head. “You good now?” she murmurs, still rubbing her back.

Paige, voice still a little hoarse, wipes her mouth and glares at Azzi when she feels her girlfriend’s body shaking with small laughter beside her. “Don’t,” Paige warns.

Azzi lets out a laugh once she realizes Paige is fine. She looks back at the waiter with a polite smile, “I respect it, but we’re good. Really.”

The waiter shrugs with a grin. “Had to shoot my shot.” She backs away with a smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day, birthday girl.”

Paige groans, rubbing her temples as Azzi leans in. “I mean… should I be flattered or jealous?”

Paige just huffs, shaking her head. “Get me out of here.”

…

As they pulled back onto campus, Paige was ready to head straight to the dorms, but when Azzi told her to drive to the gym instead, she shot her a confused look.

“Why?”

“I told them your back was sore, so you have the ice tub waiting for you.”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall back against the headrest. “Azzi, you know I hate those, bro.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed. “One, don’t ‘bro’ me. And two, I don’t care.”

Paige turned to her, her lips pulling into a dramatic pout. “I thought you were supposed to be nice to me today.”

“I am,” Azzi replied. “I need you to have a good back for later.”

Paige raised a brow at that. “What’s later?”

Azzi just shrugged, staring out the window. “Whatever you want.”

Paige clenched her jaw, gripping the wheel a little tighter as she headed for the gym.

When they stepped into the locker room, both Paige and Azzi quickly stripped out of their clothes, swapping them for sports bras and spandex. Paige stretched her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders with a slight wince, which, of course, Azzi noticed immediately.

“You sure it’s just sore?” Azzi asked.

Paige sighed, already knowing Azzi wouldn’t drop it. “Yes, mom. Just sore.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Keep calling me that and see what happens.”

Paige smirked. “Oh? And what’s gonna happen?”

Azzi only raised a brow, saying nothing as she grabbed her phone and started heading toward the training room. Paige followed, falling into step beside her.

After a second, Azzi glanced at her. “So, what’s your ideal birthday?”

Paige thought about it for a second before shrugging. “I mean… I don’t really care that much. I like spending time with people I like, eating good food…chillin.”

Azzi hummed. “So basically what we’ve been doing today.”

Paige grinned. “Exactly.”

Azzi shook her head with a small smile. “You’re easy to please.”

Paige bumped her shoulder against Azzi’s. “You already knew that.”

Paige eased herself into the ice bath, a sharp groan escaping her lips as the cold water bit at her skin. She tensed immediately, her muscles instinctively trying to reject the freezing temperature before she forced herself to settle. After a few moments, she exhaled and relaxed into the tub.

Azzi, however, remained outside of it, perched on the edge.

Paige glanced up at her, brows furrowing. “Why aren’t you coming in?”

Azzi shrugged. “I’m fine. You’re the one with the sore back.”

“Then why’d you change?”

Azzi smiled, tilting her head slightly. “Because I figured you’d beg me to get in eventually.”

Paige scoffed, a slow grin creeping onto her face. “So let’s just get it over with.”

Azzi sighed, shaking her head, but set her phone down and stood. “You’re annoying,” she muttered, but there was no real bite behind her words.

Paige watched as Azzi stepped onto the first submerged step, her body immediately tensing at the temperature. She inhaled sharply through her nose.

“This is awful,” Azzi muttered, her entire expression contorted in discomfort.

Paige chuckled, shifting slightly in the water. “C’mon, tough girl. It’s not that bad.”

Azzi glared at her as she took another step, the water creeping up her legs. “Says the one who was groaning like she got stabbed two seconds ago.”

Paige smirked. “You were listening that closely?”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile on her lips. She continued lowering herself into the bath, until she was finally settled in front of Paige. She watched Paige with quiet curiosity as she reached for a hair tie resting on the edge of the pool. Without a word, Paige lifted her hands, still damp from the water, and gathered Azzi’s curls, gently twisting them into a bun. Her fingers moved with a familiar ease, securing the tie in place before letting her hands linger for a moment.

“That bad, huh?”

Paige smirked. “Just figured you’d complain about it getting wet.”

Azzi scoffed, tilting her head slightly as a few curls escaped, still framing her face. “I don’t complain that much.”

Paige hummed in amusement, dragging her fingers along Azzi’s arm under the water. “Mmm, sure.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again but leaned into Paige’s touch, letting her hands momentarily distract from the icy temperature surrounding them. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Paige grinned. “I know.”

Azzi felt Paige’s gentle but insistent pull, her body naturally following the motion. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice dipping with suspicion.

Paige barely lifted her head. “Kissing my girl,” she mumbled, and before Azzi could think of a response, Paige was pressing their mouths together.

Azzi allowed herself to melt into the kiss, her hands instinctively finding Paige’s forearms under the water. The chill of the ice bath was a stark contrast to the heat building between them as Paige’s tongue swiped over her lips, silently asking for entrance. Azzi parted them, letting Paige deepen the kiss, her fingers curling slightly against Paige’s skin.

But just as Paige was about to pull her closer, Azzi broke away, her breath slightly uneven. “We’re not supposed to be making out in the ice bath,” she whispered, though she made no effort to move back.

Paige tilted her head. “Who made that rule up?”

Azzi opened her mouth, but no answer came. She frowned, realizing she didn’t actually have one.

Paige smirked, her grip on Azzi tightening just a little. “Exactly.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh against Paige’s lips but didn’t resist when Paige pulled her back in for another kiss. This time, it was slower—controlled—but it didn’t take long for Paige to push it further, her hands trailing along Azzi’s sides under the water.

Azzi chuckled against her mouth, sensing where this was going. “Paige—”

But Paige ignored her, tilting her head and pressing hot, lingering kisses along Azzi’s neck. “I can’t help it,” she murmured between kisses, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin. “You’re too sexy. Look good all the time. You got that sexy bun in and everything.”

Azzi felt a shiver run down her spine, despite the chill around them. She tried to keep her composure, but it was hard with Paige’s lips trailing down her neck, leaving soft marks. Azzi chuckled softly, trying to focus. "We’re literally in a tub of ice, Paige," she said.

Paige hummed in response, unbothered. "Exactly, gotta keep us warm." She let her lips move lower, brushing against Azzi’s collarbone. Azzi's breath hitched, betraying her resolve to keep it light.

Paige wasn’t rushing. She marked Azzi’s skin slowly, savoring the moment, but Azzi could tell she was toying with her. The way Paige murmured against her skin, telling her how beautiful she looked, how good she always looked—it made Azzi’s pulse quicken despite the ice bath.

Azzi tried to resist, but she could feel her resolve slipping with each soft kiss, each gentle swipe of Paige’s tongue. Her head tipped back slightly, giving Paige better access as she surrendered to the moment and tangled her wet hands in Paige’s hair. But despite how good it felt, the awareness of their surroundings began to creep in.

Azzi listened for a moment, hearing the distant sound of footsteps, voices echoing down the hall. She pulled back just enough to meet Paige’s gaze. "I don’t want anyone to walk in, baby."

Paige’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a flicker of understanding behind her eyes. She sighed dramatically, releasing Azzi’s waist but not fully letting go of her. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

Azzi laughed, brushing a few strands of hair out of Paige’s face. “I just don’t want us getting caught in here looking like... well, like this. Basically a free show.”

Paige relented and the two of them sat next to one another for a few minutes until the timer went off.

Once they were done the two of them walked out of the training room, slipping down the hallway toward the locker room.

When they arrived, they noticed something was off—the lights were out, the hallway eerily quiet. Paige furrowed her brow, glancing at Azzi. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.

Before either of them could reach for the door, it swung open suddenly with a loud crash, and the lights flashed on. The team erupted from the darkness, jumping out from their hiding spots with a chorus of “Happy Birthday!”

Paige froze, her eyes wide, her heart skipping a beat at the loudness. She stood there, stunned for a moment, before a grin spread across her face.

The team cheered again, clapping and hollering as they rushed forward to surround Paige. “Happy Birthday, P Boogers!” KK shouted, pulling Paige into a big hug.

“Surprise!” Ice added, tossing a small confetti popper into the air.

Paige laughed, clearly touched by the gesture.

Jana handed her a small cake, and Ayanna placed a birthday crown on her head. “We couldn’t let you get away without a proper celebration.”

Paige looked over at Azzi, catching her eye. "You helped plan this, didn't you?" Paige asked.

Azzi just shrugged. "Maybe."

Paige rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop smiling as the team continued to “bother” her with pictures and singing.

After spending time in the locker room, laughing and joking with the team as they celebrated her birthday, Paige finally leaned back against her locker, feeling warm. The day had been unexpectedly perfect, and she was grateful for everyone who had put it together—including Azzi, who had been quietly watching her the entire time.

Just as Paige was about to sink further into the moment, Azzi nudged her side. “Alright, it’s time to go.”

Paige turned her head, raising an eyebrow. “Go where?”

Azzi just smirked, standing up and grabbing her phone. “Don’t worry about it.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “Azzi—”

“Nope,” Azzi cut her off. “Just trust me.”

Paige exhaled, giving her a look. “I don’t like surprises.”

Azzi huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll like this one.”

Paige studied her for a moment, trying to read her expression, but Azzi just held out her hand. With a sigh, Paige finally took it, letting Azzi pull her to her feet. “This better not be some weird conditioning session disguised as a birthday gift,” Paige mumbled.

Azzi grinned. “That would be funny, but no.”

Paige rolled her eyes but didn’t fight it as Azzi led her out of the locker room.

When Azzi pulled up to a building Paige had never seen before, she frowned, glancing out the window in confusion. The area was unfamiliar, and that alone had her on edge.

Azzi shifted beside her, pulling something from her bag. “Alright,” she said, holding up a black blindfold. “Do you trust me?”

Paige looked at her suspiciously, eyeing the blindfold. “You’re not trying to kill me, right?”

Azzi burst out laughing, shaking her head. “No, baby. I promise.”

Paige still hesitated, glancing between the blindfold and Azzi’s expression. “Then why do I need to be blindfolded?”

Azzi pouted. “Because it’s a surprise. Please, baby?” Her voice softened, taking on that tone she always used when she wanted something from Paige.

Paige exhaled, fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but when Azzi tilted her head just a little, still pouting, she sighed in defeat. “Fine,” she mumbled.

Azzi grinned, stepping behind her to gently tie the blindfold over her eyes. “Good girl,” she whispered, adjusting the knot.

Paige huffed. “I swear, Azzi, if this is some elaborate prank—”

“It’s not,” Azzi reassured her, placing a quick kiss on her jaw. “Now, come on.”

Paige swallowed, her senses already heightened now that she couldn’t see. She let Azzi take her hand, feeling the warmth of her palm, and allowed herself to be led forward, the anticipation building with every step.

Azzi guided Paige carefully up a short flight of steps.

“Almost there,” Azzi whispered, her voice close to Paige’s ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

When they finally stopped, Paige tilted her head as a soft, familiar melody filled the room. Her ears perked up instantly. “Is that SZA?” she asked.

Azzi chuckled. “Of course.”

Paige bit her lip, curiosity rising as she tried to pick up on more details. The air smelled subtly of something sweet—maybe vanilla—and there was a warmth to the space, a coziness that made her relax despite not knowing where she was.

Azzi adjusted her hands on Paige’s hips. “Stand still for me,” she instructed.

Paige huffed out a laugh but didn’t move. “You always bossing me around.”

Azzi smirked, stepping around her to make sure she was positioned exactly how she wanted. “And you always listen.”

Paige muttered, “Whatever,” under her breath.

Azzi stepped in behind her, pressing close as she whispered, “Close your eyes.”

Paige scoffed. “I literally have on a blindfold.”

“Shut up and close them,” Azzi shot back as she reached up to untie the fabric. She tugged it off smoothly and tossed it to the side before resting her hands lightly on Paige’s shoulders. “Okay, open.”

Paige blinked her eyes open, and for the first time in a long time, she was almost speechless.

The room was softly lit with candles, a warm glow reflecting off the scattered white and purple rose petals forming a trail across the floor. Light purple balloons floated gently, filling the space but not overwhelming it.

At the end of the petal-lined path, a small table sat illuminated by a candle, its soft glow dancing across the surface.

Paige exhaled, glancing over at Azzi, who was watching her reaction carefully, a small smile tugging at her lips. Paige swallowed, her voice quieter than usual. “Azzi…”

Azzi watched Paige closely, her expression softening. “Do you like it?”

Paige turned to her, eyes still flickering around the room in awe. “I love it, baby. But—how did you? When did you—?”

Azzi smiled, shrugging casually. “Every morning this week.”

Paige’s stomach twisted. The realization hit her hard. All those mornings she spent overthinking, spiraling in her head, convinced Azzi was being distant, convinced she was—“Fuck, Az, I’m so sorry,” Paige muttered, guilt pressing down on her chest. “I didn’t—”

Azzi shook her head, stepping closer. “You don’t need to apologize, baby.”

Paige clenched her jaw, looking away. She still felt bad. Really bad. She had been so wrapped up in her own insecurities, so convinced Azzi was pulling away, when in reality—Azzi had been here. Doing this.

Azzi saw it all over her face. “Paige.” She reached for her, slipping her arms around Paige’s waist. “Stop. I wanted to do this for you.”

Paige exhaled shakily, hands settling on Azzi’s hips. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” Azzi mumbled, pressing a kiss to Paige’s jaw. “Come on.”

Azzi grabbed Paige’s hand, pulling her toward the table just as a private caterer placed their food down. Paige’s brows lifted in surprise, watching as the dishes were set in front of them.

When she looked down at her plate, a laugh escaped her. It was simple—exactly the kind of meal she liked. Nothing overly fancy or extravagant, just good food that she would actually enjoy.

Azzi smirked. “What? You thought I was gonna have them bring out some five-star, Michelin-style meal with ingredients you can’t pronounce?”

Paige grinned as she sat down, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Azzi sat across from her, reaching for her fork. “I know you, baby,” she said, eyes flickering up to meet Paige’s. “I wasn’t about to have you sitting here picking at your food all night.”

Paige exhaled, a warmth spreading in her chest as she looked at Azzi. “You really thought of everything, huh?”

“Of course.”

As they ate, Paige’s eyes kept drifting around the room, taking in every little detail—every petal, every candle, every soft touch that Azzi had so carefully put together. The guilt gnawed at her again, heavier this time.

She set her fork down, exhaling. “Az, I’m really sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “I feel like an ass.”

With a small sigh, Azzi stood up, adjusting her chair so she was right next to Paige. Once she was settled, she leaned in, voice dropping to a soft whisper. “Stop apologizing, baby.”

Before Paige could say anything else, Azzi’s fingers curled around her jaw, tilting her face toward her. She searched Paige’s eyes for a moment, before pulling her into a slow kiss.

Paige melted instantly, her hand resting on Azzi’s thigh as she sighed into the kiss. When Azzi pulled away, she ran her thumb over Paige’s bottom lip, smirking. “Just enjoy your night, okay?”

Paige swallowed, dazed. “Okay,” she murmured.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, slipping between them teasing each other like they had been best friends for years and more genuine moments. The whole time, Azzi’s foot was lazily running up and down Paige’s leg.

“You really did all this by yourself?” Paige asked, glancing around again in disbelief.

Azzi smiled. “Well, I had some help from Caroline setting up the table and everything, but yeah. Every morning this week, like I said.”

Paige shook her head, setting her fork down for a moment. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Azzi grinned. “That’s a first.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Azzi just chuckled, leaning back slightly. “I wanted to do something special for you, baby. You do so much for everyone else all the time. I wanted to make sure you felt special today.”

Paige felt something stir in her chest at Azzi’s words, a warmth settling in her stomach. She looked down at her plate, taking another bite instead of answering right away.

Azzi’s foot brushed against her calf again, but Paige didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she hummed. “You’re really out here setting the bar too high. What am I supposed to do for your birthday?”

“You’ve got a little time to figure it out.”

Paige shook her head with a small smile. “Yeah. But I don’t think I can top this.”

Azzi shrugged. “You don’t have to top anything. Just being with you is enough.”

Paige held her gaze for a moment before laughing softly. “You’re corny.”

“That’s ironic coming from you.”

Paige scoffed. “I’m not corny.”

Azzi gave her a look, tilting her head slightly to the side, her expression making it clear she wasn’t buying it. Paige just smirked, refusing to argue.

She looked away for a second, but when her eyes found Azzi again, her breath caught slightly. Azzi had that look—the one that always made Paige’s pulse race. Her lips were caught between her teeth, her gaze locked onto Paige.

Paige swallowed, keeping her expression neutral. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Azzi’s smirk grew as her foot traced a lazy path up and down Paige’s leg beneath the table. “Like what?”

“You know like what.”

Azzi hummed, taking a long sip as she finished off her wine, fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “Maybe I just like looking at my girlfriend.”

Paige arched an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

Azzi shrugged, dragging her foot just a little higher before settling again. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Paige smirked, leaning back in her chair, but her eyes never left Azzi’s.

Azzi tilted her head slightly, her gaze not leaving Paige’s, a clear challenge now simmering between them.

Azzi leaned forward, her chin resting lightly on her palm as she watched Paige with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Paige’s smirk only deepened. She slowly licked her lips, the movement deliberate, drawing Azzi’s focus.

They continued their silent exchange, neither willing to break the stare. Paige could feel the heat building in the pit of her stomach, the playful game they were playing taking on an entirely different edge.

Paige finally broke the silence, her voice low. “You think you can win this, huh?”

Azzi’s smile formed slowly. “I don’t think I’m losing.”

Paige's pupils grew slightly. "You forgetting, I usually have you begging by the end of the night, Az?”

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile, leaning forward just enough to close the space between them. "You forgetting I can get you off without touching you Paige?" Her tone was a mixture of playful arrogance and something more seductive.

Paige’s breath caught for a moment, her heart rate quickening.

Paige stood up suddenly, her chair scraping against the floor just enough to break the lingering tension in the air. Without saying a word, she made her way toward the door. Azzi pushed herself up from her seat with a smooth, almost predatory grace, and followed Paige out without another word.

Azzi was itching to get them back to the dorms, her heart racing in anticipation, but as she slid into the driver’s seat, her grip tightened around the steering wheel. Despite the urgent desire gnawing at her, she couldn’t help but slow her pace, taking her time on the road.

When they got upstairs Azzi watched Paige with a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. The way Paige moved wasn't like her usual fire. Normally, the heat between them would have ignited as soon as they entered the room, but tonight, Paige was different. The calmness was unnerving in a way Azzi wasn’t used to, and she felt the weight of it settle on her chest.

She locked the door behind her, her movements slower than usual, before following Paige to her room. As she entered the room and shut the door behind her, she glanced at Paige, standing at the foot of her bed, hands in her pockets. Azzi felt the air between them shift, and she hesitated for a moment, unsure of what this new version of Paige meant. Her stomach twisted slightly, the uncertainty gnawing at her.

“Why the calm act?” Azzi asked, her voice quieter than usual, but laced with a hint of nervousness. She could feel herself second-guessing, unsure whether Paige was in control or if she was.

Paige’s lips curled into that faint, unreadable smile as she sat down and patted her lap. “Come here, baby.”

Azzi hesitated for just a second, not out of reluctance, but because she started piecing together what Paige’s calmness meant. It wasn’t hesitation—it was patience. Control.

Still, Azzi listened, stepping forward until she was standing between Paige’s legs. Paige leaned back on her elbows, her gaze dragging over Azzi in a way that made Azzi’s stomach tighten.

Paige reached for Azzi’s hand and pulled her down onto her lap. Azzi adjusted automatically, settling against Paige as Paige shifted back, leaning back against the headboard. Paige’s hands slid to her waist, thumbs pressing just enough to make Azzi feel grounded—but not enough to distract from the way Paige was looking at her.

Paige tilted her head, studying her like she had all the time in the world. “You nervous, baby?”

Azzi scoffed. “I don’t get nervous.”

Paige hummed like she wasn’t convinced, her fingers drawing lazy circles on Azzi’s hip. “You sure?”

Azzi started to reply, but the words caught in her throat when Paige shifted beneath her, adjusting her so Azzi was straddling her fully now, their bodies pressed closer.

“That’s funny,” Paige whispered, her voice dropping lower. Her fingers slipped under Azzi’s jacket, teasing her skin. “Because you feel nervous to me.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, gripping Paige’s shoulders, grounding herself. “I’m not.”

Paige didn’t respond to that. Instead, she just looked at Azzi, her expression unreadable, and said, “Gimme a kiss.”

Azzi leaned down, capturing Paige’s lips in a kiss that was meant to be deep—but Paige had other plans.

Paige made sure the kiss was agonizingly slow, dragging it out in a way that forced Azzi to feel every second of it. Even though it was messy, there was no rush, no chance for Azzi to take control. Paige set the pace, tilting her head just enough to deepen it when she wanted, pulling back slightly when Azzi tried to push for more.

Azzi let out a quiet sound of frustration against Paige’s lips, her fingers tightening on her shoulders. Paige smirked into the kiss, her grip on Azzi’s waist tight, keeping her exactly where she wanted her.

“Relax, baby,” Paige mumbled against her lips before diving back in, keeping that same rhythm, making sure Azzi felt every ounce of control she wasn’t being given.

For the next twenty minutes, Paige kept the same slow pace, her lips moving against Azzi’s. There was no urgency, no desperation—just full control. Every time Azzi tried to speed it up, Paige would pull back slightly, tilting her chin up with a smirk before diving right back in.

Azzi’s fingers gripped Paige’s shoulders, her frustration evident in the way she tried to chase her lips. Paige just chuckled against her mouth, her hands rubbing slow circles on Azzi’s waist.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Azzi murmured between kisses, her voice breathless.

Paige hummed, brushing her lips over Azzi’s again but not quite kissing her. “Maybe.”

Azzi huffed, shifting slightly in Paige’s lap, but Paige only tightened her grip, keeping her still.

“Patience, baby,” Paige whispered before kissing her again, deeper this time but still slow.

Azzi let out a quiet whine against Paige’s lips, and Paige felt the sound go straight through her.

“You’re killing me,” Azzi admitted, pulling back just enough to look at Paige.

Paige chuckled, her lips ghosting over Azzi’s. “What’s wrong?”

Azzi huffed, shifting in Paige’s lap, trying to press closer, to silently tell her exactly what she wanted. But Paige’s hands tightened around her hips, holding her in place.

Azzi’s eyes flickered with frustration as she tried again, but Paige didn’t budge.

“Use your words, baby.”

Azzi exhaled sharply, her fingers digging into Paige’s shoulders. “Paige…”

Paige tilted her head slightly, her smirk growing. “Yeah?”

Azzi narrowed her eyes, but Paige could see the way her breath hitched, the way she was fighting to hold back another whine.

“Tell me,” Paige coaxed, pressing the faintest kiss to the corner of Azzi’s mouth before pulling back again.

Azzi swallowed hard, her voice quieter now. “I want more.”

Paige smirked against Azzi’s skin, placing slow, wet kisses along her neck, taking her time. “Like what?” she whispered between kisses.

Azzi’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening on Paige’s shoulders. “Anything,” she exhaled, barely above a whisper.

Paige hummed against her skin, letting the word hang between them.

“You sure?” Paige murmured, her lips brushing against Azzi’s pulse point.

Azzi let out a frustrated sigh, tilting her head back slightly hoping she would do something with the extra access. “Paige—”

Paige licks her lips before saying “Touch yourself Az.”

Azzi’s eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Paige just smirked, tilting her head as she studied Azzi’s reaction.

“Trust me, baby,” Paige whispered, her fingers brushing soothing circles against Azzi’s waist.

Azzi hesitated for only a moment before nodding slowly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Paige smirked at that, satisfied.

“That’s my girl,” Paige whispered, pressing a wet kiss just below Azzi’s jaw.

Without any other directions she adjusts on Paige’s lap for a second. Slipping off her clothes and tossing them to the side before going back to straddling Paige.

Slowly, she started tracing her fingers through her folds, her touch barely there as she let herself explore.

Her eyes flicked to Paige’s, clear desire pooling in her brown eyes. “Like this?” she asked softly.

Paige’s smile deepened. She saw right through Azzi—knew she was putting on a show.

“Mm,” Paige hummed, pretending to consider it, her hands still resting lazily on Azzi’s waist. “You can go slower, baby.”

Azzi bit her lip, following Paige’s instruction, but Paige could see the flicker of impatience in her eyes.

“Good girl,” Paige praised. “Now, keep going.”

Azzi did as she was told. Tracing a few soft circles over her center as Paige watched. Azzi’s patience didn’t last long though. She was more than ready, she had been ready since the moment they stood up from the table. So she easily slides two fingers into herself, sighing softly at the feeling.

Paige doesn’t tear her eyes away from Azzi. Stuck between watching her fingers work and watching every reaction unfold on her face. Her grip on Azzi’s waist tightened just slightly. “Slow down,” she whispered. “You’re rushing mama.”

Azzi exhaled shakily, adjusting just like she was told, her movements becoming more deliberate as she pulled her fingers all the way out before pushing them back in letting out quiet whimpers. Paige watched closely, noting the way Azzi’s brows furrowed, the way her lips parted just slightly as she tried to stay in control.

“Good girl,” Paige praised softly, and she felt the way Azzi tensed in response. “See? You can follow directions when you want to.”

Azzi let out a quiet breath, her fingers still working inside of herself. Paige smirked. She could see the frustration already starting to build.

“Keep going,” Paige instructed, tilting her head back as she watched. “Nice and slow, mama. No need to rush.”

Azzi tried, she really did, but after another moment, she let out a small whimper, her movements faltering. Her head dropped onto Paige’s shoulder, her breathing uneven.

“What’s wrong?”

Azzi swallowed hard, shaking her head. She wasn’t sure she could put it into words how needy she was.

Paige hummed, dragging her hands up Azzi’s sides. “Tell me.”

Azzi clenched her jaw, tilting her head back slightly. “I can’t—”

“You can,” Paige corrected. “You just don’t want to.”

Azzi’s hands twitched as she sped up her movements, her breathing uneven as she let out a frustrated sigh. “Paige,” she whispered, almost pleading now.

Paige leaned in, her lips brushing just below Azzi’s ear as she whispered, “Keep going, baby. You’re doing so well for me.”

Azzi shuddered, her resolve slipping further. She adjusted her movements again, obeying, but this time there was no mistaking the slight tremor in her breathing, the way her body was betraying her patience.

Paige couldn’t get enough of this—the way Azzi’s eyes were hooded, the way her lips parted as soft sighs escaped her. And the best part? Paige hadn’t done anything yet. It reminded her of all those late-night phone calls, of the times she had Azzi like this just from her words alone.

A smirk tugged at Paige’s lips as the memory surfaced. “Remember when I used to talk you through it over the phone pretty?”

Azzi barely managed a nod, her breath catching slightly as she worked her fingers in and out of herself.

Paige hummed, dragging her fingers lazily up Azzi’s sides. “I used to tell you exactly what to do… tell you how pretty you sounded.”

A quiet whine left Azzi’s lips.

Paige smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing. “I remember the first time I heard you.” Her voice dropped even lower, a soft rasp threading through her words. “Swear I thought I was in heaven. Had never heard anything so pretty in my life.”

Azzi let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Paige tilted her head, lips ghosting over Azzi’s jaw as she added, “You told me I talked too much.”

Azzi exhaled a breathy, “You do.”

Paige chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to Azzi’s neck. “You like it.”

Azzi nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “I do, baby.”

Paige smirked. “I know you do.”

Azzi exhaled, her body melting further into Paige’s touch.

“Bet you used to put me on speaker… lay back, close your eyes, just listening to me while you touched yourself.”

Azzi’s breath hitched slightly, her lashes fluttering. “Maybe.”

Paige chuckled, pressing another kiss just beneath Azzi’s ear. “Maybe?” she echoed, feigning surprise. “Baby, I know you did.”

Azzi let out a quiet whimper at that, and Paige could feel the way her hand flexed slightly against her shoulders, gripping onto her.

“You always got so quiet toward the end,” Paige mused. “Like you were trying to be good for me, but I could still hear it—the way your breathing would change… the little noises you couldn’t hold back while you fucked yourself to my voice.”

Azzi’s fingers dug into Paige’s shoulders just slightly. “Paige…”

Paige smirked. “What, baby?”

Azzi shook her head, her voice coming out breathier now. “You talk too much.”

Paige chuckled, her grip tightening slightly around Azzi’s waist. “Mmm, and, you hang onto every word.”

“Shut up,” Azzi mumbled.

Paige grinned, her fingers grazing the nape of Azzi’s neck. “Make me.”

Azzi pulled Paige into a kiss, pressing down on her, trying to feel anything—anything more than this dull ache of needing Paige. Her own fingers weren't enough. Not anymore. She was too used to feeling Paige, the way she knew exactly how to unravel her. Anything else felt empty, unsatisfying.

Azzi pulled back, her breath coming in short, uneven pants as she met Paige’s eyes. “It’s not gonna work, baby. I need you.”

Paige’s expression didn’t change. She just blinked at her, head tilting slightly. “Hm?”

Maybe it was desperation, maybe it was the fact that they’d been at this for nearly an hour with no release—whatever it was, Azzi couldn’t take it anymore. She gripped the back of Paige’s neck, making sure she was listening. “It’s not enough. I need you to do it.”

Paige let the words linger between them, dragging her eyes over Azzi’s face, over the way her lips were parted, the way her pupils were blown wide. Slowly, Paige’s lips curled into a smirk.

“You need me to do what, baby?”

Azzi let out a small whimper, her fingers tightening against Paige’s skin. “Paige—”

Paige hummed in amusement, completely composed, completely in control. “I just wanna hear you say it.”

Azzi swallowed hard, pressing closer, her body begging Paige for mercy. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she finally gave in. “I need you to fuck me please baby.”

Paige’s hands, which had been resting innocently on Azzi’s waist, finally moved, dragging down just enough to make Azzi shudder. “That’s my girl,” Paige whispered. “All you had to do was ask.”

As soon as Paige replaces Azzi’s fingers with two of her own Azzi feels her stomach tighten as she throws her head back letting out a moan.

Azzi begins pushing herself against Paige’s hand grinding down against her jeans in a desperate attempt to feel more before she unravels. Paige notices and helps Azzi guide herself along her thigh as she pushes deeper into her.

The added pressure has Azzi whimpering near Paige’s ear as she holds her shoulders for leverage. She lets out a shaky breath, gripping the fabric of Paige’s hoodie as she pressed their foreheads together. “Your jeans…” she whispered, her voice uneven. “Don’t wanna mess them up.”

Paige let out a chuckle. “Fuck my jeans.”

Azzi exhaled sharply at that, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hoodie as she felt warmth pooling in her stomach. Paige just smiled, brushing her lips against Azzi’s jaw, her voice softer now. “Stop worrying about my clothes and make a mess on my lap like I know you want to pretty girl.”

At these words Azzi nods rapidly, her body letting go of the last bit of restraint as her legs start to shake against Paige. She lets out a series of moans as she releases against Paige’s hand riding out the feeling for as long as she can.

For a second Azzi kept her forehead resting against Paige’s shoulder, her breathing still uneven as she slowly came down. Paige pressed a lingering kiss to Azzi’s cheek before murmuring, “Lemme get up, baby.”

Azzi tightened her arms around Paige’s waist, shaking her head slightly. “We’re not done.”

Paige huffed out a soft laugh, brushing her fingers along Azzi’s back. “I know,” she assured. “Lemme go get it.”

Azzi hesitated for only a second before finally nodding, letting her arms fall away as she shifted off Paige’s lap.

Azzi stayed close even as she moved, her fingers lingering on Paige’s wrist before finally letting go. She watched as Paige stood up, stretching slightly before running a hand through her hair.

Paige glanced down at Azzi, taking in the way she was still catching her breath, her skin flushed, eyes heavy. She smirked, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Azzi’s ear. “You good, baby?”

Azzi nodded. “Hurry up.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she turned toward the closet. “So bossy.”

Azzi hummed, shifting on the bed as she leaned back against the pillows. “You like it.”

Paige didn’t respond right away, but the smile on her face said everything. As she grabbed what she needed, she looked over her shoulder at Azzi. “I do.”

Paige felt Azzi’s eyes on, watching her every move as she pulled her hoodie over her head, letting it drop to the floor before tugging her shirt off right after. Paige smiled as she heard Azzi exhale, making no attempt to hide how intently she was watching.

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “You good?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dragged her eyes over Paige’s body, making sure Paige saw exactly where she was looking. “Mhm,” Azzi hummed.

Paige laughed under her breath, shaking her head as she finished stripping off her clothes before adjusting the harness to fit perfectly. When she glanced up, Azzi was already leaning back against the pillows, head tilted slightly, one brow raised, excitement dancing in her eyes.

Paige smirked at the look she was getting. “You got something to say?”

Azzi licked her lips, eyes flicking down before meeting Paige’s again. “Yeah,” she said smoothly

Paige raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Wassup?”

Azzi didn’t look away. “I can’t wait to feel you,” she admitted.

Paige’s smile widened as she studied Azzi for a second before getting in the bed. She hovered over Azzi, her eyes warm as she took her in, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She traced her fingers along Azzi’s side before whispering, “I love you, beautiful. Thank you for today.”

Azzi’s expression softened, her thumb gently sweeping across Paige’s cheek. “I love you, P,” she whispered.

Paige leaned down, capturing Azzi’s lips in a slow, full kiss, one that felt more like a promise than anything else. Azzi sighed into it, her arms coming up to wrap around Paige’s head as she melted into her completely.

They stayed like that wrapped up in nothing but each other until Azzi finally pulled back, breathless, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair. “You can do whatever you want, P,” she whispered, eyes searching Paige’s.

Paige smiled down at her, brushing her nose against Azzi’s before whispering, “This is what I want.

Azzi searched Paige’s eyes, her fingers tracing light patterns along her back. “You sure? It’s your birthday.”

Paige let out a soft laugh, shaking her head slightly before pressing a kiss to Azzi’s jaw. “I’m positive,” she murmured against her skin.

Without another word, Paige captured Azzi’s lips again, kissing her gently but deeply, pouring all of her affection into the moment. Azzi sighed into the kiss, her grip tightening around Paige.

Paige leaned back slightly to adjust the strap so it was angled correctly before she pressed forward, glancing down, making sure Azzi was okay. Azzi’s eyes were fluttered shut, her breaths tight.

“You okay, mama?” Paige asked softly.

Azzi swallowed, nodding quickly. “Mhm.”

Paige brushed a hand down Azzi’s side. “You need a minute?”

Azzi let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “God, no.” The thought of waiting any longer seemed unbearable, like it might actually ruin her.

Paige chuckled at Azzi’s urgency, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. “Yeah?”

Azzi exhaled shakily, nodding. “Yeah… been waiting all day.”

Paige smirked against her cheek. “I know, baby. You’ve been so good for me.”

Azzi lets out a quiet moan when she feels Paige press into her full. She tilts her head to look at Paige. “Only for you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige traced gentle patterns along Azzi’s side, her touch soft as she started working in and out of her slowly. “I love when you talk like that.”

Azzi smiled softly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of Paige’s hair behind her ear. “I mean it,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her body trembled as Paige worked into her. “Nobody else, P. Just you.”

Paige’s chest tightened at the sincerity in Azzi’s voice, at the way her eyes held nothing but truthfulness. She leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to Azzi’s lips before whispering, “I know, baby.”

The room settled into a comfortable silence, nothing but their slow, steady breaths and Azzi’s soft moans filling the space. Paige pressed soft kisses to Azzi’s shoulder, her fingertips tracing light, aimless patterns along her waist as she moved in and out of her slowly. She was in no rush, completely content in the moment in letting Azzi soak up the pleasure for as long as possible.

After a while, Paige broke the silence. “You feel so good, baby,” she whispered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin.

Azzi let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping at Paige’s back. “P…” she warned, already struggling.

Paige smirked. “What?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Azzi swallowed hard, her head tilting back slightly when Paige pushed in a little harder than before. “You know what.”

Paige chuckled softly, pressing a kiss just below Azzi’s jaw. “Mmm, I don’t think I do,” she teased. “I was just saying how good you feel.”

Azzi groaned, her fingers flexing against Paige’s back. “You’re trying to make me talk,” she mumbled, her voice already strained.

Paige hummed. “Is it that hard, baby?” she teased, her smirk widening when Azzi only let out a breathy whimper in response. “C’mon, use your words,” Paige encouraged, dragging her lips down Azzi’s throat. “Tell me how you feel.”

Azzi tried—she really did—but all that came out was a soft, incoherent sound. Paige chuckled against her skin, clearly pleased with herself.

After that Azzi tried to hold back, swallowing the sounds that threatened to escape her lips not wanting to give Paige the satisfaction. But as time went on, it became impossible.

“God, P…” Azzi exhaled, her voice breathy.. “You feel so—” Her words cut off as another sharp gasp left her.

Paige smirked, her grip on Azzi’s hip tightening just slightly as she worked into her. “Yeah?” she murmured. “Tell me, baby.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate this time. “You feel so good,” she admitted, her fingers grasping at Paige’s back, nails digging in just enough to leave faint marks. “So good, P.”

Paige groaned softly at that, her body reacting instinctively as she started to speed up. “Yeah?” she pressed, her own breathing growing heavier. “You like that, mama?”

Azzi nodded rapidly, her head tilting back against the pillow. “I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” she whispered against her mouth. “So much.”

Azzi whimpered into the kiss, her legs instinctively tightening around Paige. “Don’t stop,” she pleaded softly, her hands pulling Paige closer.

Paige chuckled, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s for a brief moment as she reached down to circle Azzi’s bud. At the adding sensation Azzi immediately starts pressing herself further into Paige letting out breathless moans.

Paige’s gaze softened as she looked down at Azzi, her chest tightening with something deeper than desire.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” Paige whispered, her voice dripping with adoration. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Azzi swallowed a sigh, her lashes fluttering as she looked up at Paige through hooded eyes. She reached up, threading her fingers through Paige’s hair, tugging gently. “Keep going.”

Paige smirked slightly but kept her voice soft, intimate. “You know I’m not gonna stop, baby,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s lips.

Azzi shook her head, her grip tightening. “No—keep talking to me, P… fuck, please keep talking.”

“I love you so much, Azzi,” she whispered, her breath warm against her skin. “I promise Imma spend the rest of my life making you feel this good. However you want, whenever you want. Anything for you, baby.”

Azzi whimpered at that, her body trembling slightly. Paige kissed her temple, then her jaw, then the hollow of her throat. “You want something, all you gotta do is ask,” she continued, making sure Azzi felt every word as she pushed into her every time she whispered. “I’d give you anything, you know that?”

Azzi nodded rapidly, clinging to her. “I know,” she breathed.

Paige was completely lost in Azzi, her lips brushing against heated skin, her words nothing but breathy promises between them. But then—

Maybe: Leah Caldwell.

Siri’s voice cut through the air like an unwelcome intruder. Paige barely registered it, too consumed by Azzi—by the way she felt, the way she responded to every touch, every whisper. But she did notice the way Azzi’s body tensed slightly, the flicker of distraction in her eyes.

Without a second thought, Paige reached over and declined the call, never once breaking rhythm, never pulling away. “Focus on me, baby,” she whispered.

Azzi exhaled sharply, squeezing Paige tighter, but then—

The phone rang again.

Paige felt Azzi’s hesitation this time, saw the unspoken questions flicker in her eyes. But before Azzi could say anything, Paige shook her head no. Silently answering any questions Azzi had.

She kissed Azzi’s cheek, then her lips, whispering, “Just me and you, baby. No one else I promise.”

Azzi searched her face for a moment before nodding, fingers digging into Paige’s back as she clung to her. Paige kissed her again, pouring everything into it, silently telling Azzi that nothing—no one—could pull her away from this. From them.

Paige felt Azzi shift beneath her, reaching over to the nightstand. She didn’t stop kissing her neck, just smirked as she asked, “What you doing, mama?”

“Answering the phone.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head as she pressed another kiss to Azzi’s neck. “That right?” she murmured.

Azzi swallowed, steadying herself before bringing the phone to her ear. But before she spoke, she turned her head slightly, whispering, “Don’t stop.”

Paige’s lips curled against her skin. She nodded once. “I won’t.”

And then, with her body still wrapped around Paige’s, Azzi swiped to answer.

The line clicked open, but Azzi didn’t say a word. She let Leah speak first.

“Happy birthday,” Leah’s voice rang through the speaker, like she still had a place here. She must’ve assumed Paige had answered.

Azzi exhaled slowly before responding, her voice coming out breathy, barely above a whisper. “She’s busy.”

There was a pause on the other end, like Leah wasn’t buying it. “Very funny Paige” she said, a hint of skepticism in her tone.

Azzi parted her lips to respond, but before she could get the words out, Paige’s palm pressed down against her stomach as she worked into her faster, making her body arch slightly in reaction. Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering shut as a quiet, “Oh my god fuck” slipped past her lips.

Azzi’s grip on the phone tightened as Leah’s voice came through again, but this time the tone was different.

“…Paige?” Leah asked, her voice sounding a little confused, like she was finally starting to pick up on the fact that maybe this wasn’t a joke.

Azzi swallowed, trying to keep her composure, but her breath was still shallow. “I told you…she’s busy,” she said, voice shaking slightly.

Then, through the line, Leah could hear Paige’s voice in the background. “Hang up that shit so I can make you finish for me, pretty girl.”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered at the sound of Paige’s words, and her breath hitched.

Leah’s voice came through, more forceful now. But Azzi struggled to focus, the tension building in her chest. Paige wasn’t letting up, increasing her pace, and Azzi felt herself slipping further. The world was spinning. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think.

Azzi could barely form the words, her voice strained, but she forced herself to speak. “Don’t… call again,” she managed, her chest tightening with every word.

Before Leah could respond, Azzi pressed the red button and tossed the phone aside, her hands trembling. The moment she let go of the phone the words started tumbling out of her.

"Baby, fuck, please," Azzi whimpers, crying out fully at Paige's thrusts, "right there—yes baby keep doing that, fuck."

Pressing down a little harder on her stomach, Paige speeds up watching as Azzi’s face contorted in pleasure underneath her.

A few seconds later Azzi is letting out a high pitched moan, squeezing her eyes shut and dragging her nails down Paige’s back as she comes undone under her.

Despite this Paige keeps moving her hips into Azzi as she moves her hand back down to circle Azzi’s clit with two fingers and not a few seconds later Azzi is screaming out again, seeing white as she soaks Paige’s stomach and the sheets below them as she scrambles to push Paige out of her.

Paige’s jaw drops as she looks down, the mess between them slowly sinking in. Then a huge grin spreads across her face.

Azzi, barely feeling like she’s in her body, lets out a quiet, “Don’t…”

Paige, knowing Azzi’s warning, just chuckles lightly, her eyes still fixated on the puddle on the bed. “Okay…” she hums, but her gaze doesn’t leave the mess.

Azzi, trying to gather herself, pushes herself up slightly, her voice still shaky. “We’re getting in the shower.”

Paige, gives her a grin and a shrug. “Yup.”

“And you’re changing the sheets.”

Paige’s smile widens, her voice dripping with affection. “Yes, ma’am.”

Azzi, still breathing a little unevenly, chuckles softly. “Good,” she murmurs, resting her head back on the pillow.

“Let’s get cleaned up, beautiful,” Paige says, helping Azzi sit up before throwing her on her back as they make their way to the shower.

[hatsbuckets]

Ghoap, except it's Soap hauling Ghost.

This started as a small idea and spiraled, based on many people's recent need for Ghost to get taken care of by Soap. This is my midnight o'clock take. WC: longer than I meant to for one sitting, oops. Tw: Canon typical violence, probably some medical inaccuracies

Everything went to shit in seconds.

The C4 wasn’t supposed to blow yet. The plan was simple—sweep the compound, secure the intel, get out. But somehow, somewhere, Soap had fucked it up and the timing went off.

And now the entire fucking building was coming down around them.

Soap barely had time to turn before the blast hit.

A wall of heat and force slammed into him from behind, a deafening roar swallowing the world whole. His ears rang, vision whiting out as he was thrown forward, weightless for half a second before the ground came up to meet him—

Hard.

Everything spun. The sharp sting of concrete scraped against his arms, his ribs aching from the impact. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs weren’t working right, his head a mess of static.

A hand on his vest, gripping tight moved him. "On your feet, Johnny," a voice gritted out, rough and commanding.

Soap barely registered Ghost hauling him up, dragging him onto shaking legs just as another explosion ripped through the hallway behind them.

"Move!" Ghost barked, shoving Soap forward just as debris rained down where they’d been seconds ago.

Soap’s body acted on instinct, legs pumping despite the roaring in his skull. His head still rang like a church bell, but there was no time to think, no time to breathe—just run.

They bolted down the corridor, the walls trembling, the ceiling cracking apart. Smoke burned in Soap’s lungs, dust clogging the air as they weaved past fallen beams and crumbling debris. The sharp staccato of gunfire still echoed through the compound, but the screams had faded—either their team was already clear, or everyone else was dead.

The exit was up ahead. Not far.

Soap stumbled, boots slipping on the dust-coated floor. He felt himself tilting, his balance still fucked from the blast.

Ghost caught him. Again. A strong grip yanked him upright before he could hit the ground.

Soap barely had time to get his bearings before Ghost grabbed the back of his vest and shoved him forward, harder.

"Go, Johnny!"

Soap didn’t argue.

They burst through the exit just as another blast ripped through the structure, sending out a shockwave that nearly knocked them both off their feet. Heat licked at their backs, fire crawling up what was left of the building.

But they were out.

They kept running—across the open dirt lot, through the perimeter, straight into the dense treeline beyond. The night swallowed them whole, the branches tearing at their gear, the distant shouts of surviving hostiles echoing behind them.

They ran until their lungs burned, until the gunfire faded, until all that was left was the sound of their own ragged breathing.

They didn’t stop running.

Not when the gunfire faded behind them. Not when the compound’s burning wreckage was just a distant glow against the night sky, sending plumes of smoke curling into the stars. Not when their lungs burned, their legs screamed, and their bodies protested every step.

Because stopping wasn’t an option. Plan brunt to hell, there was no safe house waiting for them, no extraction team inbound, and no fuckin comms, Soap realized two kilometers ago. Just acres of land, endless trees, rocky hills, and God knows how much more ground to cover before they could even think about resting.

Soap’s boots thudded against the dirt, every step harder than the last. The terrain was uneven, riddled with loose stones and gnarled roots, but he forced his legs to move, to keep up with the silent force of nature ahead of him.

Ghost was still running, his stride unrelenting, his breath low and measured. He hadn’t said a word since they’d started moving, hadn’t glanced back once.

Soap barely noticed the signs at first.

The way Ghost’s steps were just a fraction too heavy. The way his shoulders were set too stiff, his posture tightening instead of loosening now that they had some distance. The way his breath was coming just a little too fast.

Then the run slowed into a jog, slowed into a trot, slowed into a walk.

The silence between them stretched, punctuated only by their footsteps and the rustling of the wind through the trees.

Soap flexed his fingers, trying to shake some life back into them. His whole body ached, exhaustion gnawing at the edges of his awareness. He was tired—dead tired—but something about the way Ghost was moving was off.

Soap turned his head, about to say something.

Ghost’s foot caught on a loose rock. His balance wavered.

Soap frowned, slowing. "Ghost—?"

Ghost didn’t answer. He swayed again. And then, just like that his knees buckled.

Soap lunged, catching him just as he collapsed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa—" Soap gritted his teeth, stumbling under Ghost’s weight. Jesus, he was heavy.

For a terrifying second, Soap thought they were both going down, but he braced himself, digging his boots into the dirt as he lowered them both to the ground. Ghost’s full weight sagged against him, dead weight, his head tipping forward as his breath hitched unevenly.

Soap’s pulse spiked.

"Ghost—hey!" Soap shifted, gripping Ghost’s arms, shaking him. "Come on, Lt., look at me!"

Ghost made a sound, weak and breathy, but it wasn’t a real response. His fingers twitched like he wanted to grab onto something, but they slipped away, his body slumping further against Soap’s hold.

Soap’s chest squeezed tight. This was bad. Ghost hadn’t just run himself to exhaustion—he was crashing.

Soap’s hands moved on autopilot, yanking at the straps of Ghost’s vest, trying to get a look at the damage. His fingers shook, fumbling at the buckles. Got it open with a yank.

Ghost flinched violently, a harsh, guttural noise ripping from his throat as his whole body seized up.

Soap froze.

Ghost’s back arched off the ground, his hands twitching at his sides like he was trying to push away pain that wasn’t stopping.

Then, slowly—too slowly—he slumped back against the dirt, his breath shuddering out of him in uneven gasps.

Soap’s stomach twisted. "Shit—Ghost—"

Ghost’s breath hitched, his body trembling hard now.

Soap barely took a second to look—didn’t need to. His hands pressed down hard against Ghost’s ribs, against the wound that should’ve killed him half a forest ago.

And Ghost groaned. It was a soft, choked noise, barely a sound, but it was wrong. Ghost didn’t make noises like that.

Soap’s hands faltered.

"Jesus, mate…" His voice wavered, but his hands stayed firm. "You were running like this?"

Ghost let out something that was almost a chuckle, but it was too weak, too breathless to be anything real. "Didn’t notice," he murmured.

Soap gritted his teeth. "Yeah? That why you’re shakin’ like a leaf?" He pressed harder, ignoring the full-body flinch it pulled from Ghost. "What, were you just gonna stitch yourself up with barbed wire when you got somewhere safe?"

Ghost let out a weak, broken chuckle. "Only if I had to."

Soap swallowed hard, forcing his hands to stay steady.

"Yeah, well... stupid," he muttered, voice tight. "Hold still and let me fix you up before you bleed out in the middle of nowhere."

Ghost let out a slow, shaky exhale, his body flinching slightly inward as another wave of pain hit him. His hand grabbed Soap's wrist quick, tight.

"Johnny—"

Soap winced, his heart slamming against his ribs. "I know, I know, Si. Just—stay with me."

Ghost’s breath stuttered.

Then, softer, "'s fuckin' cold."

"That’s ‘cause you’re leakin’ all over the damn place, ya big baby." His voice was tight, trying for light but coming up short. "We fix that, yeah?"

Ghost didn’t respond.

Soap’s chest tightened. "Oi—Simon." His hands pressed harder, blood already coating his fingers. "Eyes on me."

A sharp, shaky inhale. Then Ghost’s head tipped just slightly, like it took everything in him to listen.

Soap’s throat felt like it was closing up. "Stay awake, Lt.," he murmured, voice low, steady. "You die on me, and I swear on my gran’s grave, I’ll bring you back just to kick your arse."

Ghost let out something between a huff and a pained laugh, barely there. "Noted," he whispered.

Soap worked faster, his hands moving, even though his mind was screaming at him. He silently thanked Price for forcing them all to attend the emergency field medicine training a few weeks ago.

By the time the wound was helped best it could be, by the time Ghost was bandaged up, pressing every ounce of warmth he could into him, Ghost was still breathing.

It was shaky, weaker, but steady.

Soap sat back, exhaling sharply. "Jesus," he muttered.

Ghost hummed low, barely awake. "Told you…"

Soap side-eyed him. "Told me what? That you’re a stubborn bastard?"

Ghost made a sound that might’ve been agreement. Or just exhaustion.

"Shoulda lightened tha' las' 'splosive."

Soap sighed, rubbing a bloody hand down his face. "You shoulda told me you were bleedin' out. You ever do this again," he muttered, voice quieter now, "and I swear to God—"

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him. "…You’ll what?"

Soap stared at him. At the barely-there smirk under the mask. At the way even now, even after all this, Ghost was still Ghost.

Soap shook his head.

"I dunno," he admitted. "Just don’t do it again, yeah?"

A pause. Then, so soft Soap almost didn’t hear it—

"Aye."

Soap swallowed hard. They still had a way to go.

...

Ghost was too heavy for Soap to carry outright, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

Soap gritted his teeth, hauling Ghost up as best he could, slinging one of Ghost’s arms over his shoulders and bracing a hand around his waist. Ghost was barely holding himself upright, his legs dragging more than walking, his breath a thin, uneven rasp in Soap’s ear.

Soap’s knees burned, his muscles screamed with every step, but stopping wasn’t an option. They had to get somewhere. Somewhere else. Anywhere. He tightened his grip, forcing them forward, half dragging, half lifting Ghost across the uneven ground.

"We’re almost there," Soap muttered, though he had no fucking clue if that was true. "Just stay with me, Lt."

Ghost made a low sound—somewhere between a grunt and a breathless chuckle. "Dunno if…you noticed, Johnny," he murmured, voice so faint that Soap barely heard him over the wind, "but I don’t 'ave much of a choice."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well. Just makin’ sure you don’t get any ideas about quittin’ on me."

Ghost exhaled sharply—not quite a laugh, but close.

Soap risked a glance at his comm, his hand fumbling at the radio clipped to his vest. He’d been checking for hours, but it was always the same. Static, nothing, silence.

His throat was dry. He tried anyway.

"Bravo 0-6, this is Soap, do you copy?" His own voice was raw, barely above a rasp, but steady. He was not going to let it shake, no matter how bad this was getting.

Ghost stumbled again, and Soap nearly went down with him.

"Shit—" He tightened his grip, adjusting his hold, all but hauling Ghost upright again.

Ghost let out a sharp, ragged breath, but didn’t complain.

Soap grimaced, pressing the comm again. "Price, this is Soap. Ghost is down. We are mobile, but barely. If anyone can hear me, I need—"

A burst of static.

Soap held his breath.

Then—

"Soap."

Soap staggered mid-step, his breath catching.

Price.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ, finally—" Soap almost laughed, relief crashing through him so hard he felt weak. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself back into focus. "Ghost is hit bad, Cap. We’re a few clicks west of the facility, still moving, but he’s barely on his feet."

"I know. I’ve got you on GPS, went dark there for a bit in a valley." Price’s voice was steady, solid, the sound of it something Soap could hold onto. "You’re close, Soap. There’s an abandoned town just ahead—old mining site, should be about a click out. You make it there, and I’ll take care of the rest."

Soap exhaled hard, his grip tightening on Ghost.

"You hear that, Ghost?" he muttered, adjusting his hold. "We just gotta make it a little further. You with me?"

Ghost’s head lolled slightly, his masked face turned toward Soap.

"Not goin’ anywhere," he mumbled.

Soap let out a sharp breath, half a laugh. "Good. ‘Cause I didn’t fancy carrying your heavy arse the rest of the way."

Ghost didn’t answer.

Soap’s stomach twisted.

He risked another glance down, trying to assess—but the darkness made it impossible to see how bad it was. He could feel the warmth of Ghost against his side, could hear the way Ghost’s breathing was getting worse, thinner, fading in and out.

Soap’s jaw locked.

"Price, we need exfil fast. I don’t know how long he’s gonna last."

"I know. Just keep moving. I’ve got you."

Soap clenched his jaw, nodded to himself. Right. Keep moving. The town wasn’t far now. Soap set his teeth, tightened his grip on Ghost, and kept walking.

...

Every step was harder than the last. Soap’s knees felt like lead, his arms aching from keeping Ghost upright. His muscles screamed, his head pounded, and his vision blurred at the edges, but he kept moving. One more step.

And another.

The abandoned town finally came into view—a collection of crumbling structures, rusted-out vehicles, and shattered windows, the remnants of a long-dead mining site. The place was eerie, bathed in the faint silver glow of the moon, but to Soap it was a lifeline.

Ghost’s legs buckled again, and Soap nearly lost his footing trying to keep them both upright.

"Almost there, Lt.," he gritted out, adjusting his grip, his fingers digging into Ghost’s gear as he hauled him forward. "Just a little further, Simon. You with me?"

Ghost’s head tilted sideways slightly, his breathing shallow, sluggish, but, "Still here," he murmured.

Soap let out a sharp breath. "Atta man. Price would kill me if I had to leave you."

Ghost let out a breathy, half-there chuckle, but it barely held any strength. Soap didn’t let himself dwell on that.

They made it into the town, staggering between the ruins of buildings that had been abandoned for decades. Soap’s boots crunched against broken asphalt, his own breath ragged, the wind howling through empty streets. It was quiet. Silent. No voices. No distant gunfire. No sound of enemy vehicles chasing them down.

Just nothing.

For a long moment, Soap’s heart pounded in his ears, the quiet so thick it felt suffocating. He felt like he was holding Ghost above water, like the second he stopped, the second he let go—

He didn’t let himself finish the thought.

Instead, he took another step forward, Ghost’s weight pressing heavily into him, his pulse a sluggish, uneven thing beneath Soap’s grip.

Then a distant thump. Faint at first. Then stronger. Then closer. Soap’s head snapped up, his heart hammering as the deep, unmistakable whump-whump-whump of rotor blades filled the night.

A helicopter. Soap exhaled so hard it was nearly a sob.

A gust of wind kicked up dust and loose debris, the chopper swooping in low over the town, sending the dry earth swirling. Soap tightened his grip on Ghost, adjusting his stance as the aircraft’s floodlights swept over them, illuminating them in a harsh, artificial glow.

The second the wheels touched down, the side door slammed open and two figures came barreling out.

"Soap!"

Gaz was the first one off the bird, his rifle slung across his chest, moving like a damn bullet straight toward them.

Price was right behind him, his boots hitting the dirt hard, his face set in grim determination.

Soap barely had time to brace himself before Gaz reached him, sliding under Ghost’s other arm without hesitation, taking some of the weight off Soap’s straining shoulders.

"Fucking hell, Tav." Gaz’s voice was tight, his hands gripping Ghost’s gear as he adjusted his stance. "How long has he been like this?"

"Too long," Soap gritted out, his legs nearly giving out in relief now that someone else was helping. "We had to run, got a little out of sorts. He pushed through it ‘til he couldn’t anymore."

Price stepped in next, his face dark with something close to fury as he took one good look at Ghost, at the sluggish way his head lolled, at the blood still soaking through his bandages.

Price swore under his breath, then reached out, gripping Ghost’s jaw gently but firmly, tilting his face toward him.

"Ghost," he barked, low and sharp.

Ghost made a faint noise, barely a sound, but his eyes didn’t fully open.

Price’s grip tightened. "Look at me, Simon."

Ghost’s eyes slit open just a fraction. Just enough to see.

Price exhaled, his jaw clenching, but when he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "That’s it," he murmured.

Ghost’s head tilted slightly toward him, his breathing still too shallow, but still, "Not goin’ anywhere, sir," he mumbled.

Price huffed, a wry, tight breath of laughter, shaking his head. "Damn right, you’re not."

He slipped in under Ghost, taking Soap's spot. Soap damn near collapsed right there.

"Come on," Gaz said, adjusting his grip. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

Soap nodded sharply, ignoring the way his own exhaustion was creeping in, pushing it down. "Aye. Let’s move."

With Gaz supporting one side and Price on the other, they hauled Ghost toward the bird, Soap achingly climbing in behind them, Nik's hand shooting out, pulling Soap in.

Soap didn't bother sitting up in a seat as Nik closed the door.

Thanks for reading. midnight am blurb turned fic... should I continue? It has been continued here!

[beloveds-embrace]

Hi Noona! First, I just want to say that I am IN LOVE and OBSESSED with your Dukedom au’s, especially all the delicious ANGSTTTT you’ve been feeding uss. Your writing is literally what’s keeping me going and I can’t stop rereading all your works!! <3<3

But imagine if Knight!Konig comes back, maybe he regrets leaving reader and has realized that he loves her but he comes back to see her in that state and to see that she is OVERRR all these men being so neglectful and just numb to everything. What would his reaction even be or how would reader even react to seeing Konig coming back, basically with his tail tucked under? Would reader treat Konig even worse than the 141 since he left her and literally abandoned her?

Hi!! Thank you so so much for your kind words!! 💕💗🫶🏻 here is how i think it’d go if konig showed his ugly mug again 🙂‍↕️ thank you to @awkward-fink for helping with the little german bits! 💗

Dukedom au masterlist

angst dukedom where konig leaves

König had thought, in the weeks after leaving, that distance would provide clarity. His departure had been necessary- he’d convinced himself that the pain of watching you suffer was more than he could bear. Watching you slowly fade, your spirit cracking under the weight of the neglect, was something he couldn’t stomach.

It had been a decision made from guilt and a twisted sense of self-preservation. He had left, and in the absence of his presence, he believed he was giving you space to heal, to be free of the burden of his involvement in the chaos that seemed to constantly surround you.

But as the days turned into weeks, something gnawed at him. The silence of your absence was deafening. The image of your hollow eyes, the light leaving them as his words registered, the way you recoiled from every touch, from every word, stayed with him. Every step he took away from you felt like it was dragging him deeper into a well of regret.

But wasn’t until he heard rumors- whispers among the servants, hushed conversations in the alleyway, because he couldn’t help himself but keep an ear out for you- that he realized how deeply wrong he had been.

You weren’t just neglected now.

You were gone. Your fire had dimmed to a flicker, nothing but a broken shell of the person you had once been.

And the thought of you, isolated, suffering, and numb, shattered him more than he cared to admit.

Es war meine Schuld.

The day he returned to the duchy was gray and overcast, the sky heavy, a dark glare that felt aimed at him. König stood outside the manor gates for a long while, his breath fogging in the cold air. His heart hammered in his chest, and every instinct screamed at him to turn back.

But he had to see you. He had to make things right, even if it was too late.

He’d made the decision to return quietly- no grand gesture, no apologies spoken aloud. Just the hope that your eyes would soften at the sight of him, that you might, just maybe, let him back in. That you’d let him kneel in front of you, hold your hand to his lips so he could renew his vows of protection and loyalty.

But as he crossed the threshold of the manor, something in the air felt wrong. He could feel the weight of the place pressing down on him, as heavy as the sky outside. The halls were eerily still, and the silence wrapped around him more like a shroud than a safe blanket.

The first person he encountered was Kyle. There was no warmth in head butler’s eyes- just a cold acknowledgment of his return. When Kyle spoke, his voice was tight with bitterness. “You’ve returned,” he said simply, gaze hard. “Do what you must. Her Grace is in the conservatory.”

König felt the sting of that comment, but he didn’t falter; whyever would he care for the words of one who also had a hand in your pain and suffering? Though he did notice that Kyle, for once, spoke your title with no hatred, but respect.

True to the butler’s words, König found you in the conservatory, sitting among the flowers, your back to him. There was an untouched tray of tea nearby, delicate curls of steam rising, alongside a plate of pastries.

None of that mattered.

König’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight of you. You looked different- distant, lost in a way he hadn’t expected. As if your body was here, but the rest of you was somewhere so far away he would never be able to reach you.

“Mylady…” His voice broke the stillness, like a tremor in the air.

You didn’t turn around. Not at first. You knew it was him before he even spoke, the heavy weight of his presence unmistakable, the sound of his footsteps unforgettable to your ears.

There was a flicker of something inside you- a flash of anger, a fleeting hope, a moment of disbelief. But it was all… meaningless, swallowed up by the crushing numbness that had taken root and spread its branches in your chest.

“… Why are you back here, König?” you asked, your voice soft and flat, void of any emotion. You don’t look away from the flowers, the only colors your eyes seem to notice these days.

König stepped closer, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, unsure of whether you would allow him to approach. His throat tightened, the guilt in his chest like a snake wounding around his ribs. “I… I made a mistake, mylady. I shouldn’t have left you.”

The words felt weak, fragile. Nothing like what he wanted to say. But this was where he had to start, he thought. This was where he could rebuild, piece by fragile piece.

You finally turned to face him, your eyes meeting his with a dull, hollow gaze. There was no anger in them- not really. He had left, and it had shattered you, and now you kept the shattered pieces protected.

“You left me,” you whispered, brows furrowing, frown tugging down. “You left me when I needed you the most. There wasn’t- there wasn’t a better offer somewhere else, you just… left me.”

The snake around König’s chest constricted painfully. “I know,” he said, raw and aching. “I know, mylady. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you like that. Das war ein Fehler.”

You stared at him, your gaze unblinking, the silence between you thick and heavy. Bitterness swelled in your throat, like ash. “And now you want to come back?” your voice was barely above a whisper, accusatory. “You… think that’s going to make everything better?”

He flinched, the words cutting into him like a knife. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t even expect you to want me here. But I need to try. I need to—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice suddenly louder, sharp with pain. You hold your face in your hands, breaths shaky. “Stop- stop pretending like you can fix this. You all left me to rot. I’m… I’m beyond fixing. I just want to be left alone now.”

König’s heart shattered at your words, his breath catching in his throat. He had never imagined it would be like this- never imagined the depth of your suffering even if he should have.

“I should have stayed,” he said, trembling, weak in the face of your pain. “I should have fought for you. But I didn’t. And now… I don’t know how to make it right, mylady.”

The silence between you stretched, your eyes fixed on him as if you were searching for something- some sign of the man who had once stood by your side, who had once made you feel safe. But all you saw now was a stranger whose words yoy struggled to trust.

“… Why didn’t you fight for me?” you asked at last, quietly, the tears that had been held back for so long finally threatening to spill. But you didn’t let them fall- not yet. Your chest ached, your hands trembled, but you held on.

König opened his mouth, but the words failed him. He had no answers for you- only the crushing weight of his own guilt.

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought leaving would right thing to do, for both of us. But it wasn’t. It was the worst thing I could have done, mylady. I am… sorry. Truly.”

You stared at him for a long moment, the numbness in your chest swelling to an unbearable weight. You could have screamed, could have told him everything you had bottled up. But instead, you just… turned away.

“I can’t do this,” you decide, your voice breaking. “I can’t keep letting people in only to have them leave. I can’t.”

König didn’t reach for you. He stood there, helpless, aching with the knowledge that he had done this to you- had left you to drown in your own pain, to rot in the silence of a house that cared so little.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, his voice thick with regret, but you didn’t turn back. You didn’t even acknowledge him anymore, merely focused on your flowers once more, thick tears slowly spilling down your cheeks.

König stood in the conservatory, the glass walls surrounding him, and for the first time in a long time, he understood the depth of his failure. The path back to you seemed impossible now, the distance between the man he had been and the woman he loved growing farther than he ever thought it could.

Still, he stood there like a dutiful Knight. He had left you once, and unless you specifically order him to leave… he won’t abandon you once more.

[amandabbbbb]

summary: maybank!reader who’s a coke addict and lies to rafe about her addiction until he finds out and gets soo mad

tw: drug abuse, cocaine, rafe hits barry, rafes mean to reader

word count: 409

“baby, no, i’m not letting you fucking leave again,” rafe yelled as you yanked yourself out of his tight grip and ran out the door of tannyhill.

“i’ll be back later tonight. you can trust me. i just gotta pick up for my dad.”

you never wanted to lie to rafe or be involved in drugs, but having a father who was addicted to them didn’t help. you started picking up drugs for your father luke when you were 14, but now at 19 your addiction had spiraled into something darker, something you couldn’t control.

pedaling your bike to the other side of the island, you finally arrived at barry’s, your dealer. he always gave you the best drugs and didn’t charge you much in exchange for letting him flirt with you. “that has to be the best coke you’ve ever got, barry. shit,” you exclaimed as you finished the line of coke that he lined up for you. “you know me, sweetheart. i’d never give you bad drugs, would i, beautiful?”

as the drug rushed through your body, you thought to yourself that your boyfriend rafe would never even touch drugs. he was always just trying to please his dad. he would break up with you if he ever found out about your addiction. rafe just thought of you as the prettiest pogue, so innocent, timid, and shy. he always wanted to protect you.

a couple of hours after you left tannyhill, rafe walked in as you took that line with barry, picking up coke for himself and his friends to do at the kook party tonight. he would never let you see him do drugs; he played this character needing you to look up to him and never see him as a bad guy. but when he saw you throw your head back, wiping the white powder off your nose and hearing barry call you beautiful, he filled with rage.

“y/n, what the fuck are you doing?” rafe yelled. you stood up as fast as you could, his voice ringing in your ears. “get in the fuckin car.”

he slammed the car door and drove off at a speed you never felt his truck go before. you were shaking as you noticed blood splattered on his knuckles.

rafe’s lip curled into a sneer, his disbelief evident in the way he looked at you. “you’re pathetic,” he spat out, his words like a knife to your heart. “you’re just like him, aren’t you? your father. a worthless junkie.”

tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to process his words, the pain of his words cutting deeper than you thought possible.

“i gave you everything, y/n. i gave you a better life, and this is how you repay me? by throwing it all away for some fuckin drugs?” rafe screamed, his voice cracking.

“i-i’m so sorry rafe, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “i never wanted to hurt you. i just… i don’t know how to stop.”

your words made him feel guilty. as he looked at your glistening eyes and shaking hands, all he could say was, “just stop. stop doing the drugs, baby,” rafe whispered. he saw his own reflection in your tear-streaked face and realized he didn’t know how to help you, given his own struggles with drugs. all he could mutter out was, “i’m sorry.”

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hii, I was wondering if you could do poly141! with a crush on administrator!reader? Like how they would all be having a crush on her and eventually bringing her into the relationship? No worries if not, I love your work and you’re one of my fave accounts. Have a good day💗

At Their Mercy

Pairing: Poly!141 x Reader

Warnings: Tension, suggestive flirting, possessiveness, military setting, mutual pining, rumor mill drama, reader described as professional/feminine-coded, slow burn with romantic payoff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I absolutely love this idea!! This is a fantastic idea and I hope I captured what you imagined! I’m so glad you love my writing as well!

Summary: You run the tightest operation Task Force 141 has ever seen. But even the sharpest minds can be unraveled when four elite soldiers set their sights on you.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You ran a tight ship.

The kind of ship that never hit rocks, never leaked, and never allowed room for error. As the lead administrative liaison for Task Force 141, you were the bridge between elite chaos and tight military structure. Every mission roster, clearance request, requisition form, and post-op report came through you first. You were the force behind the front lines—silent, efficient, untouchable.

You dealt with mission logistics, debriefs, diplomatic correspondence, and more red tape than any human being should have to suffer. Every supply chain was calculated to the second. Every form filed precisely. Even if it meant chasing men with blood on their boots down the hall to get them to sign a single line.

It was a high-stress job.

But you thrived on control. On being the one fixed point in a volatile world.

Until they came along.

Captain John Price. Simon “Ghost” Riley. Johnny “Soap” MacTavish. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick.

The 141.

They were a storm wrapped in Kevlar—brilliant, lethal, insubordinate, and damn near impossible to manage. They were the embodiment of beautiful chaos. The opposite of everything you stood for.

And your undoing.

John was the first to notice you—not just for your mind or precision, but for your calm. You were a lighthouse in the combat fog. You never flinched when brass raised their voice. You never cracked under pressure. He respected it. Then he admired it. And before long, that admiration curled into something deeper. Something more.

Simon came next. You didn’t shrink away from him like others did. You handed him mission packets without hesitation. Spoke to him like he was just another man, not the reaper in a skull mask. That grounded him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

Johnny flirted from the start. Relentlessly. At first, it was just to get a rise out of you. But when all he got was sarcasm and the occasional unimpressed glance? That made it personal. A challenge. And Johnny loved a challenge. Especially when the prize was someone like you.

And Kyle… Kyle never pushed. He observed. He noticed how you rubbed your temples when no one was looking. How you tucked your mug into the same corner of your desk every morning. How you softened—just a touch—when it was only them in the room. He didn’t flirt. He *saw* you. And that made it worse. Because it made it real.

You tried not to encourage them.

You dressed sharp. Stayed professional. Avoided lingering. You didn’t meet their eyes when they looked too long.

But they knew.

They noticed when your shoulders relaxed in the privacy of your office. When you started teasing Johnny back under your breath. When you called Simon “brooding” and made him *smirk*. When you caught Kyle watching you and actually *smiled*. When you told John to stop looming like a disappointed father, and he laughed.

They saw the cracks forming.

And then the rumors started.

You heard them in the mess hall, murmured by soldiers with too much time and too little respect. That you were sleeping with the 141. That Kyle got special treatment. That Johnny kissed you behind the armory. One lunatic even swore he saw you sneaking out of Simon’s quarters—which was laughable, considering no one knew where Simon actually slept.

None of it was true.

Yet.

It got back to you fast. You called a meeting with HR. Filed two formal complaints. Nearly took a corporal’s head off when he winked at you in the hallway.

You thought maybe the 141 hadn’t heard.

But one day, you stepped into your office to find John seated at your desk.

“Close the door,” he said quietly.

You did.

“We heard the rumors.”

You crossed your arms, jaw tight. “They’re lies.”

“Don’t doubt that,” he said. “But they’re still hurting you.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to us.”

You looked at him, and something shifted in the air between you. “Why?”

Simon stepped in from the side room. “Because we care.”

Kyle leaned in the doorway. “Because we’re tired of pretending.”

Johnny entered last, his face softer than you’d ever seen it. “Because it’s true. Maybe not yet—but we want it to be.”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

John stood and came closer. “We’re not asking you to throw away your job. We’re not going to parade anything. But the four of us… we’ve talked. We want you. All of us.”

Simon added, “You make us better. Tighter. Calmer.”

Johnny smirked, just a little. “You even make Ghost smile. That’s a miracle, love.”

Kyle’s voice was gentle. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

You looked at all of them—John’s fierce steadiness, Simon’s burning silence, Johnny’s relentless affection, Kyle’s quiet care—and something in you broke open.

You didn’t speak. Just moved.

You stepped forward and curled your hand into John’s shirt, tugging him down. You kissed him. Soft. Certain.

Then turned and kissed Kyle—slow and sweet. Simon stepped closer and pressed a palm to your waist like he was anchoring you, and you turned and kissed him, too, his mask barely lifted, lips warm and wanting.

Johnny grinned when you reached for him. “Knew you liked me,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I like all of you, but you’re all still insufferable.” you whispered back.

Their touches were careful after that. Reverent. John cupped the back of your head. Kyle rubbed slow circles into your back. Simon rested his hand at your hip, solid. Johnny leaned his forehead against yours like he never wanted to leave.

It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t be easy.

But it was yours.

And for once, you let yourself fall.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[azrielsdove]

Fated Souls: Azriel Ending

Warnings: Angst, Smut, 18+

Read Pt.1 Here

***

You leaned against the balcony in shock, the cold shadows burning against your heated skin. You stared with wide eyes at Azriel, a fearsome figure in the doorway. Shadows ran menacingly around his body, his golden eyes flaring with rage.

“Lucien,” he began, glancing over at him. “Was it your name that my mate was just moaning? Is it her scent that remains on your hand?” Your heart stuttered in your chest, embarrassment flooding through you. Lucien looked exactly how you felt. Azriel moved closer to you, his eyes slowly taking in the evidence of exactly what you had been doing out here. The strands of hair that had fallen loose, your wrinkled dress, the hem of it resting on your thighs instead of the ground. “My beauty,” he murmured, reaching out his hand as if to caress your face. He stopped halfway, catching the unease in your eyes. A deep sigh left the male, the shadows calming as he called them back. “I believe you are due an explanation,” he began, nodding to Lucien as well. “Both of you.”

A wave of anger suddenly hit you, eyes narrowing at your supposed mate. “What is there to explain, Azriel? That you’re in love with Elain?” You scoffed. “As if we are not already well aware. What business is it of yours what I choose to do in my personal life?” You do not know what you expected him to say, but you certainly wouldn’t have predicted the sad look in his eyes.

“I fear I have gone about things all wrong.” He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. “I owe you both an apology. I shouldn’t have barged out here the way I did. I just,” his jaw ticked as he looked to the sky, “I could feel you. Through the bond.”

You cocked your head at him, confusion furrowing your brow. “I do not understand. Feel me how?” You didn’t think he had even acknowledged the bond.

A deep flush crawled up his neck as he remained focused on the sky. “I could feel, your, uh, pleasure.” A jolt struck through your body, a sudden burn flaring in your abdomen. His eyes shot down to you, his hands clenching into tight fists. “It burned through me. I couldn’t control the anger.” He looked over to Lucien, wincing. “I’m sorry for the shadows.”

Lucien stared at him, mouth slightly agape. “You, uh, huh.” He paused as if he was thinking. “I’ve never, felt that. From Elain, I mean. So,” he coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “The two of you never, ya know…” he trailed off, waiting for Azriel to say something.

“Elain and me? No. No.” Azriel shook his head, laughing lowly. “This is what I meant when I said I owed you both an explanation. There’s been a rather extreme misunderstanding.” He raised his palms as if in surrender. “There’s never been anything between Elain and I. At least not from my side. I know in the beginning she felt drawn to me, but I wasn’t interested.” He looked over at you. “I already knew who my mate was.”

Your mind was racing. You weren’t sure yet if you could trust the Shadowsingers words. Too much pain still remained in your heart. “You’ve done nothing but ignore me since the bond snapped. I assumed you wanted Elain?” None of this made sense.

“I know. I was, for lack of a better word, a coward. A low-life, spineless, coward.” He looked ashamed.

Half of you screamed that he should be. That there was so reason for him to treat you the way he had. The other half of you, the half that loved him, wanted desperately to latch on to the hope that was beginning in your soul. “Az, what are you saying?” You asked slowly.

He stared at you for a long moment before speaking again. “I thought I wasn’t good enough. That perhaps your willingness to be with me was only due to the bond, and one day you would realize the mistake you had made. So I blocked it out. Apparently, too well.” He explained with a frown. “I didn’t feel any of your emotions until tonight. When you left the party, I noticed right away. And I had this awful, overwhelming sense of despair.” He shook his head. “I didn’t realize it was you at first. It wasn’t until Rhys noticed something was wrong that he pointed out the possibility of it being your feelings.”

A pang of sadness hit you at his words. He watched you as if he knew exactly how you felt. Perhaps he truly did, if what he was saying were true. “I don’t, I don’t understand.” You chewed on your lip nervously, eyes flickering between Lucien and Azriel. “Why did everyone act so strange around me then? They’ve been treating me like something fragile, as if they knew you were only going to break my heart. Yet Rhys notices instantly when something is wrong with you?” Quite frankly, you were hurt. Not only by Azriel, but by your friends.

“Yeah, that would be my fault as well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told them to not let you know. I pushed it off when they tried to tell me that you were upset. I really thought you’d…stop caring.”

You pressed your palms into your eyes hard enough to see stars, shaking your head in disbelief. “Gods, Az, you are so stupid.” You dropped your hands, too many thoughts racing through your head to make any sense. “You’ve left me to suffer, for what? Your own insecurities? What have I ever done to make you think i’d ever treat you in such a way as you have treated me?” You wanted to scream, to cry, and to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “And what about Lucien, hm? Is Elain going to creep around the corner and profess her love to him while explaining this was all just a big misunderstanding? No, I cannot do this. Not right now.” You began walking off the balcony, a scarred hand wrapping tight around your wrist, halting you. You looked down at where his skin touched yours, trying to ignore the butterflies that were betraying you in your stomach.

“Wait, please,” Azriel pleaded, eyes lined with tears. You paused, almost conceding to his touch.

No. You couldn’t.

You pulled your arm from his grasp. “I need time, Azriel,” you said softly, turning and leaving before you could change your mind.

***

A few weeks had passed since the night on the balcony. You’d avoided Azriel since then. You were not sure how to feel about it all. The damage done to your heart felt nearly irreparable.

You sat on the top of a rock over the mountain lake you frequented, letting the flats of your feet dance on the water. You leaned back on your palms, closing your eyes and turning your face towards the warm sunshine. It was calm here, a peaceful place to work through your thoughts. Could you trust Azriel? Did he still deserve the rights to your soul?

You wanted to scream that no, he didn’t. The sorry excuse of his “confidence” doesn’t negate the harm he had caused. At the same time, though, you still felt drawn to him. The sincerity in his words that night was hard to ignore. You knew you should talk to him again, but it was still too hard. That night with Lucien was the first time you had felt anything other than pain in ages.

Just to find out all the pain you had felt was for…nothing? You groaned, kicking the water in frustration and falling to lay on your back. This was all so ridiculous. It should’ve been simple. Azriel is your mate, the two of you should’ve celebrated the match. He never should’ve hidden away from you for fear of rejection. You did not understand how that made sense. By pushing you away what did he expect would happen?

Males, you thought, sighing deeply. You focused on the warm stone beneath your back, the cool water on your toes. How were they so foolish? And then there was the matter of Lucien. You could not deny the way he made you feel out on that balcony. Your skin became hot as you remembered how he kissed you, how he touched you. You could curse Azriel into a thousand lifetimes for interrupting before you experienced the delicious orgasm you knew Lucien would have delivered.

You didn’t even realize the way your hand had slipped beneath your short dress until you felt your fingers teasing your thighs. You chewed on your lip, pausing your movements. Was it wrong, to please yourself on the thoughts of another male? Your mind was swimming, and you desperately needed a release of some kind. Your fingers moved, tempting the trim of your underclothes. Your breathing came quickly as desire pooled through you, the need increasing with every second. The memory of Lucien’s lips on your neck was your tipping point, your hand sliding under the soft fabric.

You tilted your head back as your fingers circling your clit, a slow breath falling from your lips. You teased yourself, enjoying the small shocks of pleasure pulsing through your body. You thought of Lucien, of how well he worked your body. You thought of his teeth grazing your skin, his black hair tangling in your fingers, his scarred hands.

No. You were imagining Azriel. Your fingers sped up at the realization, as if they were encouraging you to keep thinking of your mate. This wasn’t the first time you had touched yourself to the thought of him, but it was certainly the most intense. Your back arched off the stone you lay on, your free hand coming to rest upon your throat, applying light pressure. You moaned softly as the burn in your abdomen flared, heady pleasure taking control. “Oh, Azriel,” you breathed out, fantasies of him taking you playing in your mind. You felt a cool breeze blow over your heated skin, tracing your body as if it was sent there to do so. It moved down your body, wrapping itself around your wrists and thighs. Almost as if-

You shot up abruptly, eyes opening wide to take in the shadows around you. They didn’t shy away, the ones on your thighs working their way up. Your body shook with the frustration of another denied orgasm. You knew he was there. That he had been watching. Listening.

“What do you want?” You asked, the question coming out weaker than you wanted. He moved out to where you were, slowly sitting down next to you. You refused to look at him, focus still on the shadows that were getting dangerously high. “How long have you been here?”

He swallowed, and if you had looked at him you would’ve seen the flush in his neck and his blown pupils as he watched his shadows on your skin. “I just, I wanted to, to talk. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you,” his words came out rushed, like he was struggling to speak correctly. “I know you come here, and it was a nice day so I thought you might be here so I came to check and then when I saw you I realized what you were doing and I knew I should walk away but then,” he took a deep breath after his run on sentence, clearly unable to think. “Fuck, then you said my name.” Heat flared through you again at the confession, twisted desire about him watching you coursing through your veins.

“I see,” you responded, the shadows now tracing so lightly over your underwear you may be imagining it. “Are they, are you, doing this?” You asked, unsure what you wanted him to say.

“They move as they wish sometimes,” he admitted, “but I can tell them to stop.” He leaned closer to you, tucking his hand under your chin to bring your face to his.

Gods, you wanted to tell him to make them stop. You knew you should. It was the right thing to do. You had so much left to talk about, after all. Yet you knew you were done for when you looked into his eyes. They were full of need, for you. Your gaze darted to his mouth, taking in the full lips you had imagined on yours more times than you could count. “Az,” you whispered, the shadows slowly applying more pressure.

“Yes?” He asked, voice quiet. You reached out one hand and grabbed on to his shirt, pulling him closer. He gently moved you to lie back down on the still warm stone, his hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other rested upon your waist. “Tell me what you want.”

You gasped as one of the shadows began circling you, a slight vibration with its movements. “Azriel, I need you to kiss me.” You had barely gotten the words out before his lips locked on top of yours. The bond soared inside of you as he kissed you, his lips moving against yours as though he were painting this moment into his mind.

You cried out as the shadow increased its pace, rocketing you towards your peak. Azriel smiled against your lips, pulling away to kiss down your jawline. His hand traveled down to meet the shadow, his fingers tracing your entrance. “I want to hear you scream for me,” he said, slipping two fingers in. You arched up against him, mouth open in a silent yell as pleasure began to overtake you. He worked his way down your neck, biting and the sucking the skin as he went. Marking you as his.

His fingers began to move inside of you, curling deliciously. You moaned loudly at the feeling, legs starting to shake. “Yes,” he murmured against your skin, playing your body as if he had studied his whole life for it. You dug your nails into his shirt, toes curling as your orgasm began to take over. Your head shot back so hard it cracked against the stone, stars shining briefly in your eyes before being overshadowed by raw pleasure. You screamed his name as your body rocked under his touch, vision blacking out. Azriel helped you through it, prolonging the feeling until your body went slack under his touch.

The loss of his shadows and his fingers left you feeling empty, your blurred vision trying to focus on him. “That,” he said, pressing another kiss to your lips, “is easily in the top five moments of my entire life.” You smiled weakly at him, catching your breath. He helped you sit up, leaning your body against his. “Shit!” He cursed, his hand touching the back of your head lightly. It was then that you felt the throbbing pain, gasping as it shot through your skull. “You’re bleeding!” You felt worry and fear rush through you, two emotions you certainly didn’t have the capacity to feel right now. It was only after a moment that you realized they belonged to Azriel.

“I’m fine,” you assured, waving him off. “S’fine.”

It was decidedly not fine, considering the way you slumped over in his arms the next second.

***

You woke in a warm bed, a thick blanket covering your body. You winced at the sore spot on the back of your head, opening your eyes slowly. You tried to take in the room around you, confused about what happened and where you were. You stilled as you realized someone was sitting in a chair by your head, his golden eyes filled with worry.

“Azriel?” You asked, moving to sit. You hissed as a jolt of pain shot through you, Azriel moving to gently lay you back down.

“Easy, easy. Madja says you split your skull almost completely in half,” he explained. Split your skull? What was he talking about? Why was he here? He must have read the confusion on your face, a sad smile coming across his. “Do you remember any of it?” He asked quietly.

Any of it? You racked your brain, trying to recall the last thing you remembered. You could feel the water on your toes, your back on the warmed rock. You were doing something, but what was it? Was someone else there? Was Azriel there?

All at once it hit you, the memories flashing before your eyes in rapid succession. A blush covered your cheeks, embarrassed by the whole thing. “Oh Hel, i’m so sorry Az.” You would’ve buried your face in your hands if you could if the action wouldn’t cause you pain. You almost wanted to do it anyway.

He chuckled, pulling your hand into his. “None of that, now,” he said, “If anything I am the one to be sorry. We never got to have our talk.”

You sighed, looking down at your entwined hands. “Why would you be so worried I wouldn’t want you? And why on everything did you think ignoring me would help?”

He looked ashamed, clearing his throat before speaking. “I do not know. I was so scared when I felt the bond snap. You know how desperately I have longed for that connection. And it was you, and I was overjoyed.” His eyes met yours, sadness rimming them. “I still am. Happy it is you, that is. You were everything I ever wanted. Beautiful. Powerful. Kind.” He gave your hand a squeeze, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Why would you want to be tied to someone who was damaged?”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking over his words. Your thumb traced the scarred skin of his hand, a strong desire to both kiss him and slap him coming over you. “Azriel, you are a fool,” you stated. “All I ever wanted was you. I do not care how the skin on your hands looks. I have never thought twice about it, aside from the fact that what was done to you was needlessly cruel.” You brought his hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a thousand moons now. Perhaps Rhysand should seek a new Spymaster if you could not even notice something as blatant as that,” you teased.

Azriel laughed, leaning forward to bring his head closer to yours. “Perhaps he should,” he agreed, nose brushing yours. “I’ll love you for the next thousand suns, if you will let me. I’ll spend them on my knees, worshipping you with every breath. You are the water in the ocean, and I am but the fish that calls you home. There is no me without you.” Your heartbeat was erratic with his words, tears pricking your eyes. “You do not have to accept the mating bond, not now and not ever. I will be overjoyed to live my life simply in your presence, every moment with you a gift.”

You pressed your forehead to his, ignoring the slight pain that accompanied it. “Kiss me, you sappy thing.” He laughed, kissing you with all the love and adoration he couldn’t yet voice. You sighed into the kiss, enjoying the way the bond sang. You had half a mind to serve him a cracker right there, ready to commit to him fully.

But it was not the right time. You winced in pain when you moved too quickly, Azriel pulling away from you instantly. “Alright, enough of that.” He said, helping you get comfortable again. “There will be plenty more opportunities when you’re healed,” he continued, winking at you. “Although, perhaps we will stick to soft surfaces for the time being.”

***

ahhhhh i hope you all love this as much as i do!!!!! i had SOO much fun with this little duo endings piece!! let me know if you’d like more of this in the future!. love yaaaaaa