#and when he just wants to sleep you play with his hair

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 13 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: If you don't make up soon, things will either escalate or stay that way forever. Which one would be worse?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/gore/death, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities, loss of identity, mentions of pregnancy, threatening, mentions and threats of suicide and self-harm, (rough) oral sex, penetration, breeding kink, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any warnings or tags please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

It started off small.

The tension in his jaw. The clench of his fists. The way he lingered in rooms he had no reason to be in, as if expecting you to finally give in.

But you didn’t. And then his evil twin took over again. Just like that.

Your books went missing. From one day to the other, you woke up and when you stepped into the warmly-lit living room, you immediately realized it. The shelf was empty. He didn’t leave you a single one.

That same night, when you made your way back to your room in order to cry and weep yourself to sleep, you realized something else was missing. Your blanket had disappeared. The radiator was turned off. And when you tried to turn it back on, it stayed cold.

Eventually, the meal portions became smaller. For each meal, the plate stayed the same size, but it got emptier. In the end, it was hardly enough to feel full. Just enough to pick at it and feel incredibly sad.

And why?

Because he wanted a reaction. A word, a glance, a single sign that you were still there. That nothing had changed, that you still belonged to him. But for once in your life, you were being stubborn,  far too stubborn. The moment you realized he would punish you anyway, even if you did things the right way (you didn’t try to escape), you gave up. You gave him up. Gave up whatever it was between you two. Because there was one thing you wanted even more than him.

An apology.

Not your freedom. Not even your goddamn hair.

You wanted an apology.

You knew how incredibly stupid it was to assume he would ever break the façade of cold and ruthlessness, even if it was for you. And after all, he had done his best, hadn’t he? In his eyes, sure. He had.

He hadn’t apologized with words, of course. That was sheer impossible. But you saw it in his actions. The soft touches, the lingering glances. The hesitation in his grip. And the softness in his eyes.

The way he stood in the doorway of your room, night after night, watching and waiting. Brooding. Hoping, maybe.

At first, he tried to play along and approach the situation nicely. You’d wake up and find something sweet on your nightstand. A book even. Back when you told him what your favorite book was, he went and bought it. A hardcover book and what was even worse, an old one. Original cover, worn out pages. It smelled like an old bookstore. It smelled familiar. Like the only home you knew. Words. Phrases. Imaginary worlds.

The moment your eyes registered the title, you felt a sinking feeling in your chest.

Wuthering Heights.

You loved it especially, because, during the course of your twisted childhood, it allowed you some closure. It made your terrible home of Yorkshire feel like more of a home. The thought of Catherine Earnshaw running around the moors, Heathcliff yearning for her, their combined pain and their longing – it turned the battleground of your childhood into something beautiful, something romantic. Like your tragedy wasn’t the only that took place there. It was the birth of something beautifully sad.

At some point, you had told him about it. The meaning the book held to you and how you loved old book stores. Second hand pages and the smell of words.

Of course he remembered it. He was always considerate like that. And back in the day, when you found that beautiful book on your nightstand, covered in dark blue and the title in an innocent white, you almost broke the spell. You almost found yourself running back to him, forgiving him, being his girl.

How could you not? It was obvious that he felt something for you, wasn’t it? Even if he would have rather died than ever admitted to that.

But you stayed strong, for that one time in your life. You stayed true to yourself and the promise not to give in first. Let him feel that he hurt you. Let him feel that he broke your heart, just after he brought you back to life.

You stayed stern. Ignored him during every meal, even though you felt his gaze on you.

The blister stayed firmly in place as well. After you had woken up that one morning and found it on your nightstand, you first reaction had been to feel fear of course. You had almost forgotten about that. You still didn’t know what had occupied your mind to make you do that. What devil had possessed you to stop taking the pill?

He had been so loving at times, so gentle. Maybe it was that. You had felt too safe in his embrace. You didn’t want to ever leave it. And after all, he left you the choice of taking it, right? So, you stopped. Four days you took it and after endless, heated arguments with yourself in your head, you stopped.

Try and live for once.

Maybe something good will come of this, after all.

But then he locked you away. Cut your hair. He didn’t believe you. And suddenly, everything was different. He didn’t speak first. And, God, you wouldn’t be the first to speak, either. If he took every inch of your hair, if he took every last bit of you. You wouldn’t give in. Not you. Not this time.

Of course you missed him. Dearly. You spent your days longing and your nights yearning.

Catherine and Heathcliff.

But you had managed a lifetime without a gentle caress before. Why would you budge now, just because you knew it now?

 Eventually he got impatient. And he took the books. The blanket, the food. The warmth. He took your comfort and all the love you felt for him. You felt the loss of his touch, of his love, like a physical reaction in your body. Something was missing. And despite your anger and your resentment, despite the disappointment and the sadness you felt, there was a part of you that wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him, rest your head on his lap and have him read to in this painfully soft voice of his, that made you feel like you were home.

You knew he didn’t do it as a punishment. He wanted a reaction. A cry, a yell, an angry word, a fight even. Everything was better than this silence.

The silence was a living, breathing thing, that took up all the space in the apartment and pressed down onto your chest, hard enough to suffocate you. And to your immense satisfaction, he seemed to feel the same way. Until, finally, he snapped.

You sat hunched over your ridiculously tiny amount of rice and a small broccoli rose. Your stomach grumbled loudly and you knew this wasn’t going to help. But you sat in silence nonetheless and tried to savor every bite.

He stood at the counter and stared down at it, his hands gripping the edge tightly. And eventually, the silence broke.

You heard the crash before you saw it – his plate, shattered against the kitchen wall. You flinched and cowered, digging your nails into your palms painfully. But you still didn’t look at him. Until his voice cut through the silence in a low growl.

“Enough.”

It was enough to make you glance up, slowly and almost carefully. It was the first time that you looked at him in weeks. You had played this game for weeks. And now it was him who lost it.

“Say something.”

You were tempted to. But you stayed strong.

You took in his appearance, the way he looked like he hadn’t slept in a while. His eyes were bloodshot and his charming smile formed into a scowl. You suddenly realized, despite it all, you felt bad for him. You didn’t want him to suffer.

Behind that whole horrible mask, there was something human inside him. Someone who felt pain and who had been through a lot. Someone who had been betrayed and hurt, by the person who was supposed to protect him.

Just like you.

Someone who cared about you, in his own twisted way.

And yet you stayed stubborn.

“Say something!” He growled again and took a step closer to you. He was angry, you could tell as much, but he was also frustrated. Behind the fury in his eyes, there was also a hint of desperation. More than a hint, a whole lot, actually. Despite the growl which was tinged in anger, you heard the softness of a plea between his words.

You opened your mouth and closed it again. Then you slowly unclenched your fists and looked down at the plate in front of you. He would never apologize. Because to do so, he would have to admit that he did something wrong. And he was far too proud for that. He was too full of himself. Also, he preferred getting angry for no reason. Apologizing wasn’t really his cup of tea.

You stayed silent and it tore at his soul. And hurting him hurt you.

When you still didn’t answer, he huffed in frustration and took another step closer. His stance was menacing and threatening. Even though you hadn’t felt the pain he could inflict on you in a few weeks now, your body remembered. It was hard to forget how the humiliation seeped into your bones like a cold, how his fist felt, whenever it connected with your body. The sound of the countless slaps to your cheek, which were echoing through the halls. The sound of your quiet despair.

He gritted his teeth and you knew, you were about to get reminded of it. Somehow you didn’t even expect it. It was almost like he had forgotten how touching you worked. After all, it had been a while. His movements seemed somewhat uncalculated. He reached out his hand above his head, but before he could land the first blow, he froze at the sound of your voice.

“I want to leave.”

Your voice was soft and gentle, small and timid, yet determined. It was such a contrast to his own anger. When he heard it, he stopped immediately. A part of him seemed relieved, like he hadn’t expected you to ever speak again. He seemed to savor the sound of your voice in his head. But by the time his brain registered your words, he frowned and slowly lowered his hand.

“What?”

You nodded and slowly looked up at him again. “I want to go. I want you to let me go. I want to go home.”

He scoffed. “This is your home.”

You shook your head. “I want to leave.” You said in the same, soft voice.

His frown deepened. “There’s no such thing. You knew the deal, when you accepted it. You belong to me. You’re not going anywhere.”

You took in the way he didn’t even look angry. Just frustrated and so very confused.

“I knew the deal. But I don’t want to stay.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t feel safe with you.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something that was equally dark as it was hurt. He hadn’t expected that. He had expected you to fight him or give in eventually, not for you to demand him to let you go. What a silly thing to hope for, right? But it was the only thing you could do.

“You don’t feel safe with me?” He all but spat out. He was disguising his pain very well behind a stony mask of anger and disgust. But you had known him for quite some time now and you slowly grew to lean the different masks and what he hid behind them.

“No, I don’t.” You said quietly. “I did everything right and I still got punished.”

He scoffed. “You tried to leave!”

“No, I didn’t!”

He gritted his teeth and eyed you up and down in a way that left you unsure how to feel.

“Yes, you did.” He spat out. “I had to kill that old bastard, because of what you did.”

His words made you flinch. “You had to?” The disbelief in your voice quickly turned back into anger. He couldn’t mean this. “You looked pretty content doing it!”

“What do you want to hear?” He hissed. “That I made a mistake? I didn’t. You made a mistake.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, but failed miserably. “I had the chance to leave. I even considered it. But I decided against it and I know that you know that!”

He clenched and unclenched his fists the whole time and you suddenly realized how lucky you were, that he hadn’t fully snapped yet. You were sure, by the end of the day you’d end up either dead or with some bone in your body broken. But so far, he did really well in his attempts to stay calm.

It was a dead end. He wouldn’t give in and the only way you could go back to oblivious co-existence was, if you gave in. But you still stood your ground and you realized just how good it felt.

“I saw you there. You stood right in front of the door. You looked at him and spoke to him, instead of- Instead of calling me and-“

That was the moment you realized something. Something that felt like a bucket of ice water on your head. Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest and the sinking, painful feeling of disappointment left you nearly breathless.

“You knew that I didn’t try to leave.”

The words were barely audible. You might as well have thought them in your head, but no. He heard you. You could tell by the way he stiffened and couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Oh my God!”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous!” He growled and suddenly he looked very determined. But his eyes told another story. “You tried to leave!”

“Oh my God!” You jumped up and glared at him with every ounce of anger you could find in yourself. “Why the Hell did you cut my hair then?!”

He pointed his index finger at you. “Because you deceived me.”

You ignored his words, too caught up in a haze of disbelief and fury. “Why did you ignore me all this time?” You nearly asked yourself that. “And the fucking pill?! What business did you have placing it there, while I was asleep? You knew I didn’t do anything wrong! That’s why you hesitated! That’s why you were suddenly so nice to me!”

“Shut your fucking mouth or I will shut it for you!”

“What did you punish me for then?!” You felt angry tears sting your eyes as you took a step closer to him. The part of you that longed for him still did. You hadn’t felt him so close to you in weeks. The warmth of his skin, the faint smell of his cologne surrounded you like a warm hug.

“You nearly killed me!” You snapped at him, very unlike yourself. Your sense of self-preservation was suddenly near-dead. All you wanted was for him to answer your question. “Why?!”

His expression was the same mix of frustration and anger. But his anger became more and more apparent. You knew he wouldn’t need much more and he would explode. Would he break your nose? Would he squash your kidney? Or would he finally finish what he started that day and choke you to death?

“One more word.” He hissed as he towered over you, ready to strike.

He hadn’t hit you yet. He wasn’t even yelling. He was just…

Was he just…

“Oh my God.” Your voice was barely audible, just a small whisper, hardly to be heard under the sound of his heavy breathing. “Oh my God, you didn’t punish me, because I tried to leave.”

He frowned and shook his head. “What are you fantasizing about now? What are you cooking up in your-“

“You did it, because of what I said to you.”

The second you realized it was the same second your anger suddenly vanished. You were obviously still angry. Mostly so, because he ignored you for so long, without really ignoring you. But you weren’t furious anymore. You were more…curious. Disappointed. And sad.

But the second you said it, you saw a brief flash of something in his eyes. You couldn’t quite tell what it was. You had seen that in him once or twice. But it always left as quickly as it came. And suddenly you were certain.

“You punished me, because of what I said to you.” You said firmly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

He scoffed. “Stop being an idiot. Stop acting like anything you could say to me would ever be enough to influence my actions. You’re nothing! I told you that! You’re-“

“Then let me go.”

He stopped and regarded you with a frown. But he was slightly calmer now, all the while you sounded almost panicked.

If he did all these vile things to you, when you were no more than a stranger to him…

What would he do to you, if you were more than that?

If he was comfortable around you?

And why on earth were you allowing it?

It was like someone suddenly pulled up a curtain in the fog that was your brain and you realized, something was wrong.

You had had no chance to escape your mother. After all, you had been no more than a child and she was your mother. Nowhere to flee and no one to rescue you. You spent your life begging and pleading and hoping to find a way to finally break free.

But this.

This.

You were letting it happen. It was you.

You were allowing this. You knew what he was doing to you and you still let him. You let him touch and kiss you and even take you.

Your first time had been with the same man, who slapped the living hell out of you. Who punched your gut and left you tied to the bed, your bladder ready to explode in pain and humiliation. The man who called you vile names. The man who committed heinous crimes on you. On your body and mind.

What were you doing?

What, for God’s sake, were you doing?

Your eyes widened impossibly and you backed away against the counter.

“I don’t want this.” You gasped out. “I don’t want any of this. I want to go home. Let me go home.”

His frown deepened. You suddenly realized, you had no idea who he was.

“Why are you suddenly…”

You saw yourself. Years from now. Tied to a bed, your body bruised and battered. Maybe there was a child on the way. Maybe you already had one. Or three. Or seven. Who could tell? Maybe you’d make a perfect baby machine. He wouldn’t let you go to the hospital to have your poor, little bastard children. No, he’d make you bear them alone, with no one to assist you but him.

And the children?

God, the children.

What would they have to go through? What kind of miserable life was right there, waiting for them to endure it? You were sure, your mother would probably look like a saint compared to him.

Years and years and years. No one ever got to go out. All they would know would be this place. They wouldn’t ever understand that there was a whole world outside, for them to explore. With kindness, with love. In a way where people’s motivation was positivity rather than fear. Where peace ruled and love didn’t equal pain.

You couldn’t do this, you suddenly realized.

You just couldn’t.

It didn’t take you longer than two seconds to reach for the block. He had stopped being careful around you approximately by the time you allowed him to use you as he pleased.

You forgot the way his lips felt on yours, the second your fingers curled around the handle of the knife.

His eyes shot open and he rushed forward, ready to beat you to it. He wouldn’t let you stab him, no matter how careful he was.

Silly man.

That wasn’t your intention.

You took a step to the side, your back pressed against the wall and raised your hand. The cold metal felt uncomfortable against your neck. The feeling was unwanted and unwelcome, but if it was indeed your only out, oh God, you would take it.

He froze in his tracks and his eyes widened to a nearly ridiculous degree. He stared at you like you were an alien and slowly held up his hands in a gesture that came close to surrender.

“What are you doing?” He asked in a soft voice. “Give me the knife.”

Your eyes were equally as wide as you stared up at him, the blade tightly pressed against your jugular.

It was funny, really. You remembered at least one time when it was him who did the exact same thing to you. But back then, he didn’t look as horrified. Instead, his brows were furrowed and his eyes half-lidded in pleasure. But now, he looked straight-up terrified.

“Let me go.” You whispered. “I want to go.”

“Darling.” He whispered back and took the tiniest step closer. When you pressed the blade even harder against your skin, he immediately stopped and raised his hands a bit.

“Okay.” He whispered. “Okay. I get it. You’re angry. I understand that. But-“

„I’m not angry!” You felt tears running down your cheeks. You had been here far too long.

“Okay. Whatever it is that you are, please listen to me. Give me the knife.”

“Why do you care?” You hissed. “After all, it was you who almost killed me!”

He took a slow breath and nodded. “I know. But I didn’t, did I?”

“No.” You gritted out. “And why not? What stopped you? What did I say to you, that made you stop?”

He frowned. He was getting impatient, you could tell. “Set the fucking knife down, do you hear me? You don’t make the rules around here.”

But you weren’t trying to get the upper hand. You weren’t even trying to prove any point. Not anymore. All that you wanted was some clarity.

What was going on inside your head?

You choked out a sob and with a shaky hand, pressed the blade harder against your skin, hard enough to draw blood.

“No!” He rushed forward, ready to yank the knife away and shake you back to your senses.

You huffed furiously and took another step away from him, shooting a glare his way.

“Let me go.” You demanded firmly.

“I can’t!” You didn’t expect the way his voice suddenly cracked. It happened so fast and was so unlike him, that your brain hardly registered it.

His gaze was fixed on the small droplet of blood that was trickling down your throat, but you hardly felt the pain. Your chest heaved rapidly and you took a deep, slow breath.

You had to get your answers. You had to get out. Or you had to die. It was the only outcome.

“I…”

You looked at him, your expression trying to gauge what he was thinking. Was he getting angry? Impatient? Was he having violent thoughts? Was he more than ready to make you pay for this?

But his expression was soft. Almost pleading. And you suddenly realized, it was not a trick.

“Please.” He said so quietly that you nearly missed it. “Just stop.”

Please?

Your breath caught in your throat, when you heard the desperation in his soft voice. His bloodshot eyes were so wide and terrified, it was unlike anything you had ever seen in him. He looked so helpless that you nearly pitied him. This wasn’t the same man. It couldn’t be. What had changed?

The only thing that could be heard were your breaths mingling in the cramped space of the kitchen. He kept stalking closer and closer, until your chest nearly touched his. And this time, you didn’t back away. He didn’t seem like a threat for once. He seemed…broken.

“You’re right.” He suddenly whispered. You felt his breath tickle your skin and everything else seemed to fade away. Nothing mattered anymore. Your body longed for him. Yearned for him.

“You’re right. I knew you didn’t try to leave. I always knew.” He whispered and reached out a hand. It hovered above yours, you felt its warmth even through the air. Just a few inches and he’d get you. But you didn’t care about the knife. All you cared about was his hand, gently wrapping around your own. The moment his palm brushed over the back of your hand, you were done for.

You were weak.

The curtain fell back into place.

And the fog, it was heavier than ever.

He held your hand with such gentleness and care, that you hardly even understood what he was doing, until he did it. What he was saying.

To what he just admitted.

“When I saw you standing there…That man right there, ready to take you away.” He swallowed and shook his head, all the while his fingers gently moved yours out of place and he finally wrapped them around the handle of the knife. “It didn’t matter to me if you tried to leave or not. All that I saw was that…You were nearly gone.” He breathed.

The knife fell to the floor with a loud thud. He then kicked it away until it bumped against the opposite wall.

“All that I saw were you. Gone. And God, I…God, I…” His voice was barely more than a breath. And his lips were so close to your own, that you could almost taste them.

His brows furrowed and he used the same hand to gently cup your cheek in his hand.

“You can’t leave me. I can’t let you go. I can’t lose…” He stopped himself.

It took you weeks, tears and anger to realize. He wasn’t angry.

He was afraid.

“Why not?” You whispered breathlessly.

He bit his lip. “Stop this.” He hissed. “I know what you’re trying to do here.”

You slowly shook your head, your gaze fixed on his eyes. “Why not?” You whispered again. You leaned even closer and now it was you who initiated the contact. The moment you felt his body pressed against yours, you were done for. You had spent so many hours craving and dying to feel him again, asking yourself why, what did I do wrong? And now he was here and he was so desperate and God, you were, too.

You never actually wanted to leave anyway, did you? It was just your way of provoking a reaction.

That was what you told yourself.

“Tell me why not.”

He opened his mouth and hid his feelings behind a deep frown. He was obviously still very deep in the game of denial. And you weren’t going to be the one to pressure him. After all, he had his own things going on. You didn’t understand them, but you knew they were there. So, instead of waiting for his answer, you tilted your head up and brushed your lips over his. The touch was barely there, it was so soft and subtle that your body hardly recognized it as a kiss. But when you kissed, he made the most desperate sound you had ever heard. His eyelids fluttered and he dipped his head forward. Craving.

He was your Heathcliff.

He was your desire, your love and your tragedy.

He was all the bad there was in the world, when you live in a world full of darkness. But within the dark, he was also the light that painted the apricot walls of the halls you found yourself in into a warm white. Into all the good in the world. Into a world of warmth.

Warm. Good. Perfect.

A soft shiver ran down your spine when you felt him press against you, desperate for more. But you wouldn’t, you couldn’t, give it to him. Not yet. Despite the way your body craved his touch, you found yourself pulling back ever so slightly.

A strangled sound grumbled in his chest, like he was moments away from having his way with you, any way you could imagine.

But to your great surprise, he didn’t. He didn’t force anything on you, despite his frustration. His need was so apparent, you felt it in the way he breathed and you saw it in the way his eyes bore into yours. But he held himself back.

All for you.

“I didn’t try to leave.” You whispered. It was the one thing that was still between you, quiet and brooding, but oh-so obvious. He had hurt you. He had hurt you far worse than he had so far. Not because of the hair you lost, not because of the way he almost strangled the life out of you.

You had expected these.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to ignore you and make you feel like you did something wrong, when you didn’t.

“I know.” He said after a while. He sighed deeply and gently pressed his palms against your hips, holding you in a tight, near-bruising grip. His fingers dug into your flesh with an intensity that quickly reminded you of how much he needed you. It wasn’t like you were deliberately trying to tease him. You just needed…

“Forgive me.”

Your head jerked up and you stared at him speechlessly.

“You…You’re saying…”

“It was my fault.” He said very quietly. “And I’m sorry.”

Your heart nearly burst in your chest as you stared up at him. You couldn’t tell how sincere he was being. But then again, would he really say that, if he didn’t mean?

Would he say that at all? To anyone else? Ever?

You inhaled shakily and parted your lips in order to make any sound, but there was nothing. Your head was empty. All that there was, was him.

He leaned forward and pressed you against the wall behind you with the weight of his body against yours. His head dipped forward and his lips grazed your earlobe as he spoke.

“Can you forgive me, my sweet girl?” He whispered.

Your eyelids instinctively fluttered shut, when his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear. A hard shiver shook your body and you bit your lip to keep yourself from making any more sinful sounds.

“I…Yes.” You whispered back. “Yes, of course.”

He hummed softly and slowly ran his hand along your back, up your shoulders, until his fingertips carefully ran up the side of your neck. He felt the drop of blood on your skin and released a low growl.

“No one gets to hurt you”, he gritted out, “no one, but me. The rule applies to you, too.”

Your eyes stayed shut and you inhaled softly, when his fingertips slowly ran along the small wound. You had almost forgotten about that.

“I don’t know, if I should punish you for misbehaving…or take good care of you, because my darling girl is hurt.”

Your chest heaved rapidly and it only ever got worse, when his hand slowly wandered down along your chest. His hand was flatly pressed against it, like he was feeling your heartbeat. Which seemed to be exactly what he was doing.

“Your heart is racing.” He whispered. “Are you nervous?”

You nodded breathlessly. It had been a while since he last touched you. You had lived in the memory, of course. A few times even more so than you dared to admit. You weren’t normally an overly sexual person (or at least you thought so.) But the nights without him got harder and colder, so that you caught yourself a few times, with your mind on him and your hand wandering down your body.

Pathetic, you thought. But you couldn’t help yourself.

“I missed you.” You whispered, before you could stop yourself.

Of course you expected a satisfied smirk or even that he made fun of you in some way. But instead of being condescending, he hummed softly and breathed another kiss against your lips.

“Show me how much.”

You bit your lip in thoughtful hesitation. A part of you was nearly there, ready to ask How?

But another part of you, a part that you only ever had gotten to know after you met him…That part wanted to be daring.

And wicked.

And even fucking naughty.

You took a shaky breath and leaned in, meeting his lips halfway. This time, he didn’t give you the opportunity to back out. His mouth dominated yours in a deep, desperate kiss. His tongue forced your mouth open and began exploring the warmth of it, meeting yours in a wicked dance.

The moan that reached your ears was enough to make your legs go weak and the fabric of your underwear grow damp.

Slowly and tentatively you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Closer.

Your leg around his waist.

Closer.

You felt the bulge in his pants press and rub against your heat in a way that made you moan in return. God, you were hungry. Hungry for him.

He bit your lip almost hard enough to draw blood and when a pained whimper left your lips, his arousal only seemed to grow and he responded with a low growl.

He pulled his head back and regarded you with a long, intense look.

“I missed you being fucking naughty for me. Look at me.” His hand shot out and he slapped your cheek, before you even realized it. You didn’t even have the time to be surprised about it, because an involuntary moan came over your lips in response.

“Good girl. Be a good girl for daddy.” He breathed. “Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You obeyed without question, parting your lips to allow two of his fingers entrance. Your eyes were half-lidded and desperate as you stared up at him, while he rubbed his fingers over your tongue.

“Suck on them, baby. Show me how much you missed me.”

Your lips closed around them and you began teasing him with your tongue, sucking on his fingers lightly. His eyes immediately darkened and you were sure you felt the hardness between his legs throb.

“My good girl.” He murmured. His free hand wandered down your body, until he cupped one of your breasts and squeezed it lightly. He hummed in response and tore at your dress with impossible strength. It didn’t take long for the material to give in. You ignored the slight pain the friction brought you, because a moment later, he pulled back and ran his tongue along your now exposed breast and sucked on the peak, causing you to arch your back and moan.

“Oh God.” You breathed. “Oh God, please.”

“Beg me.”

“I’m begging you. Please. I need you.”

“Good girl.”

He hummed again and gently nibbled on your skin, before his lips wandered up and found the uninjured side of your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head to the side to give him better access and he made good use of it, because he kissed every inch of your neck and lightly bit down it. When he did, you moaned again. And you also moaned when he bit down on your earlobe, hard enough to hurt.

You were a puddle under his touch, ready to melt, mindless. He did the thinking for you.

“Touch me.” He breathed.

You didn’t need to be told twice. In a fit of courage, you began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were shaking, but you managed to undress him fairly quick. The sight was enough to make you go into a frenzy. You leaned in and brushed your lips along his neck and down his bare chest. Every sound he made, motivated you further. Your tongue glided along his flawless skin and flicked against his stomach, making him arch his back in return.

“My naughty girl.” He murmured. “Did you miss me that bad?”

You nodded absentmindedly, licking a path up his toned torso.

“Look at me.”

You froze, before you quickly pulled back your head and looked up at him with wide eyes. He sounded so stern and determined, like he had just detected some kind of flaw in you, a mistake you made.

Please, you thought to yourself, however you want to punish me, please don’t go back to ignoring me.

He didn’t. Instead he gently ran his thumb along your lower lip and murmured: “How do you want me?”

Your face instantly flushed as you were pulled back into the abyss of your desire. “I…”

“If you don’t choose, I will.”

“Taste you”, you gasped out half a second later, “I want to taste you.”

His eyes darkened even more and he looked at you with a mixture of untamable desire and something akin to pride.

“On your knees.” He growled.

You were on your knees, before you realized it. He undid his belt with nimble fingers and you felt the leather wrap around your wrists. You didn’t protest. If anything, it turned you on even more. He wasn’t being rough about. Not tonight. It was almost like he was trying to decipher if this was what you wanted. After all, it had been a complicated few weeks. He had mistreated you. But you forgave him. And now, now he was trying to be the good guy. At least this once, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being too rough.

When you didn’t protest and only ever licked your lips in response, he exhaled a soft growl and slowly undid his pants. You watched him with a keen eye and parted lips. You had imagined and remembered the way he looked, the way he felt. But it was nothing compared to the reality of it.

His slacks landed by his ankles and you were greeted by the sight of his hardened length, throbbing and needy for your touch.

“Open wide.”

You parted your lips and stuck out your tongue, while the fire in your body only ever became bigger, hotter and far harder to put out, until it was near impossible.

He took a step closer and you felt him press against your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut and you inhaled sharply. Just a second later you felt him rub his tip along your tongue, causing him to groan. And you moaned in response.

It was very unlike yourself to be so wicked and let go of any inhibitions like that. But in that moment, you were so terribly desperate, you would have done anything for him. And you wanted him, needed him. Badly.

So, when he began to move and slowly push forward into your mouth, you let him guide your movements, but you acted just the same. He pushed forward, but you pulled back just enough to spit down at his length. He moaned in response and he moaned even louder, when you began to coat him in your saliva, right before you took him back into the warm, soft and wet embrace of your mouth.

His fingers tangled in your hair and he held your head in place, as he began to thrust forward and use your mouth to his own pleasure. His pace quickly became punishing. He was impatient, you could tell. He was desperate, just as desperate as you were.

Had he touched himself and thought about you? God, the thought drove you mad. And suddenly, you felt even more wicked.

You strained against his bruising grip and pulled your head back. For a moment, he hesitated, but then he allowed you, a frustrated groan on his lips.

“Did you touch yourself?” You breathed. “Did you think about me?”

His eyes widened briefly, but then they got surrounded by darkness again. “You stopped to ask me that fucking obvious question?”

“Say it.” You whispered. “Please, I want to hear it.”

“Every night.” He gritted out. “I touched myself every night, thinking about. The only way I could ever cum was when I imagined that I aimed for your face. Your lips. Your tight, little- Fuck!”

You didn’t give him time to finish his thoughts, because you resumed the movement and took him back between your lips, teasing and flicking, licking and sucking on his throbbing member, until the way his eyes rolled back nearly became audible.

You could hardly breathe and he kept his hard grip on the back of your head, while he used your mouth and breathed out sweet words and curses.

“My beautiful…beautiful girl…My cumslut…My whore…My dirty, little…My brainless…Ah, fuck…”

The way he throbbed inside your mouth was enough for you. You were dripping wet and you needed him. With a soft plop, you pulled your head back, which earned a hard look from him.

“Fuck me.” You gasped out breathlessly, your voice horse from the way he had just ravaged your throat. “Please, fuck me. I need you.”

He growled in response and immediately reached down to undo his belt from your wrists. A short moment later, he yanked you up to your feet and pushed you against the wall.

“How?” He growled.

“How what?” You croaked out.

“How do you want me to fuck you? Decide or I will!”

You opened your mouth.

“Too late.”

He picked you up as though you weighed nothing, making you gasp out in surprise. And then he carried you in a direction that made no fucking sense.

The balcony.

You never thought about the balcony, because after all, it wasn’t real in your book. You didn’t get to open the door or try and breathe real air, so why bother to act like it was real?

But he carried you that same way and before you knew it, he pressed something against the sensor by the side of it – a chip? Was it a chip? A card? – and the door opened.

You nearly cried. Oh no, you did cry.

He carried you outside and suddenly you felt the cold air hit your skin. The same air you had missed out on for weeks. Was it months? At least eight weeks. Two months.

It was dark and cold outside, but the city ahead was shining in countless different colors and lights. You had almost forgotten where you were, which country this was. It was so very different from the sight you had grown up to see from your window every night. The cold fog, the storms, the moors. This was different. Another world.

You were different.

You were his girl.

He pressed you against the railing and you choked out a sob. Real air. You breathed real air.

He pressed himself against you from behind, his lips grazing your ear. “How is this?” He breathed.

You swallowed thickly and tried to come up with a response, but it was impossible. You were so high up in the sky and yet you felt like everything was right. Like you were hovering above the sidewalks, the busy streets, the cobblestones.

“Thank you.” You breathed out. “Thank you.”

You heard the way he smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

He yanked your dress up, until it pooled around your hips. For a moment you had forgotten how badly you wanted him, but when he pressed a finger against your soaked panties, you remembered it again. You inhaled sharply. You would have closed your eyes under the sensation, but you had to keep them open. You didn’t know when or if you would get to see the real world again, so you wanted to savor every moment. The cars, the bicycles, the life down there.

“Make space for daddy.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you held onto the railing tightly, while you slowly spread your legs further for him. He ripped your panties apart, the sound echoing through the dark of the night.

You felt him press the tip against your entrance, slick and ready, to needy to go slow.

“Oh, baby, look at me.”

You didn’t hesitate to look over your shoulder and meet his gaze. He looked more desperate than you had ever seen him before. And when he finally pushed forward and claimed you as his once again, you had to choke back another sob. Of relief, of need, of desire.

And love.

It felt like the first time again, because it had been so long. He pushed forward slowly, taking his time to fill your body with his. A strangled sound came from your throat and he joined you in that. His head fell forward until he managed to press his forehead against yours.

“My darling, my love.” He breathed out.

My love.

This time, he didn’t take it back. He didn’t even seem to realize. And you didn’t feel the need to pretend not to have heard.

“You’re so tight.” He groaned out and captured your lips in another kiss. He began to slowly quicken the pace, pulling back, just enough so that he got to thrust into you again with renewed strength and ferocity. You moaned with every thrust he gave and you moaned louder, when you felt his fingers press against your clit and rub it.

I love you. God, the words were on the tip of your tongue. I love you.

But you stayed quiet between your moans and gasps, only being interrupted by his groans and grunts.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He repeated. “I want to fuck you all night.”

His pace became punishing yet again and he bent you over the railing. Your head fell forward and you arched your hips against him, seeking more.

He hit every right spot and his fingers against your skin were enough to make you writhe. You moaned breathlessly, the sound mingling with his grunts of pleasure. A few particularly hard thrusts were all it needed from him, to send you over the edge. You nearly screamed out your release when it hit you. It felt so warm against the cold of the night, his warmth seeping into your skin and bones, his hardness sending you into oblivion. Your walls clenched around him, making him go insane. It was all he needed to go over the edge with you. He came with a low growl, filling you with his seed, while your body practically milked his orgasm out of him. He gave another hard thrust and fucked his own release back inside you, causing you to gasp out in a mixture of relief and overstimulation. It felt heavenly and you didn’t want him to ever stop.

Once the both of you slowly came back down from your high and you stopped gasping for air, he tangled his fingers in your hair and gently pulled your head back. He rested his chin on your shoulder and breathed against your ear. Your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked at the scene in front of you again.

You wanted this. For the rest of your life.

Him. Only him. And the rest would follow.

“I’ll stay like this for a little while longer.” He whispered. “I know that you like it.”

You slowly closed your eyes, your face flushing in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. He smiled slightly.

“You still get flustered. God, you’re sweet.”

He sounded so…normal. So gentle, so sweet, so teasing, like a normal partner would, like a lover would.

You leaned back against him, savoring the feeling of his warmth and his scent, which surrounded you like a warm blanket.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” You whispered. He hummed and buried his face in your neck.

“What a silly question, my sweet girl. I’m far from done with you.”

__________________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q @luvr4miya

Author's note: Hey, sweet people! I'm sorry the chapter took me so long this time! IMPORTANT: A great part of it was inspired by sweet @hayakamis-blog

First of all, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🎉🎁🤍 I said it already, but I'll keep saying it, hehe

She wrote a lovely text which inspired a whole lot of this chapter and I'll link it here, so you can see for yourself, which you totally should!

The second thing is, I'm HELLA tired, so I'm not sure if I've proof-read it correctly...Also, my eyes are closing already, so I'll just finish the upload and hopefully answer all your lovely messages by tomorrow!

I'm sorry if it sometimes takes a while for me to respond. My depression has been rather cruel on me lately, so I sometimes find myself struggling to get things done. But you still motivate me sooo much and I really love you for that. It's a great light in the middle of darkness. So, that was enough of that for now. I love you all to the moon and back! Yours eternally,

Lana 🤍

[aakeysmash]

Pregnancy cravings

Farmer!Sukuna’s masterlist

Farmer!Sukuna thought dealing with your pregnancy cravings would be a walk in the park. I mean, come on, you two are basically self sufficient: he’s literally a farmer, what could you possibly crave that he doesn’t already have planted or stored?

Your cravings hit at the start of your second trimester. You’re barely showing, and probably the fact that nothing you eat stays in your stomach for more than two hours isn’t helping your case.

It’s winter and it’s snowing: your fields are currently covered in snow, your chickens are huddled up in their coop, your cows are sleeping in their heated stable… and you? You’re reading a book right in front of your fireplace. Sukuna gets home with his arms full of logs to keep the fire alive all night. He sets them on the ground before plopping down next to you with snow clinging to his hair.

“Get off, your nose is cold,” you mumble, pushing him away when he tries to give you a kiss. He raises one of his eyebrows, kissing you on the cheek either way (two times, to spite you). You let out a dramatic whine.

He chuckles, ruffling his hair and wetting your book’s pages with a couple of snowflakes. Annoyed, you roughly close the book, and turn around to give him a piece of your mind, just to find yourself wrapped in his arms.

“I said get off,” you repeat, softer, leaning in despite your words. His body heat is doing a better job than the fire at thawing the chill from your limbs.

“And I don’t care,” he replies nonchalantly. He kisses your temple, cocooning you deeper into him by opening his legs and tucking you into the space in front of him. You grumble something unintelligible.

“How are the only two people I can stand doing today?” He asks you, rocking you side by side. Seeing you pregnant makes him feel uncomfortably soft. And seeing you pregnant with his child? Oh god.

“I want ice cream.”

He stops.

“Huh?”

“More like your offspring wants ice cream,” you sniffle from under his jaw.

“I don’t think we have any in the freezer,” he responds, looking you in the eyes. Your lip starts wobbling.

“But I want it,” you brokenly say, trying to swallow your sobs. His heart clenches.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to have it today,” he says, and immediately regrets it when your eyes well up with tears.

“C’mon, don’t cry now, it’s just ice cream,” he tries to comfort you. Apparently he does a horrible job, because you start bawling.

“But I want it! And I hate that I want it so bad! You know how much I hate playing the weak and fragile woman part, why are you being mean?” you wail, shoving him away and getting up. You quickly go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, the duvet that was covering you mere seconds ago acting as your cloak.

“No, babe, I’m not-“

You snap your head back angrily, levelling him with a hostile glare. “Yes you are! You’re being mean when it’s your fault I’m like this!” You motion to your body.

“Actually, you begged for it, wife,” he shrugs, a corner of his mouth lifting. He doesn’t expect the punch you throw at his chest.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” you seethe, drinking your water and flying up the stairs. He sighs, rubbing his temples, wincing when he hears you sniffle again.

After ten minutes he knocks on your bedroom door- the same one you not-so-gracefully threw in his face.

“C’mon. Get out,” he grits out. Who knew dealing with a pregnant woman would strip him of the little patience he still has left?

“No. You value me less than ice cream.”

He sighs. “What can I do t’ make you forgive me?” He hears the soft pit pat of your sock-clad feet on the floor before the door creaks open. From the last few months, he'd say your mood swing should be finished by now.

You gently lower the handle, looking at his condescending espression. Then you sag your shoulder, gazing at the floor.

"You big crybaby. C'mere," he smirks, opening his arms. You bury your head in his shoulder, and he pats your hair mockingly.

"I still want ice cream, though," you mumble.

"I'll go get it at the city right now if ya stop crying," he chuckles. He widens his eyes, realizing that... he caught himself too late.

You abruptly step back. He winces.

"And you'd leave me here all alone?! Why don't you love me anymore?!"

[steddieas-shegoes]

because it's yours

for @steddielovemonth using the quote prompt: "If there is love, smallpox scars are as pretty as dimples. I'd love your face no matter what it looks like. Because it's yours." - Stephen King

rated t | 1250 words | no cw | tags: post-vecna, eddie munson lives, pre-relationship, injury recovery, first kiss, getting together

▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️◾▪️

Eddie’s not allowed visitors in the hospital, at least according to Wayne and Hopper. It’s for his own safety, they say.

Steve knows that’s partially bullshit. He’s good at sensing bullshit. But he plays along anyway, convinces the kids to just visit Max and they’ll plan a welcome home party for Eddie when he’s released. It gets harder by the day, especially when all the news they hear is that Eddie is healing well and should be good to go home even sooner than they thought.

No one tells them when he’s released.

Steve only finds out because he walks by the room Eddie’s been in, and instead of the door being closed, it’s wide open. There’s unfamiliar voices coming from the room. It could be doctors or nurses, but something makes him pause and peek in the doorway.

It’s an older woman and what appears to be her adult children, all of them having a very serious conversation about how she needs to be more careful while gardening.

Steve leaves before he’s caught eavesdropping.

He considers stopping by Dustin’s, see if he’s heard the news. Maybe the kids found out first.

Who is Steve to Eddie really?

Just because they gave each other looks and flirted a little and Steve carried him out of the Upside Down and-

He swallows the hurt and decides to go straight to Wayne’s new trailer. It’s just outside of town, easy to get to even with the damage done by the cracks. He’s been there a few times to check on him, even helped him set up his cable.

When Wayne opens the door, Steve knows something is off.

He doesn’t invite him in. Instead, he steps onto the porch and closes the door behind him. He gives Steve an awkward smile instead of his usual warm, comforting one.

“Is he home?” Steve asks.

“He’s sleeping,” Wayne allows. “He’s still recovering.”

“Do the kids know he’s home?”

“Son, he-“

“Why is he hiding? Everyone’s worried and just wants to make sure he’s okay. No one would keep him from resting!” Steve hates that his voice pitches higher. His hands are shaking. He’s never spoken to an adult he respects like this. “We just wanna know he’s safe.”

“He is.” Wayne sighs. “I told that boy no one was gonna stay away for long. He insisted everyone would forget him. I said no. He didn’t listen.”

Steve’s eyes dart over to the window he knows goes to Eddie’s bedroom. He’d been the one to help set it up when Wayne moved in.

“Can I please see him? I’ll be quick. I won’t even tell the kids yet. I just need to see,” Steve begs. “Please, Wayne.”

Wayne wordlessly opens the door and gestures for Steve to come inside.

He leads him to Eddie’s room, reminding him with a look to be quiet and not wake him up. Steve gives an understanding nod and walks into the room.

There’s sunlight sneaking through the blackout curtains, just enough to light up the bed that Eddie’s already wide awake in. Steve can’t help the smile blooming on his face.

Eddie looks scared, though.

His eyes are wide, and he’s pulled himself to the farthest corner of the queen sized bed. His hair’s a mess, proof that he probably was asleep just before Steve got here.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve waves. He doesn’t come any closer to the bed. “I just wanted to get eyes on you. Feeling alright?”

Wayne’s standing in the doorway behind Steve, probably trying to determine if he needs to step in or ride this out. If Eddie asks, Steve will leave. He doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable.

“What’re you doing here?” Eddie asks.

Steve watches the way his jaw moves around the words, how his mouth twists differently, like it’s taking more effort to talk. The scar going across his cheek, up into his temple, and down to his neck seems to be the cause of it. It’s still an angry red, stitches visible in some places where the bites must’ve been deeper.

He walks forward slowly. Eddie doesn’t stop him. Neither does Wayne.

The scar is big. It’ll always be big, though Steve has plenty of experience with scars and knows it’ll fade into a paler pink than it currently is. It’ll be a reminder, every day, of how he almost died. Eddie will have this memory every time he looks in the mirror, every time his own fingers brush against the ridged skin.

Steve cups the side of Eddie’s face that’s scarless.

Eddie gulps.

“Is this why you didn’t want anyone to visit?” He whispers.

Eddie doesn’t answer, but his eyes closing and head tilting down is answer enough.

“Eddie, look at me.”

Eddie opens his eyes.

“Do you really think a scar could scare any of us away? After how we found you, a scar is the least of our worries. You don’t have to hide from us.”

Steve’s not sure if Wayne’s still standing in the doorway, too focused on the way Eddie’s holding his gaze now. He’s lost weight and he’s still pale, but he’s alive. He’s still beautiful.

Maybe even more now.

“You’re alive. Everyone just wants you alive.”

“I’m gonna look even weirder now,” Eddie rasps out. Steve wonders if there’s damage to his throat, something his voice may never recover from entirely.

“I dunno. I think it’s pretty badass. Since when do you care about looking weird, anyway?” Steve smirks. “The Eddie Munson I know would find a new ridiculous story to tell every time he’s asked about something this cool.”

“I was leaning towards making people believe I got in a fight with a dragon,” Eddie shrugs one shoulder. His cheeks are red, warm underneath Steve’s touch.

“And won.”

Eddie leans his head forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. “Of course I won. A knight in shining armor saved me.”

“You saved everyone else first. Don’t forget that part of the story,” Steve reminds him.

“A hero’s brave sacrifice…” Eddie mumbles. Steve chuckles. “Maybe true love’s kiss?”

“Isn’t that supposed to break a curse?” Steve whispers, suddenly nervous about all the times they flirted before. Flirting is harmless until it’s not.

“You’re right. In this case, it’s the curse of never kissing a nice guy.”

“And you think I can break that curse?”

“Can’t hurt to try.”

It’s a little awkward at first, mostly because parts of Eddie’s jaw are still numb from nerve damage and moving in certain ways is difficult. But once Steve adjusts, and they both giggle against each others’ lips, it’s easy. They fit.

Eddie tries to deepen the kiss, but he is still healing, and he has to pull away when his stitches tug painfully.

“Your battle scars won’t matter to any of us. They damn sure don’t make you less beautiful to me. Everyone misses you,” Steve rubs his arm, the one with no visible bandages. “Can I at least bring Dustin over later? Let him see that you’re actually alive and the hospital and government haven’t been lying?”

“Is that what everyone thinks?”

“You have to remember we’ve been through this a lot. Hopper was dead until he wasn’t. Anything can be faked.”

“That’s reassuring,” Eddie groans. “Yeah. Bring everyone by tomorrow. I’ll even shower.”

Steve kisses the top of his head. “Do you need help?”

“With showering? I just might, big boy.”

The way Eddie smiles is different now, but Steve loves it all the same.

[himbo-kuto]

the tv was playing in the background as you were mindlessly scrolling on your phone. it was a lazy sunday afternoon in skyhaven and you and caleb decided to spend the day doing nothing. he had been twirling the ends of your hair around his finger for who knows how long at this point, half listening to what you had put on earlier. he was just happy to be in your presence. 

you left out a huff as you locked your phone and looked up at him from his lap. 

“done scrolling?” you were silent as you turned toward him, crossing your arms soon after. your eyes scanned his face, down his neck, shoulders, chest and finally your gaze settled on his arms. he was wearing one of those muscle tees with the sleeves cut off and as much as you tried to help yourself, you always caught yourself looking. caleb may be a fool for you, but he was no fool when it came to you. he bought a bunch of shirts just to rip the sleeves off of them in hopes he would catch you looking at his arms again.

“like what you see?” he leaned in closer to you, a shit eating grin dancing on his lips for catching you in the act. you immediately averted your eyes, but your reddened cheeks were a dead give away. 

“shut up..” he took your chin between your fingers, tilting upwards to catch your lips in a chaste kiss. 

“you can look all you want, honey. they’re all yours” you stuck your tongue out at him, glancing over to his arms once again and before you could even think, you leaned over and gave his bicep a big old bite. he yelped in surprise, but laughed as he looked down at you. 

“what are you doing! get off of me!” you quickly sat up and straddled his lap as you began to give his arms little love bites. his arms were soft, squishy and some might describe as… beefy. 

“they’re just so yummy looking, I have to give them a little nibble!” you continued your antics, laughing out loud as you moved up to his neck and shoulders. caleb was over the moon as he laughed along with you. he missed these moments with you– just being stupid with your laughter filling up the room.

he managed to grab your hips, pushing them back so you were sitting on his lap. you took it as your sign to stop. you wiped the stray tears from your eyes from laughing too hard before your vision cleared and when your gaze met his, you swear you felt your heart skip a beat. his cheeks were slightly flushed, hair disheveled, the quickened rise and fall of his chest– when you two were teens and he had the same look whenever you decided to mess with him. 

you took his cheeks within the palms of your hands and shifted his gaze onto yours. moments like these came and went when you were with him. moments when you would think about how you spent those grueling months after his alleged death, how you never thought you were going to see him again, but here he was, in the flesh. your thumbs stroked his cheeks gently, feeling the texture of his skin from the explosion. he was insecure about it, but it was one of things that reminded you that he was real and you loved him even more for it. there was a shift in his expression, one of innocent curiosity. 

“what is it?” you didn’t speak, you just continued to gaze on to his features.  it was only after you scanned his whole face that you gazed into his eyes, running your fingers through his hair to fix the mess you had made of it. his eyes closed instinctively, relishing in your touch. 

“nothing. i’m just really glad that you’re here is all.” you placed a small kiss onto his forehead before leaning your forehead against his. it was your turn to close your eyes. you could feel how his arms held you safely within his embrace and how his hands were steady on your hips. he prided himself on keeping you safe, and you knew it too.

god, how could he have been away from you for so long? he gave your hips a gentle squeeze as his eyes partially opened to see your face. your expression was calm and vulnerable, almost how you looked like when you sleep.. his arms reached up to your back, pulling you in for a longing embrace. 

if caleb could absorb you he would, wanting to absolve any distance between the two of you. he breathed in the scent of your shampoo that smelled faintly of apples he buried his face into your neck. a shudder went down your spine, reciprocating the same amount of intensity. you tried pulling him as close as humanly possible to your chest, you could feel the heat that was radiating off his body. you cradled his head against your cheek, carding your fingers through his dark locks once again before placing a kiss onto his temple.

you finally felt him relax into your embrace, his breathing slowed. it took a lot for caleb to fully relax, especially when he was so used to being on high alert. you’re sure what he has been through in the past couple of months couldn’t have made that easy for him. so you were just going to hold him until he tells you to let go. he listened to the faint sound of your heart beat; you were here and you were real. almost like you were reading his mind, you smile softly as you look down at his calm figure.

“you don’t have to worry anymore caleb, im here and i’m not going anywhere.” 

🎤 hello is this thing on? crazy how it's been 3 years since i've last posted, but IM BACK KINDA? i really want to get into writing again this year and sO this is my introduction back into that!! i hope y'all enjoy this caleb fluff and here's to more!!!

[leeeedith]

SEVENTEEN reaction to their S/O falling asleep on them

S.Coups 🍒

Seungcheol would immediately go into protective boyfriend mode. The second he notices you dozing off against him, he'd adjust ihs positions so you're comfortable, wrapping an arm around you securely. He might chuckle softly and whisper, "Tired, baby?" before stroking your back gently. If the other members notice and tease him, he'd just shrug, "What can I do? They're adorable."

Jeonghan 😇

Jeonghan would smirk to himself, feeling victorious. He wouldn't move at all, letting you sleep peacefully, but expect him to tease you about it later. "Wow, I must be really comfortable, huh?" He might even pretend to be asleep too just to mess with you when you wake up. But deep down, he's be really soft about it, enjoying the quiet moment with you.

Joshua 🐰

Shua would smile sweetly, his heart melting at how cute you look while sleeping. He'd carefully tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and make sure you're comfortable. If he's playing guitar, he might start strumming softly, humming a lullaby just for you. "Sleep well, angel." He'd be so soft and gentle, making sure nothing disturbes you.

Jun 🐱

Jun would be super amused but also really soft about it. He'd freeze for a second, then slowly adjust his posture so you can rest better. He might take out his phone and snap a sneaky picture, smiling to himself. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just laugh, "It's okay, you looked adorable. Want to go back to sleep?"

Hoshi 🐯

Soonyoung would try so hard not to freak out from how cute it is. His hands would hover over you for a second, unsure if he should move or stay still. Eventually, he'd relax and let you sleep, but expect him to excitedly tell the members later, "They fell asleep on me! I think I'm their favorite pillow now." If you wake up, he'd pout, "Nooo, go back to sleep! I liked it."

Wonwoo 🦊

Wonwoo would pause his book or game the moment he realizes you're asleep on him. He'd glance down at you, a small, fond smile forming as he watches you breathe softly. He wouldn't move an inch, making sure you stay comfortable. If the members tease him, he'd just say, "They were tired. Let them rest." But inside? He's secretly loving it.

Woozi 🍚

Woozi would freeze up at first, not sure what to do. He'd feel his heart flutter but act completely indifferent on the outside. He might pretend it doesn't affect him, but the tiny smile on his lips would say otherwise. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just shake his head, "It's fine. You can do it anytime." If you fall asleep while he's working on music, he might even whisper, "I'll write you a lullaby next time."

DK 🍕

Dokyeom would be so flustered but so happy. He'd try to hold in his giggles, but his excitement would be obvious. He'd look down at you with the biggest smile, resisting the urge to squish your cheeks. He'd probably tell the members later, "They fell asleep on me! Does this mean I'm comforting?" If you wake up, he'd give you his brigtest grin, "You looked so peaceful! Want to nap longer?"

Mingyu 🐶

Mingyu would absolutely melt on the spot. He'd carefully adjust so you're even more confortable, probably pulling his jacket over you to keep you warm. He'd be too scared to move, worried about waking you up, so he'd just sit there and admire how cute you look. If you wake up and apologize, he'd say quickly, "No, no! Keep sleeping, I don't mind at all."

The8 🐸

Minghao would be so soft but act chill about it. He'd glance down at you and sigh lightly, adjusting his posture to make sure you're comfortable. He'd probably stroke your hair absentmindedly while continuing whatever he was doing. Later, he'd tease you, "Guess I'm your favorite pillow now." But deep down, he'd really love it.

Seungkwan 🍊

Seungkwan would be so dramatic about it. He'd gasp softly, cover his mouth, and whisper to himself, "Oh my gosh, this is the cutest thing ever." He'd be super careful not to wake you, but later on, he'd absolutely bring it up. "You fell asleep on me! Do you know how adorable that was? I almost cried." If you apologize, he'd pout, "No, do it again next time."

Vernon 🐢

Vernon would just sit there like, "...Oh." He'd be totally chill about it but secretly loving it. He might put his phone away and just sit still, enjoying the peaceful moment. If you wake up and apologize, he'd just blink at you and say, "It's cool. You can use me as a pillow whenever." Then he'd go right back to whatever he was doing, but with a small smile.

Dino 🦖

Chan would be so soft but also so shy. He'd stare at you for a moment, not sure what to do, before finally relaxing and letting you sleep. If the members see and tease him, he'd get all flustered, "Shh! Don't wake them up!" But secretly, he'd be so happy. If you wake up and apologize, he'd interrrupt you quickly, "No, no" I liked it..."

[sleepingdeath-light]

cuddling hcs ; select members of team eleven

requested by ; nobody / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; blue lock

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; hyoma chigiri, megaru bachira, reo mikage, rin itoshi, seishiro nagi, yoichi isagi

outline ; “cuddling hcs for some of the blue lock eleven team”

note ; first time writing for these characters so they may be a touch ooc

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

hyoma chigiri

hyoma is very particular about how he approaches your relationship, and cuddling is no exception to that — it happens on his terms with very little room for compromise unless you’re in need of comfort for one reason or another (he may be something of a princess sometimes but he is still your partner so you get a bit more leniency in his eyes than other people do)

loves it when you curl up against his side so he can hug you without overheating — whether that means laying down while you latch onto his side and rest your head on his chest in bed, or you laying down next to him when he’s sat down watching something (bonus points if you lay your head on his lap when you do this because he thinks it’s kinda cute)

will only cuddle with you in bed when it’s not too warm or stuffy to do so… or on the couch when you’re watching your show when it’s off season… or briefly around the house when you need a quick hug before he goes off to do his own thing — just don’t expect him to cuddle with you in public, major pda is not his thing

when you’re cuddling in bed before going to sleep, when he’s in a more sentimental mood, he’ll hold one of your hands in his own and interlock his fingers with yours and just… hold onto you like that until you both drift off — just don’t bring it up to him during or after the fact because he’ll vehemently deny doing something so soft (egoist…)

doesn’t appreciate having his hair messed with or touched like ever, but will play with your hair when you’re cuddling (either actually styling it when you’re perched on his lap on the settee or just absentmindedly messing with it when you’re curled up next to him in bed)

meguru bachira

meguru is such a cuddle bug it’s ridiculous — like he could happily spend all day every day wrapped up in your arms, surrounded by the small of you, with you pressing kisses all over his face, and he’d still never be able to get enough of it

as far as favourite cuddling positions go, bachira loves spooning with you (especially if he gets to be little spoon)… but he’s also a big fan of laying on top of you… and he really likes you laying on top of him too… gosh he really can’t choose!

will cuddle with you anywhere at anytime around anyone whenever the urge strikes him — and that can mean anything from him tackling you into a hug immediately after a game in full view of the cameras, to him pulling you into his lap and caging you in with his arms when visiting a friends house, to him wrapping himself around you like a snake when you try to get out of bed in the morning, to just about anything else. he just really likes hugging you, that’s all!

his favourite times to cuddle you are either immediately after winning a match (yes he stinks, no he doesn’t care, just let him celebrate and he’ll shower in a minute) and in the early mornings of his days off where he can stay in bed with you for as long as he wants

loves it when you combine cuddling with other forms of physical affection (namely playing with his hair and kissing him anywhere you can reach) and he’s more than happy to return the favour — needless to say, cuddling with meguru is a guaranteed way to end up laughing and smiling so hard your cheeks and sides are aching

reo mikage

reo isn’t particularly picky about what position the two of you end up in when you’re cuddling — whether it’s your head on his chest or vice versa, whether he’s big spoon or little spoon, whether you’re curled up against his side or laying on his lap, etc. — but whatever position you’re in he’ll absolutely melt if you start playing with his hair and showering him in praise for being an amazing striker and an amazing boyfriend

unless he’s like, say, currently in the middle of training or an actual match, reo is pretty much always down to cuddle you — be that in a meeting room surrounded by investors in his father’s company, in full view of all the cameras and reporters after a match, out in public when you’re on a date, or in the privacy of your own home (or one of the villas he’s rented for the two of you to stay in). in short, location and company don’t matter to him as long as he gets the privilege of having you in his arms

he’s an excellent multitasker and more than capable of doing work when you’re cuddling (as long as you’re comfortable straddling his lap while he sits at his desk… he can’t really work well when he’s laying down) so don’t ever worry about interrupting him or getting in the way of his responsibilities when you want a hug — in fact, he’ll argue that having you there with him makes him work even better than he would otherwise

when he does unfortunately need to get up to do something else, he always makes sure to hold you extra tight for a few moments before kissing you (first between your eyebrows, then on the tip of you’re nose, and finally on your lips to get rid of your upset expression) and promising he’ll be back as soon as possible (and that nothing can keep him from his love for long)

rin itoshi

rin isn’t exactly the most physically affectionate partner — or the most affectionate person in general — but if you catch him in the right mood at the right time then you may just be able to convince him to lay down and cuddle with you for a little while

if you try and catch him off guard with a hug he will stiffen up like a statue and look at you like you’ve lost your mind as he asks you what you’re doing — especially if you do it in front of his team mates or his brother (not a fan of pda)

ninety-nine percent of the time when you’re cuddling it involves rin being the big spoon when you’re trying to get to sleep (which is one of the only times where he’ll get over himself enough to get comfy with you like this). the remaining one percent only occurs when he’s either extremely sick/injured or when he’s suffered an awful loss on the field (i.e. when he’s at his most down and vulnerable), and consists of him pretty much collapsing on top of you while you comfort/assure him and scratch your nails against his scalp in the way he likes

only ever cuddles with you in the sanctity of your shared home on the couch or in bed, and will only ever do it in the late evenings — he just likes his privacy, that’s all

doesn’t really talk much when you’re cuddling — mostly because he’s tired but occasionally because he’s feeling a bit sorry for himself and moping — but will listen to you talk and interject with a noncommittal hum every now and then to let you know he’s still awake

seishiro nagi

nagi is pretty hit and miss when it comes to cuddling — like yeah he’s big and strong and warm and it’s easy to get comfortable with him (especially in the colder months of the year), but unless he’s in the mood to cuddle it’s pretty much like cuddling a heated statue since he just lets you do what you want and barely even moves

lazy as he is, seishiro much prefers to cuddle you in positions that don’t require him to move around too much or stop him from doing whatever he was doing before. so that means you curling up on his lap or snuggling into his side when he’s sat on a chair, you laying on his chest when he’s already laid on his back, or spooning when he’s laying on his side gaming in bed

as long as he can sit or lay down he doesn’t really care where you are when you’re cuddling, but his favourite place to cuddle overall has to be his bed — especially when you’re both in your pyjamas since then he won’t have to get up and change when he feels like going to sleep

if he’s in a really good mood he may — may — kiss you on the top of the head and start explaining what he’s doing in game to you while you make yourself comfortable against him… but usually he’ll just stay quiet and let you do whatever

unless he was already in the middle of something when you started (like playing a game on his phone or watching something on tv) then there’s every chance that seishiro will just start cuddling you and fall asleep after a while — it’s warm, he likes the way you smell, and he’s comfortable, so who can blame him?

yoichi isagi

yoichi isagi is a very affectionate partner who can’t help but indulge your whims whenever the two of you finally get the chance to spend time together between his games and training, meaning that he’s going to be up for cuddling pretty much whenever you ask (unless he really needs to do something at the time, but he always makes it up for you later) — and between his strength, attentiveness, and warmth, he makes for an excellent cuddling partner

there’s something about you laying on top of him with your head on his chest that just makes yoichi’s heart flutter — but he also can’t deny how much he loves it when you tackle-hug and cling to him after a match or when he’s come back home after travelling abroad (bonus points if you’re smothering him with kisses and hanging onto him like he’ll disappear the second you let go)

while he is pretty neutral to pda and can, under the right circumstances (like those touched on in the last point), really enjoy cuddling with you in public, yoichi much prefers being able to hold you in the privacy and comfort of your shared home — especially if it’s on the settee when you’re watching your show, or in bed right before you go to sleep

isagi is a very active cuddler and rarely settles for just holding you close when you’re getting comfy together, always at the very least making a point of kissing wherever he can reach on your face and asking you about your day

[mangionebabymama]

“six thirty” — Luigi Mangione

“Whatcha gonna do when I’m bored and I wanna play video games at 2 am? What if I need a friend? Will you ride ‘til the end?” - “six thirty” by Ariana Grande

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: LOTS of pining and yearning, sort of slow-burn online romance, but it's also platonic, maybe? This also contains some slight mentions of depression and loneliness; please proceed with caution.

A/N: Inspired by this ask from a while ago, where those particular lyrics of "six thirty" about playing video games at 2 am have always stuck with me. If you don't know this about me by now, I am a Cancer sun, and it shows. I am emotional, and I'm going to be an emotional writer. Please note that this is purely fictional, but these feelings are real.

The glow of Luigi’s monitor lit up the dim room, casting long shadows across the walls. It was 2 a.m., and the quiet hum of his computer was the only sound breaking the silence. He shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as the faded memories of his surgery still lingered in his movements. Recovery had been slow, and lately, he’d found himself retreating into the digital world more and more. The real world felt heavy, distant—like it wasn’t his anymore. Like he was watching his life happen from somewhere far away. His family and friends tried to reach out, but he’d been pulling away, retreating into himself.

His cursor hovered over his Steam library, scrolling aimlessly. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for. Just something to fill the void. That’s when he noticed it—the little green dot next to your username. You were online. His heart gave a little leap, and before he could reconsider his decision, a notification appeared from you.

Can’t sleep either? Is it the insomnia again or were you hoping to see if I was up?

Luigi’s fingers flew over the keyboard for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. He glanced at the clock on his desk— now 2:01 AM—and then back at the glowing screen of his monitor. The room was darkling, lit only by the soft blue light of his computer, and the hum of the fan inside the tower was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

Pep: Both.

The reply came almost instantaneously, like a reflex, as if you’d been waiting for him. 

You: Figured. You’ve been on late a lot lately. Not that I’m complaining—company’s nice.

Luigi leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath. His back ached faintly, a dull reminder of the surgery he’d had months ago. The doctors had said he’d recover fully, but they hadn’t warned him about the mental toll it would take. The weeks spent in bed, staring at the ceiling, had given him too much time to think. And now, even though he was physically better, he couldn’t shake the weight that seemed to settle deeper into his chest every day.

Pep: Yeah, I guess I have. Sleeping’s been… hard.

You: Hard as in “can’t fall asleep” or hard as in “don’t want to”?

Luigi hesitated. You always seemed to know the right questions to ask, the questions that cut straight through the noise and got to the heart of things. He wasn’t sure if it was comforting or terrifying.

Pep: Both.

There was a pause before your next message appeared. 

You: You’ve been quiet lately. Not just tonight—like, in general. Even when we’re playing. You okay?

He stared at the words, his chest tightening. How does she always know? He wondered. You’d never met in person, never even seen each other’s faces, but somehow, you always seemed to see him. 

Pep: I don’t know. I guess… I’ve just been feeling kind of lost. I don’t even know how to explain it.

You: Try. 

Luigi let out a short, humorless laugh. Leave it to you to cut straight to the point. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words.

Pep: It’s like… everything just feels heavy, you know? Like I’m just going through the motions. I’ve been distancing myself from everyone—my family, my friends—but I don’t even know why. I just… I can’t seem to connect with anything anymore. Except this. 

He added, gesturing to the screen even though you couldn’t see him. 

Talking to you. Playing games. It’s like the only time I feel… I don’t know, alive, I guess. 

The cursor blinked as he waited for your response, his heart beating a little faster than it should have.

After a moment, you wrote back. 

You: You’re not alone in that. I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Especially now, with everything going on in the world. It’s easy to get lost in your own head.

Pep: But it’s not just that. It’s like… I’m stuck. Like I’m just watching my life pass by, and I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t know how to fix it.

There was another pause, longer this time.

You: Have you talked to anyone about this? Like, really talked?

Luigi shook his head, though he knew you couldn’t see him. 

Pep: Not really. I don’t want to bother anyone with it. And I don’t even know what I’d say.

You: You’re not bothering me

And you don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes, just saying it out loud helps.

Or typing it out, lol

He smiled faintly, a warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Pep: Thanks. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.

You: Probably be even more of a mess

You joked about that last bit of your message, and he could almost hear the teasing tone in your voice as he let out a chuckle reading what you said. 

Pep: Ya, probably

There was a comfortable silence between you both, broken only by the soft sound of his keyboard as he typed some more.

What about you? Why are you up so late?

You: Couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia’s a bitch. Plus, I was kind of hoping you’d be on.

Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. You make the nights better.

He felt his face heat up.

Pep: You make them better, too. 

Another pause preceded your following message.

You: You know, it’s okay to not be okay. And it’s okay to lean on people when you need to. You don’t have to go through this alone.

Luigi stared at the words, his throat tightening. He wasn’t sure if it was the late hour or the raw honesty of the conversation, but he felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He typed, his fingers lingering uncertainly over the keys.

Pep: I don’t want to be a burden. 

You: You’re not a burden. 

If anything, you’re the opposite. You’re important to me, Luigi—more than you realize.

His breath caught in his throat, and he had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall. 

Pep: You’re important to me too.

His hands shook as he typed. 

More than I think I’ve ever admitted.

There was a long silence, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d said too much. Yet, your response showed up, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.

You: Maybe we should admit it more. To each other. To ourselves. Life’s too short to keep everything bottled up.

Luigi nodded, even though you couldn’t see him.

Pep: Yeah. Maybe we should.

He tilted back in his seat, caught in a strange sensation of relief intertwined with fragility. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but at last, he felt like he wasn’t alone.

You: You know…

Sometimes, I think about what it would be like to meet you in person.

Luigi felt a flutter in his heart once more. 

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. I think it’d be… nice. To talk face-to-face. To really see you.

Pep: I think it’d be nice too.

You: Maybe, one day, we will

Pep: One day, for sure

The cursor blinked on the screen, expecting the next words to appear. For once, Luigi felt a spark of something he hadn’t felt in months: hope.

You: Until then, I’m here. 

Whenever you need me.

Luigi smiled, his chest swelling with gratitude. 

Pep: Same goes for you. Always.

The cursor blinked lazily on the screen, as if it, too, was holding on for Luigi to gather his courage. He sat in the dim glow of his monitor, the rest of the room swallowed by the darkness of the early hours. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, shaking, as if betraying the weight of the words he was about to type. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Why now? He thought. Why does it feel like I can only tell the truth at 2 a.m. when the world is asleep?

But he knew the answer. It wasn’t the time that mattered. It was you. The way you listened without judgment and your words seemed to reach into the parts of him he’d locked away. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he started typing.

Pep: There’s something I’ve never told anyone.

He wrote away, his words appearing on the screen in a rush as if they were desperate to escape. He paused, his heart pounding in his ears. Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to lay himself bare like this?

Just as he was about to second-guess himself, your reply appeared up.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. You know that.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers moving almost of their own accord.

Pep: It’s about why I’ve been so… distant lately. It’s not just the surgery. Not just the insomnia. It’s… I’ve always felt like I don’t belong. Like I’m on the outside looking in. Even with everybody in my life. I try to act like I’m okay, like I’m fine, but I’m not. I haven’t been for a long time.

He stopped, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the screen—2:04 AM. The world was still asleep, but he felt more awake than in months.

Your reply came quickly, longing for him to say those words all along. 

You: That’s a heavy burden to carry alone. You don’t have to, you know. You’re not as alone as you think you are.

Luigi’s lips trembled as he absorbed your words, a tight knot swirling in his throat. Deep down, he yearned to trust you, to hold on to the fragile hope that he wasn’t as solitary as he often felt. Yet, the weight of loneliness pressed heavily on him, an ever-present shadow that made believing in that hope a daunting challenge.

Pep: It’s not just that

He typed, his fingers moving faster now, as if they couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

I’ve been struggling 

with something else

Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even my closest friends.

The cursor blinked mockingly, sitting tight for him to continue. He swallowed hard, his stomach churning. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: Take your time, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out, his cup runneth over with transparency. 

Pep: I’ve always felt like I was different. Like there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t put into words. It’s not just the loneliness. It’s like… I’ve been searching for something my whole life, but I don’t know what it is. And it’s tearing me apart.

His hands trembled as he pressed the enter key, the letters materializing on the screen in sharp black and white. A rush of vulnerability washed over him, as if he had peeled away a layer of skin, revealing the raw, bleeding chaos lurking beneath. It was an eerie sensation, as though he was standing naked before an unseen audience, laid bare and utterly exposed.

His heart pounded as he waited for your reply, each second stretching into an eternity. When your message finally appeared, it was simple but profound.

You: Thank you for trusting me enough to share that. You’re not alone in feeling that way. A lot of people feel lost, like they’re searching for something they can’t quite name. It’s part of being human. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now. 

Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

Luigi’s breath caught in his throat as he read your words. It wasn’t judgment or pity that he saw in them. It was understanding. Compassion. And something else—something that made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

Pep: I don’t know where to start

He confessed, his fingers shaking as he typed. 

I feel like I’m stuck in this… this loop. Like I’m just going through the motions, but I’m not really living. I don’t know how to break out of it.

Your response was prompt, as though you had anticipated him saying those words. 

You: Start by being honest with yourself. About what you want, what you need. It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take small steps. And remember, you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. As much as you’ll let me be.

Luigi's vision swam before him as he absorbed your message, a lump rising stubbornly in his throat. He scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back the tide of emotions that surged within him—gratitude coursing through his veins, relief washing over him like a gentle wave, and a flutter of fear that danced just beneath the surface. Yet, amid this tumult, there was something else—a warm, comforting sensation enveloping him, as if he were being wrapped in a soft, reassuring hug that eased the weight on his shoulders.

Pep: I don’t know why you’re so kind to me.

He typed, his fingers moving slowly now as if each word carried the weight of his heart. 

I don’t feel like I deserve it.

You: You don’t have to earn kindness, Luigi. You deserve it just because you’re you. And you’re worth it. Don’t ever doubt that.

He stared at the screen, his breath hitching. Those words—those simple, powerful words—struck something deep inside him, something he’d buried long ago—a tiny spark of hope, flickering in the darkness.

Pep: I don’t know what to say. I just… Thank you. For being here. For listening. For… for seeing me.

You: Always, Luigi. Always.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe. Like the weight on his chest had shifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it was bearable. And for now, that was enough.

Pep: There’s one more thing. Something I’ve never told anyone. Not even myself, really.

He paused, his fingers trembling. This was it. The moment of truth. The moment he either let it all out or shut it away forever.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. I’m here.

He closed his eyes, gathering his courage. When he opened them, he started typing again, the words spilling out in a raw, unfiltered stream.

Pep: I think… I think I’ve been searching for someone. Not just anyone, but… you. I don’t know how to explain it, but talking to you, it feels like… like I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. I know it sounds crazy, but—

Your reply interrupted him, cutting off his words before he could finish.

You: It’s not crazy, Luigi. I feel it, too.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared at the screen, his mind racing. Did you really mean it? Or was it just the late hour, the vulnerability of the moment, making you say things you might not normally say?

Pep: Do you really mean that?

As he typed, his fingers erratically tremored; he couldn’t keep up with the thoughts tumbling out of his head. 

Or is it just the insomnia talking?

You: I mean it, Luigi. I’ve felt it, too. This connection between us. It’s real. 

It’s always been real. 

Pep: I want it to be real.

You: Then let’s make it real. 

His pulse quickened. The compulsion hung in the air, heavy and loaded. He’d thought about it—more times than he could count. He’d imagined what it would be like to hear your voice, to see your face, to feel your presence beside him. But it felt like a dream, something just out of reach.

Pep: But there’s so much distance. And I… I don’t know if I’m ready for that. If I’m even capable of it. I know you’re real, and this is, but I want to feel it, too. 

The honesty in his words surprised him. He hadn’t meant to say so much, but something about the late hour, the quiet, you—it made it impossible to hold back.

You: I get it. I really do. But… what if we didn’t have to figure it all out right now? What if we just… let ourselves want it? Even if it’s just for tonight.

I mean… what if we stopped pretending like this isn’t something real? Like we’re just two strangers who happen to be online at the same time. Because we’re not. We’re more than that. 

And… I don’t want to hide it anymore.

Luigi gazed at the words, his chest constricting. He felt naked and vulnerable, yet also… relieved. It was as if someone had torn off a bandage he hadn’t known was there.

Pep: I don’t want to hide it, either. I do want this. I want you. Even if it’s just like this, for now. Even if it’s just words on a screen. It just feels so real to me.

You: Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s just… be. Together. Even if it’s just for tonight.

He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He let out a slow breath, feeling the pressure ease slightly, now knowing that deep down, he understood what he wanted—he wanted you, and at long last, you were there, waiting for him. He was no longer alone. At this moment, going forward for however long the night would last, it would be just you and him—and only you and him. And it was going to be real. 

Then, slowly, he typed.

Pep: Okay. Let’s be together.

[arbitrarykiwi]

I crave more thangyu x reader before/ no game! au your fic is 😫😩😫😖😖😫😩😩😣 *SCREAMS*

What's Better Than One Boyfriend?! TWO Boyfriends!!!: II

OH WHAT A DELICIOUS MEAL YOU BOTH REQUESTED!! Omg I got so much love on the original two boyfriends post!! And I’m so happy I did because these are so fun to write. I was sitting here kicking my feet writing this fr. I combined two requests for this one, I hope yall don’t mind🙏 as always thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!! ORDER UPPP🗣️🗣️

Warnings: 18+ , drug usage , closed polyamory , swearing , some smutty parts / mentions of sex near the end , cum play , spit , probably ooc Thanos and Nam-Gyu, read at your own risk

You can find my other thangyu Two Boyfriends request here

You knew that agreeing to this relationship you’d have to please two people, give attention to two people, and you were well away of their chaotic personalities. But you did not expect that really at no point in your life are you alone now. Sure, if you’d ask nicely to have some time alone- they’d pout and give it to you- otherwise, if it wasn’t both of them with you; one of them was.

Thanos was like a ticking time bomb that could go off at any minute, he was always hyper and ready to run off with you and take you on various adventures. He was for sure an ass man, his hand always on your ass when you’re walking or bending over. He’s slapping your ass playfully as you three all head somewhere to eat lunch. When he’s walking with you his hand is 100% in one of your back pockets. He’s shitty with gifts, never really knowing what to get. He normally leaves the gift buying to Nam-Gyu. But, with his rap career picking up, he is always giving his dark haired counterpart money and telling him to buy something he thinks you’d like. And to also make up for his poor gift giving skills he often takes you shopping! Taking you wherever you like and telling you to buy whatever you pick up. He likes to say he’s not as touchy as Nam-Gyu, not as needy, but he always has to be touching you if he’s near you. Hand on your waist, thighs touching when your two sit together- just some sort of contact.

Nam-Gyu is the tamer of the two of them, balancing out the erratic nature that Thanos seems to bring to the table. Don’t get it twisted though, Nam-gyu can be just as chaotic. He’s walking into your apartment randomly and sneaking into your bed while you’re asleep because. Vary rarely do you three sleep apart, so the one night you all had work late- Nam-Gyu is texting Thanos to meet him at your apartment so they can use the key they have to enter and get to exactly where they belong- curled up next to you or on you. Nam-gyu is the one that is down for a nap whenever. You just want to stay the whole day in bed? Bet he’s getting up to close the curtains and return back in bed with you, almost immediately going back to sleep next to you. He remembers little things you said you wanted to buy but didn’t, leaving small gifts on your bed, hiding a package he got for weeks before he shows you it’s a hard to get item that you wanted and talked yourself out of because it was so expensive. And like the most perfect opposites they are Nam-Gyu is a huge tits guy. He’s laying on them, holding them, his mouth is sometimes just on your pert nipple for over an hour just because it relaxes him. When you’re walking somewhere with him- probably on the way to meet Thanos at some restaurant he found recently that he wanted to try- his hand is holding yours, fingers interlocked and pulled into his jacket pocket.

They just genuinely enjoy being around you. They swear you’re a drug yourself- claiming they get withdrawals without you nearby. Even if you wanted to go to the bathroom, just wanting to take a warm shower by yourself to relax- Thanos is on the counter of the bathroom sink, legs kicking back and forth aimlessly while Nam-gyu is sitting on the toilet lid. They’re passing a blunt back and forth, hot boxing the bathroom and making it more foggy than it already was by the hot water of your shower.

They always complain it’s too hot but never leave the bathroom. And as you turn the water off and rip open the shower curtain they’re both standing up quickly, Nam-gyu is wrapping you up in a towel and Thanos is holding a blunt to your lips. You glare at them, trying your best to seem annoyed but you can’t when they’re hazily smiling down at you with hooded eyes that are tinged red- and so your mouth begins to curl up in a smile to match theirs as you inhale the smoke.

They frequently fight for your attention. Nam-gyu more so compared to Thanos; but they both still need their precious baby’s attention! Thanos isn’t a stranger to pouting to try and get his way.

There was one time that you begged Thanos to let you finally dye his hair. The purple spray he used for the look damn near every day had stained nearly every pair of sheets you had with how easy it would come off with the slightest bit of friction. When all three of you were fucking?! Forget it- you would all come out stained purple. When he finally agrees you got him sat in front of you while you sit on the living room couch. You had to put on a show of his choice to keep him still enough to let you work your magic. Your hands work diligently against the bleached strands of hair, applying the vibrant purple dye over the entirety of his head.

The whole process was taking forever. It was a lot of steps!! And Nam-Gyu was getting fed up that Thanos seemed to have all your attention. Thanos himself didn’t have your attention captured- it was the bright purple dye that you had to apply with precision, less you stain him, you, or the furniture purple more permanently than his spray color he used to use- but Nam-gyu doesn’t notice the difference. All he sees is you’re not paying attention to him. He’s leaning down on the couch, slipping under your arms that work against Thanos’ hair to lay his head on your lap, looking up at you with a scowl. He’s trying hard to seem angry but all you can think about when you look down is a sad cat who just wants to be pet.

“What?” You ask between giggles as you look down at Nam-gyu. “It’s been hours…” he whines, “haven’t touched me at all.” He finishes, a glare still on his face. “‘M sorry baby..” you laugh again, only making him pout more but you couldn’t help it! He was just so cute. “I’m almost done! You were also the one complaining the most about being purple after we all fuck soooo- ‘m really doing this for you“ you draw out teasingly, “‘m almost done.” You say, leaning down and lifting your leg to raise his head- allowing you to place a quick kiss on your lips. You pull away and the kiss seems to make him relax a bit but there’s a look of deep thought on his face.

You quirk your eyebrow up at Nam-Gyu questioningly, your hands paused above Thanos’ head. “What if I want purple hair.” He mumbles, it’s quiet but it has both you and Thanos shocked. Thanos is spinning around to look at Nam-gyu, an accusatory eyebrow raised. “You’re jus’ being needy. You don’t want purple hair, just want ‘er to touch you.” He teases, poking Nam-gyu’s cheek with a laugh. Nam-gyu is swatting Thanos’ hand away and huffing. “No…” he grumbles, very obviously lying. He’s sitting up from your lap, “Was just thinking we could all match….i dunno, put a couple purple streaks in my hair and yours.” Nam-gyu says pointing to you.

And that’s how you ended up with purple streaks in your hair and Nam-gyu ended up with the underside of his hair purple. It was honestly adorable, all three of you matching. You took many photos of the three of you showing off your new style, you have a whole album dedicated to the three of you and your matching colored hair As time goes on you all keep it, eventually swapping colors- of course with Thanos choosing the color since he had the majority of his hair colored- it’s all about compromises!

They also take turns paying for your nails. They both seem to have their own kink for seeing your nails wrapped around their cocks or raking down their chests; and when they realized you went every two weeks like clockwork to get a cute new design, they begin taking turn handing you wads of cash to get your nails done. Who ever was paying would be the one to pick out the design. Thanos more often than not picked vibrant colors. Purples, greens, yellows- he even had you get them painted to match the pattern of his nails once. He loves French tip designs- something about them drives him crazy. He’s asks you to get crystals added or even a ‘T’ charm. Nam-Gyu usually picks dark colors. He loves seeing your nails all black with a deep blood red ombré or maybe deep blue set chrome details- of course like Thanos, he’s asking you to get his initial hidden somewhere on the design.

On weeks they’re feeling generous, they’re putting their heads together to find an extravagant design they both want to see wrapped around them. It’s one that has many add-ons, each nail a different design, different colored crystals littler the inspiration picture like a regal vault full of gems. And of course it costs more but they don’t care! When you finally leave the nail place and send them a picture of the nails they chose, not so innocently posed as if you had something cylindrical in your hand- they’re spamming your phone begging you to come back to your apartment so they could see your nails in person (and see them wrapped around their cocks).

In the relationship, surprisingly Nam-Gyu is the cook. He even ties back his hair and wears an apron. Oddly enough he seems to be able to make whatever you and Thanos want. You could simply be lounging on the couch with them, limbs entangled as you mumble about a specific craving you had- next thing you know Nam-gyu is crawling on the couch and heading to the kitchen. You can hear him rummaging, opening and closing the cupboards, beginning to call out various ingredients. Thanos-who knows his roll in the situation begins to type out a list on his phone, adjusting you off his arm and positioning you on his chest. His arms are wrapped around your back allowing you to feel the minuscule movements of his arms as he types.

When Nam-Gyu is done, he’s returning to the couch. Thanos is begrudgingly pulling himself off the couch, lifting you up a bit as he gets up, setting you in Nam-gyu’s lap. He grabs the back of your head pulling you to him and placing a quick kiss on your forehead before pulling back. “I’ll be back soon, the list isn’t too bad this time.” He chuckles as he grabs his keys off the hook by the door.

Nam-Gyu smiles when the door closes, pulling your back into him and beginning to place kisses all around your face in neck. It tickles, the rapid light touches has you giggling and squirming in his lap. As much as he loves the relationship you three have- he cherishes the moments he gets alone with you and has your attention all on him.

Thanos is off to the grocery store to pick up the ingredients that Nam-gyu requested. However, despite how many times he’s done this, and even him saying the list was easy before he left- he’s still texting Nam-gyu pictures of the items in rapid succession to make sure he’s getting the right item. It’s adorable really.

And as always, the meal is fucking phenomenal. You’d say it’s 5 star Michelin worthy but you’re sure that even the most expensive meal at the most luxurious restaurant could never compare to the full, warm flavor of the home cooked meals that Nam-Gyu makes. Anything he makes is wayyy better than any top chef- you know it and you always tell him. The sleeves off his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tattooed arms as he cooks. You’re happily hugging him from behind, standing on your tippy toes to hook your chin over his shoulder and watch him cook. You place a kiss on his neck right below his ear. “It’s not gonna be good if you keep distracting me pretty.” Nam-Gyu would hum out, pausing to turn more towards you and pull you into his side, turning his head and leaning down to place a kiss on your lips. He pats your ass a couple times and gently pushes you over to Thanos. “Help him break down the weed, I gotta focus on dinner.” The dark haired male says with a chuckle.

You’re pouting and walking over to Thanos who sits on the counter opposite the stove. He’s wearing a pair of shorts and has no shirt on, allowing you to see all his tattoos. You look up at him with a frown, “He doesn’t like me…” you playfully whine, it causes the both of them to laugh. “Mhm sure…he’s in an apron cooking for you because he hates you so bad.” Thanos teases, reaching up to cup your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks together. “You’re jus’ oh so needy, Señorita. There’s no satiating you- ever.” He laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. You hum against his lips, standing up taller to press your lips against his harder. As he pulls away he tilts his head towards the rolling tray and the bag of weed that sits on the counter to his left, “Break it down f’me, sweetheart? I gotta break down the cigar.” He says in a sickly sweet tone, one that you simply cannot say no to. So you nod and he smiles, packing one more quick kiss on your lips before releasing your face.

Another bonus to add to the list of bonuses you get when dating the two of them- is they’re literally the best people to rant to. They’re both effortlessly sassy. They both think you could do no wrong- allowing you to bitch and complain about the littlest things involving work issues, friend drama, or even something as niche as a weird fixation you found on an internet deep dive.

You were lying on your back on the bed, your head at the foot end, one hand folded lackadaisically behind your head and the other holding the blunt to your mouth. When you exhale your hit you’re ranting on about a co-worker who pissed you off at work, how you have to do extra work because the others don’t do your fair share, even telling them about the workplace romances that bloom in the office. They’re sat on the edge of the bed, nodding along to your words, looking down at you- one of them on either side of you- and passing the blunt between each other and then back down to you with ‘mhm’’s and ‘ohhh’s coming out of their mouths.

“So yeah, she comes into my cubicle and looks at the picture I have of you two on my desk- you know the one from new years last year where you guys are on my sides kissing my cheek.” You ramble, interjecting to describe the picture to make sure they know exactly what one you’re talking about. “Oh yeah I remember that, you looked so good in that dress.” Thanos says, free hand running gently over stomach under your shirt. “It’s a good fuckin’ picture. How cute that you have it in your cubicle.” Nam-gyu adds.

“Mhm.” You nod, “so anyway she asks about it and I say ‘oh it’s me and my boyfriends’” You say repeating what you told your co-worker. They both smile when they hear you say it, waiting for you to continue. “And this bitch gives me the nastiest look and says ‘as in both of them? that’s disgusting’” you say angrily mocking her nasally voice and rolling your eyes.

“What a fuckin’ bitch!” Thanos says with conviction, “She’s prolly’ mad she can’t even get one man to stay with her let alone two.” Thanos scoffs, passing the blunt down to you. “Yeah…ain’t she the cunt that you said fucked the entirety of the IT department? Don’t mind that bitch. The fuck does she know. ” Nam-gyu muses, recalling other stories about this co-worker you told him in the past. He’s rolling his eyes at the thought of that cunt saying anything like that to you.

To add to the ways they contrast each other, while Thanos is all for PDA, Nam-Gyu isn’t. Thanos has no problem with slapping your ass in public or gripping your face to pull you into a messy kiss on the subway- he’s addicted to you, when he needs a fix he’s going to get it. Nam-gyu, although not big on PDA, he makes it known he’s with you- hand in yours, small kisses to your temple or quick kisses to your lips. The difference between the two of them gives you the best of both worlds truly.

And while Nam-Gyu posts you all over his social media- tweeting about you, he adds photos of you with songs attached to his instagram or his Snapchat, posting various photos of the three of you or just you to his instagram to boast about you to his followers, Thanos doesn’t. It’s not that Thanos doesn’t post you- he does! Just not to the extent Nam-Gyu does. Maybe it’s a photo of you and Nam-Gyu across the table from him at a fancy restaurant in the middle of a photo slideshow or a few Snapchat videos of him waking you up, finding your sleepy mumbles adorable. When the rap career kicked off he gained a lot of followers and he’s painfully aware of the crowd he attracts- he doesn’t like the prying eyes of sleazy men in the comment section of the photos he does post of you.

Sometimes sleeping in the same bed with them is miserable. You love them, you really do, and most nights you three are tangled in a cozy pile of limbs that lulls you into the deepest, most blissful sleep ever. But let’s be honest, you’re dating two men who love various substances- and with that comes the occasional night of restless sleep. They both will twitch, jerking against you and pulling you out of your sleep. Thanos snores and Nam-gyu drools- sometimes you find it cute, endearing even, but other nights it only makes you toss and turn more. Thanos has a tendency to run hot, becoming a human furnace that causes you to wake up and throw the covers off you. Nam-gyu runs cold, some nights you have to put a blanket over your body between the two of you to stop your shivering, wanting to hold him but genuinely not being able to sleep when his body that feels as if it’s made out of ice is engulfing you.

As much as they know you, you know them better. One of your favorite things is stopping by the gas station before you return home after a long day of work to get them a little gift. You lazily, but politely- it is 2am after all, anyone working that hour deserves some grace- ask the man at the counter for a pack of camels and a sour watermelon vape. You giggle at the strange look he gives you but you thank him, pay him and head home.

When you come home and enter your room you wish you had your phone out to take a picture. Nam-gyu is lying on top of Thanos, head on his chest. Thanos has his arms around Nam-Gyu slowly scrolling on his phone. They’re both just in a pair of boxers- making the view all the more enticing. You smile widely, “hey my loves!” You laugh, kicking off your shoes excitedly. Nam-Gyu is rising off of Thanos with a yawn and looking back at you.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Oh hell yeah! You’re back!”

You nod and begin to take off your coat. “You’re home later than normal. Where’d you go after work?” Nam-Gyu asks as he’s pulling off of Thanos to sit next to him, rubbing his tired eyes and resting his back against the headboard. You raise a suspicious eyebrow- Nam-Gyu was always so on top of your schedule, your itinerary of day to day life burned into his internal clock; he knew if you strayed from the normal.

“You caught me!” You say teasingly, “I made a lil detour on my way home” you finish, reaching into your purse and grabbing what you got for them. You toss the vape and the cigarettes on the bed, following in the footsteps of the packaged nicotine you jump onto the bed. “Ohhhhhhh!!! You’re the best!!” Thanos yells, immediately beginning to open the box. “God you’re a fuckin’ angel” Nam-gyu says, his words muffled as he uses his teeth to tear the plastic off the carton of cigarettes. They’re both squeezing you between them, covering your face in excited kisses.

They have albums upon albums of photos and videos of you on their phones. It’s images on you sleeping on their chests, candid pictures of you waking up tiredly-your hair a disaster and the camera clicks right as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. They have those silly .5x zoom pictures of you from above- Nam-gyu honestly loves taking them when you and Thanos are holding plates of whatever he cooked, looking up at the camera as he points his phone downwards. He always post the images on his instagram, it becoming a little ‘thing’ for him to show off his new dishes that he cooks.

They also have an insane amount of filthy photos of you. They botch can’t help the thrill they get when they record you in the most desperate and debauched situations- only for their eyes to see. Both of them have albums dedicated to your nudes and the photos / videos they take of you. Admittedly, they have the most photos of your cunt raw and messy from the both of them cumming in you.

If you asked both of them, they’d tell you it’s their favorite place to cum, without question. Nothing can ever compare to the feeling of your tight walls sucking them in as they cum balls deep inside you. Even better if you’re taking both of them at the same time!! Good GOD the amount of storage the videos they take of you taking the both of them deep into your tight pussy is actually insane. It’s not every time they do it, it would destroy you if it happened every single time the three of you fucked, but every so often when they both fuck you, their cocks rubbing against each other while they fuck into your sloppy cunt, they’re most likely recording it to look back at later.

If not cumming in your cunt- their favorite place to cum will differ. Thanos loves to cum on your ass or on your face- something about painting your skin with his white cum drives him insane. He loves blowing his load on your ass then rocking his cock in the valley of your ass as the rest of his spend costs your back. His hands are on the globes of your ass, squeezing and smearing his cum all over you.

Just like Thanos, Nam-Gyu is fucking messy. His next favorite place to cum is in your mouth. But he doesn’t want you to swallow it. Sure, he loves watching you stick your pretty pink tongue out to show him the pool of white before you swallow it like it’s honey, but what drives him crazy- straight up feral- is when you take your tits in your hands and push them together, opening your mouth to spit a filthy mix of his cum and your spit onto the swell of your breasts, your hands and those fucking perfect manicured nails squeezing your skin and spreading the mixture on your skin.

And like the perfect girlfriend you are- you match their freak perfectly. Learning and compiling every little thing that makes them tick to get the most reaction out of them in bed.

With the two of them, you’re never alone, you’re always entertained, and you’re oh so spoiled!! Two boyfriends are so much better than one!

I LOVE getting to write about my Thangyu x reader thinks!! It’s so fun >:) thank you for the request!!! As always, much love - <3 kiwi !

For the next few requests (in order of when I received them) we have: thangyu x thick!reader smut , Nam-gyu x naïve!reader smut , Nam-gyu x reader angst into fluff , and Myun-Gi x Reader x Thanos smut

If you’ve requested something and don’t see it yet on the ‘next up’, don’t worry! I’m moving through them and as I post the next requests will be added! I have the next couple days of work so I’m moving through them slowly but surely!

Requests are still open just be aware that it may take me a bit to get to them <3

[daeniradraconis]

The Starting Lineup - Auston Matthews

So this is just a little blurb because I saw an Auston interview where he said he wants to be a coach for his future little girl’s team… and my mind immediately went there. 🥺 My hormones can’t handle it.

Big, tough Auston Matthews holding his tiny baby girl for the first time? Dreaming about coaching her future team? Being the softest, most loving dad?? Yeah. I had to write this! Enjoy the fluff.:)

The hospital room was quiet, the soft hum of the machines the only sound besides the steady rhythm of your breath. You lay in the bed, exhausted yet filled with a warmth you’d never experienced before. And there, cradled gently in your husband’s arms, was the tiny miracle you’d both waited for—the beautiful little girl you’d been dreaming of.

Clara.

Auston sat in a chair beside your bed, his huge, strong frame looking almost comical as he held her in his arms. The contrast between him—a thick, powerful hockey player—and the tiny, delicate baby against his chest was striking. Clara looked so small, her little hands curled into fists, her face scrunched up in sleep, safe and warm against her daddy’s bare skin.

"She’s so tiny," Auston whispered, his voice full of awe. He looked down at her with so much tenderness it nearly took your breath away. "I can’t believe she’s ours."

Your heart swelled as you watched him, this man who had always been so strong, so confident, now completely captivated by the tiny person in his arms.

"You’re doing great," you said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of dark hair from his forehead. "She’s already got you wrapped around her little finger."

Auston let out a soft chuckle, but he didn’t even try to deny it. "Yeah… yeah, she does." His voice was thick with emotion.

Then, a new kind of determination sparked in his eyes. "You know," he started, still gazing down at Clara, "I think we need to start a Leafs girls' team."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? And let me guess—you’re going to be the coach?"

Auston smirked. "Damn right, I am. I’ll make sure Clara has a spot on the roster. We’ll start training as soon as she can walk. Maybe even sooner."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You are so serious about this, aren’t you?"

Auston looked up at you then, his expression nothing but love and certainty. "Of course, I am. She’s a Matthews. She’s meant to be a Maple Leaf."

You grinned, leaning back against the pillows. "So let me get this straight. You’re going to create a whole Leafs girls' program just so Clara can play for Toronto someday?"

He nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Exactly. Think about it—Clara Matthews, future Leafs star. I’ll coach her when she’s little, get her skating, teach her everything I know. And then, when she makes it to the pros, I’ll be right there, front row, cheering her on."

You reached out and gently poked at his bicep. "You’re so dramatic."

Auston grinned, shifting Clara slightly so she could rest even closer against him. "Maybe. But I’m serious. I want to be the best dad for her. I want to be there for every moment, every milestone. And if she wants to play hockey, I’ll make sure she has every opportunity." He paused, his voice turning softer. "I just want her to have everything."

Your heart melted right then and there. This was the same Auston who poured everything he had into the game he loved—the same Auston who led his team, took every hit, and fought for every win. But here, holding Clara, he was softer than you had ever seen him.

"You already give her everything," you whispered, reaching for his free hand and squeezing it gently. "She doesn’t need to be a hockey player for that. She just needs you."

Auston’s gaze locked with yours, his expression filled with love so deep it made your breath hitch. "She has me," he promised, squeezing your hand back. "She has both of us. Always."

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. "Well, if she does end up playing hockey, she’s going to have the most intense coach ever."

Auston chuckled, looking back down at Clara, who had started making the tiniest sleepy noises. "That’s right. No skipping practice, no slacking. Gotta be tough out there, baby girl."

You rolled your eyes. "She’s literally a few hours old, Auston. Give her a break."

He grinned, pressing the softest kiss to Clara’s forehead. "Fine. But as soon as she can walk, we’re getting her on skates."

You sighed dramatically but couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling in your chest. "You’re impossible."

Auston looked up at you again, his expression turning serious. "No, I’m just really, really thankful." His voice was full of sincerity. "For you. For her. For this family we made."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you leaned over to kiss his temple. "I love you, Auston."

He smiled, his gaze full of love. "I love you more."

You sighed happily, watching as Auston cradled Clara against his chest, completely lost in the moment. His fingers traced gentle circles on her tiny back, his touch so soft it made your heart ache.

"You know…" Auston started, his voice quiet but laced with something mischievous. "I think she needs a little brother. Or maybe a sister. A whole little team, actually."

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Excuse me? Matthews, I just gave birth hours ago, and you’re already planning a starting lineup?"

Auston grinned, completely unbothered. "I mean… yeah," he admitted shamelessly, brushing his fingers against Clara’s chubby cheek. "Imagine it—Clara leading the offense, little Auston Jr. holding down the blue line, maybe another one in net—"

"Auston!" you gasped, swatting at his arm. "Are you insane? I’m 31, Matty. I can’t just pop out a whole hockey roster. I’m old."

He laughed, shaking his head as he leaned down to press another kiss to Clara’s soft skin. "First of all, you’re not old. You’re just older. And second of all…" He looked up at you with a teasing smirk. "You’d make a perfect MILF."

You groaned, but the warmth in your chest betrayed you. "You are terrible."

Auston chuckled, still staring at Clara like she held the entire world in her tiny hands. "I’m just saying… we make reallycute kids. It’d be a shame to stop at one."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the fond smile creeping onto your lips. "Let’s just get through this one first, Coach Matthews—then maybe we’ll revisit the topic next year."

Auston smirked. "Fine. But I am drafting for Team Matthews soon, just so you know."

You exhaled a tired but love-filled sigh, sinking back into the pillows. "Unbelievable."

Auston just grinned, holding Clara even closer. "Nah. Just really grateful."

And as much as you teased him, as much as you couldn’t help but laugh at his over-the-top ideas, the truth settled deep in your chest.

In that moment, watching your husband—this massive, strong hockey player—hold your daughter like she was the most fragile thing in the world, you realized something.

Auston Matthews might be known for his power on the ice, but the way he was with Clara? Soft, loving, completely in awe of this tiny human you’d made together.

It was the most perfect thing you'd ever seen, and you knew, no matter how many kids, no matter the chaos ahead, that this—right here—was everything you could ever need.

You leaned back into your pillows, your heart fuller than you thought possible. "You really are perfect, Matty," you whispered.

He glanced up at you, his eyes full of love, and for a moment, it was just the three of you. You, him, and your little girl.

And you couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest person alive.

[lunaatthezoo]

once Elain and Azriel are together how do you think they’ll interact in front of the others? Are they into pda? Do they talk more? Are they funnier? Do they play sneaky pranks? Are they sappy? Does she get bolder? I can’t decide what I think on it and I’m sooo curious.

I love this question. This is what I think about most of my waking hours I'm not even JOKING. Here are some of my elriel endgame headcanons. Many inspired by other creators like @merakimoonglade @moonfalles @murkyrealms @jasmineandcedar @nikachansstuff @tswaney17 and so many other wonderful people on here.

~ Touching ALL the time. Not inappropriate PDA, but just touching to know that they are there together. Azriel keeps touching Elain because he can't believe he's allowed to, and can't believe how lucky he is. Little butt pats when he walks by, kisses on the forehead and shoulder, hands tangled in hair while they're sitting, little squeeze of the waist. A hand on the thigh. A kiss on the knuckles. Elain can't resist touching Azriel either because she can't believe this is her life now. They always need to reassure themselves that this is real.

~ I think they have the potential to be the funniest couple, in a quiet, subtle way. They have both demonstrated so much subtle humor, with Elain's gifts, with Azriel's interactions with other characters. And they both notice things most others don't. I think they would do hilarious things to get out of social obligations that they don't want to deal with or when the family is being too obnoxious, taking advantage of their powers. They're gonna exchange meaningful looks and Elain will pretend she's having a vision or Azriel will pretend his shadows are telling him something and they'll just bounce hahaha.

~ I think they will both still be quiet, because it's who they are as people. But if it comes to defending each other's choices or honor, they are going to speak. Up.

~ I think the inner circle will be shocked and moved at seeing Azriel happy for the first time. He'll be pulling Elain into his lap, laughing deeply, gazing at her lovingly and tucking hair behind her ear. It's going to be a new, content side to him that they've never seen before. They won't really know what to do with it and Cass will probably use humor like telling him it's unnatural or gross to see him so happy lol.

~ I think they will spend SO MUCH time in bed. Yes canoodling but also just being there together. Imagine. When they wake up in the morning, they will spend so long cuddling, kissing, snuggling, just being there together. Az will bring Elain tea in bed. When Elain gets up early to garden, she'll be so quiet to not disturb Az's sleep because she knows this is the first time he's gotten peaceful rest in all his centuries.

~ I think Elain is already bold but I think with Az in her corner she will grow further in her self confidence and become more involved in what the court is doing.

~ I think Azriel will be the most deranged, feral, protective partner out of all the brothers. Just full obsession. Breaking fingers just for looking at his girl wrong. Ripping out hearts if they touch her. And Elain will just be like oh thank you ☺️🌸

~ I think their love languages will be acts of service and physical touch. They will ALWAYS be doing things for each other.

~ Elain is going to FUSS over Azriel and he's going to be like 😳 about it. She's going to give Rhys a talking to if he overworks her husband. She's going to make him see Madja for every nick and scrape he gets. She's going to force him to nap if he looks tired (and with her laying there stroking his hair, he will.)

~ Az is going to be absolutely positively undeniably whipped. Whatever his girl wants, she gets. She says jump he says I'm already in the air. She mentions a flower ONE time and the next day he's procured the rare seeds. His new title will be Azriel, professional Elain simp of the night court

~ Azriel will take Elain's last name. Because he is bastard born, he doesn't have a family name. So he becomes Azriel Archeron and is SO PROUD of it. He uses is last name whenever he can.

~ I think they will adopt children. Especially given Azriel's history, I think it would be very healing to give children homes who might otherwise feel unwanted or alone. And since Sarah is adopted I just think it would be a beautiful thread. Elain is so caring and nurturing she would be completely on board and SPOIL those children.

~ they're going to have crazy fucking feral animal sex (also, switches.) I'm talking extreme dirty talk, bite marks, handprints, knife play, strap ons, they're kinky. If I know ONE thing about Azriel Archeron, it's that he's a panty ripper.

~ Elain is obsessed with Azriel's hands. Azriel is obsessed with Elain's neck. They are both obsessed with each other's hair.

~ Azriel's pet names for Elain include: beautiful, love, angel, sweetheart. Elain always calls Azriel by his name because she thinks it's so beautiful, but sometimes she calls him "my love"

~ they are both PATHETIC about how much they miss each other when Az is away on missions. To the point where other people are like OK WE GET IT GOOD LORD.

I could literally just keep going. And going. And going. I have SAGAS of HCs in my mind. But I hope these scratch some itches 🥹

Thank u for the question, this gave me life.

[nomie-11]

Showing, not Telling

masterlist!

synopsis: ellie's not one to say 'i love you,' she's one to show you how she does

pairings: ellie williams x reader

Ellie had never been verbal in her affection—a byproduct of never being raised with a loving smile, Ellie didn’t know how to be verbal when expressing her love. While she hadn’t been raised with ‘I love yous’ and ‘I care for yous,’ she had learned through Joel’s gruff, unspoken ways—his careful glances, the food left on her plate when he said he wasn’t hungry, the way he’d always walk just to the front of her, keeping her tucked in where it was the safest.

That was how she learned love. That was how she showed it. 

And you—well, you didn’t need the words, not really. 

You noticed it in the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t paying attention, a quiet sort of fondness tucked into the corners of her small smiles. The way she’d meet your eyes across a crowded hall in Jackson, smirking at something only the two of you understood. How she’d flick a piece of bread at you at dinner just to make you roll your eyes, then offer you the last bite of her food just to make sure you ate enough. 

Then there were the notes. 

Small scraps of paper, usually torn from the edges of something old or her scrappy notebook, always in her messy scrawl. They started appearing before patrols, tucked into the laces of your boots or the pockets of your jacket when you weren’t looking. 

Be careful out there, dumbass. 

Try not to get yourself killed, I’d be pissed. 

Bring me back something cool, or don’t come back at all (kidding. Kinda—i need the 34th volume of savage starlight so if you see it please bring it back)

The first time you found one, it made you laugh. The second time, it made your chest warm. The third time, you started looking forward to them, tucking them into a little wooden trinket box Ellie had made with Joel when he was trying to teach her how to woodwork. The fourth time, you started to wonder what new variation of I love you she’d come up with next. 

One particularly cold morning, as you were pulling on your boots, Ellie shoved a note into your hands before you could react. 

“Read it later,” she said, running a hand through her shorter, already-messy hair and avoiding your eyes. 

So of course, the second you were out of sight, you unfolded the paper. 

It’s really fucking freezing, and you know the cold kinda freaks me out a little, so please just be safe and wear your scarf. 

You touched the scarf at your neck, smiling to yourself. 

Then there was the way she listened. 

It wasn’t just hearing—it was listening. Really listening. 

You talked a lot. About everything, about nothing, about things that didn’t matter and things that did. And Ellie? She remembered every detail. 

You couldn’t tell if she was writing it down, but she had everything locked away in a corner of her mind somewhere. Like the time you offhandedly mentioned that you missed the taste of peaches. A week later, she shoved a dusty old can of them into your hands, looking almost embarrassed. 

“I asked Joel and he still had a can from when we were on the road,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Figured you’d want it.” 

Or the time you told her about a Fleetwood Mac song your mom used to play when you were little, something you hadn’t heard in years. And one night, weeks later, she dragged you up to her room, sat you down, and pulled out her guitar. 

It was choppy, a little off-key, but it was your song. 

When you looked at her, something tight in your chest, she just shrugged. 

“You mentioned it,” she said, strumming absentmindedly. “Figured I’d learn it.” 

That was Ellie. 

And then there were the things she did when she thought you wouldn’t notice. 

Like taking on extra work without being asked, fixing things in your little garage apartment before they broke fully, making sure the bed you shared had enough blankets before you went to sleep. 

One evening, after a long day, you dragged yourself into the stables, exhausted from an awful double shift on the wall watch duty. You were dreading the chore ahead of you—cleaning out your horse’s stall, hauling hay, checking the saddle straps. But when you got there, it was already done. 

The stall was clean, the saddle polished, fresh hay stacked neatly in the corner. 

You turned, knowing before you even saw her. 

Ellie was leaning against the wooden fence, arms crossed, a smug little grin tugging at her lips. 

“You’re welcome,” she said, before you could even ask. 

You just shook your head, smiling. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, kicking at the dirt. “You looked like you were about to keel over earlier. And I owed you for volume 34, so now we’re even.” 

You stepped closer, your hand brushing against hers. 

“Thanks, El.” 

She just nodded, glancing away—but you caught the small, please smile that she tried to hide. 

Yeah. She’d never been one for words. But she didn’t need them. Not when she loved you like this. 

a break from my usual vi programming for my new wife ellie williams!

anyways sorry for being mia i've been super sick and suffering writers block so yeah, but i'll be coming back slowly!

If you enjoyed this one shot, please check out my other series!

[cherryxbooo]

omg i love your mason fic, the angst one. please write more angst i love your writings!!

Lost me forever

Summary: You thought you had finally found 'the one' and that you were the first choice all along, but that was until the truth finally came to light.

Note: Thank you so much lovely! As for the angst request, your wish is my command! I chose to write this for Mason since I found it fitting. Hope you enjoy it!

Reader x Mason Mount

Genre: Angst

Loving Mason Mount felt like the easiest thing in the world.

It was effortless, like breathing, like waking up to golden sunlight streaming through the curtains, warming my skin before his arms ever had the chance.

From the moment we found our way to each other, it felt like the universe had been waiting for it to happen.

Like everything before him had been grayscale, and he was the color I’d been missing.

He made life feel lighter, and softer. It wasn’t just the grand moments, it was the little things.

Like the way his fingers would find mine beneath restaurant tables, absently tracing patterns against my palm as he listened to me talk.

Or how he would pull me back into bed on Sunday mornings, refusing to let me go,

his voice thick with sleep as he mumbled, “Five more minutes, baby. Just five more.”

And we both knew it would never be just five.

It was the way he’d insist on carrying my books when he met me outside my lectures, even though I told him I could handle it.

“I know you can, but I like taking care of you,” he’d say, pressing a kiss to my temple before reaching for my bag anyway.

Late-night drives with the windows down, my feet propped up on the dashboard as he glanced over at me, grinning like I was his favorite sight in the world.

“You know I love you, right?” he'd say out of nowhere, his voice soft but certain.

And every time, my heart would stumble over itself as I whispered back,

“Yeah. I know. I love you too.”

The way he’d tuck me into his chest on the couch, his fingers running lazily through my hair as we half-watched a movie, more focused on each other than whatever was playing.

Or how he’d tease me when I got grumpy, pressing exaggerated kisses all over my face until I was laughing, pushing him away only for him to pull me right back.

He made me feel adored. Cherished.

Like I was his entire world.

And for a while, I truly believed he loved me just as much as I loved him.

But I didn’t realize that, all along, he was still orbiting around someone else.

The change was subtle at first. So subtle that I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.

At first, it was little things.

Mason would forget to text me back, not just for a few minutes, but for hours.

I’d send him something funny, something I knew would’ve made him laugh before, and the read receipt would linger, unanswered.

Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s just tired. I made excuses, brushing it off like it wasn’t the start of something unraveling.

Then he started canceling plans last minute.

"Sorry, something came up. Training ran late. I’m exhausted, let’s do tomorrow?"

Tomorrow would turn into the next day, then the next, until suddenly, I realized I was the only one trying to reschedule.

Our deep, intimate conversations, the ones where we’d stay up until three in the morning talking about everything and nothing, where he’d tell me about his childhood dreams, his fears, the things he never admitted to anyone else, turned into empty small talk.

"How was your day? Did you eat?"

His words felt distant, mechanical, like he was just going through the motions.

I tried to ignore the way his responses lacked warmth, the way he barely asked about me anymore.

And when we were together, it felt like he wasn’t really there.

He’d sit next to me on the couch, but his body was tense, like he was waiting for an excuse to leave.

He’d hold my hand, but it didn’t feel the same, his grip wasn’t as firm, as reassuring.

His kisses were quick, and absentminded, like they were more of a habit than something he wanted to do.

The worst part? He stopped looking at me like he used to.

The light in his eyes, the way they used to soften when they met mine, it was gone.

Now, when I caught him staring, it felt like he was searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.

I tried not to let it bother me. I told myself it was stress, that he was overwhelmed with training, with matches, with the constant pressure to perform.

It has nothing to do with me. I repeated it like a mantra, like if I said it enough, I’d believe it.

But deep down, I felt it.

The distance. The absence of his warmth.

The quiet way he was slipping away from me, little by little, day by day.

Then came the late nights.

I’d wake up to an empty bed, the sheets cold where he should’ve been.

At first, I thought maybe he couldn’t sleep, maybe he was just restless.

But then I heard it. The hushed whispers from the other room, the way his voice softened in a way it never did with me anymore.

The first time, I told myself I was imagining things.

The second time, I told myself it was probably a teammate.

The third time, I stopped lying to myself.

Because when I walked in too quickly, when I caught him sitting on the edge of the couch, phone pressed to his ear, he snapped his head up so fast it was like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

His expression shifted, just for a second, before he forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, shoving his phone into his pocket.

“Didn’t wanna wake you.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to trust him like I always had.

But my heart was screaming at me. Telling me something was wrong.

I just didn’t want to ask.

Because I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer.

The night everything fell apart,

I was at Mason’s place, curled up on his couch, wrapped in the blanket he always draped over my shoulders whenever I got cold.

It smelled like him, like the faint traces of his cologne mixed with something unmistakably him, something that once made me feel safe.

I had been waiting for him to get back from training, my phone resting loosely in my hand as I scrolled absentmindedly, not really paying attention to anything on the screen.

The TV hummed softly in the background, playing an episode of a show we had started together but never finished.

He used to insist on waiting for me before watching the next one. Lately, he didn’t wait anymore.

I tried not to think about it too much.

I tried not to think about any of it too much.

The unanswered texts. The canceled plans.

The way his kisses felt like muscle memory instead of something he wanted.

I had spent weeks, months, convincing myself that this was just a rough patch.

That things would go back to normal once the season settled, once the stress faded, once he had time to breathe.

That we would go back to normal.

I wasn’t looking for answers that night.

I wasn’t searching for proof that something was wrong.

But sometimes, the truth doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Sometimes, it finds you when you least expect it.

And that night, it found me in the form of an unexpected message on Mason’s laptop.

The screen lit up suddenly, casting a soft glow over the coffee table. At first, I barely noticed.

I was too lost in my own head, too focused on distracting myself from the gnawing ache in my chest.

I wasn’t the kind of person to snoop. I had never needed to be.

I trusted Mason.

Or at least, I thought I did.

But then, my eyes flickered to the name at the top of the message.

And my heart stopped.

Her name.

His ex Charlotte.

I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.

It was just a name. Just a simple notification.

And yet, it felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

There was no reason for them to be talking. No good reason, at least.

Mason never spoke about her. He had told me, once, that their story was over.

That I was the only one he saw a future with. That she was a part of his past, and that’s where she would stay.

I wanted to believe him. I had believed him.

So then why was she here, on his screen, reaching out like she had never really left?

For a moment, I hesitated.

I wanted to look away, to pretend I hadn’t seen it, to act like it was just some meaningless message.

That would be easier, wouldn’t it? I could go back to the way things were, smiling through the doubt, pushing aside the way he had been slipping away from me piece by piece.

But then I saw the preview of the message.

Just a few words.

But they were enough to send ice through my veins.

I miss you.

My hands shook as I reached for the laptop.

My heart pounded against my ribs, screaming at me, begging me to stop.

But I couldn’t.

I clicked on the message.

Then another. And another.

And with every message I read, my world crumbled around me.

It wasn’t just casual conversation.

It wasn’t Hey, how have you been? or Hope you're doing well.

It was confessions whispered in the dead of night.

It was I think about you all the time.

It was I miss everything about you.

It was Being with her doesn’t feel the same.

It was I still love you.

The air rushed from my lungs.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Waiting, praying, for the words to change.

For my eyes to be playing tricks on me.

But they didn’t change.

They sat there, staring back at me like undeniable proof that I had been living in a lie.

Every moment Mason and I had shared, every soft I love you, every late-night conversation, every time he had pulled me close and promised me forever, it had all been meaningless.

I had just been something to fill the space she left behind.

A placeholder.

A distraction.

A way for him to forget the girl he really wanted.

And the worst part?

I never even saw it coming.

I had been so sure of him. So sure of us.

I had loved him with everything I had, blind to the fact that his heart had never really been mine to begin with.

Tears blurred my vision, but I couldn’t cry. Not yet.

Not until I heard the sound of keys jingling at the door.

Mason was home.

And I had a choice to make.

Pretend I hadn’t seen anything, pretend I hadn’t fallen apart while reading his betrayal in black and white.

Or look him in the eye and ask the question I already knew the answer to.

When Mason walked through the door, tired and unsuspecting, his duffel bag slung lazily over his shoulder, I felt my entire body lock up.

He ran a hand through his damp hair, his shirt sticking slightly to his skin from the shower he took after training, and for a fleeting second,

I saw the version of him I used to love, the boy who used to make me feel like the center of his world.

But that version of Mason didn’t exist anymore.

He didn’t know it yet, but I had seen everything.

His lips parted slightly when his eyes landed on me, confusion flickering across his face as he took in my stiff posture, the way my arms were crossed tightly over my chest like they were the only thing keeping me together.

His gaze shifted to the coffee table, to where his laptop sat open, the screen still glowing.

He didn’t know yet, but he would.

The air in the room shifted.

"Hey, love." His voice was soft, familiar, too familiar.

Like he hadn’t just shattered me beyond repair.

I didn’t respond.

I reached for the laptop, my movements slow, deliberate, my fingers curling around the edges before I threw it onto the table between us.

The loud smack echoed in the silent apartment.

Mason flinched slightly, his brows knitting together. “What the hell—”

"Tell me the truth." My voice trembled, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to cut.

His eyes darted between mine, searching, confused. “Y/n, what—”

I lifted a hand and pointed at the screen, my entire body trembling with the weight of what I had just discovered.

"Don’t. Just tell me the truth."

His eyes flickered down.

And in that moment, I saw everything.

The way his entire body tensed.

The way his face lost its color, his jaw tightening as his throat bobbed.

The way his fingers twitched at his sides, his breathing suddenly uneven.

He didn’t have to say anything.

I already knew.

But I wanted him to say it.

I wanted him to look me in the eye and own what he had done.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing together as if he was trying to find the right words.

"It’s not what you think—"

A bitter laugh burst from my lips before I could stop it.

I felt something inside me snap.

"Not what I think?" I repeated, my voice rising, the disbelief dripping from every syllable.

I jabbed a finger toward the screen, toward her name, toward the messages that had destroyed me.

“So you didn’t tell her you missed her? You didn’t tell her being with me wasn’t the same? You didn’t tell her you still love her?”

Mason inhaled sharply, his lips parting like he wanted to deny it,

God, I wanted him to deny it, but no words came.

His silence was louder than any excuse he could’ve made.

My throat tightened, the lump there threatening to choke me, but I refused to let him see me break.

I had already given him too much of me. I wouldn’t give him this too.

"Was I ever anything more than a rebound to you?" I whispered.

His face crumbled.

"Y/n—"

"Answer me!" I snapped, my voice cracking.

His lips pressed into a thin line. His hands curled into fists at his sides.

And then, hesitation.

Just a second. Just the briefest pause.

But that was all I needed.

I let out a sharp breath, my hands trembling as I wiped at my eyes, willing the tears away.

"I hope she was worth it, Mason." The words felt like acid on my tongue.

I turned away, grabbing my bag from the couch with numb fingers, my entire body screaming at me to run, run, run.

"Y/n, wait—" His voice cracked.

I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, not rough, not forceful, just desperate.

For the first time, I looked at him, really looked at him.

His face was drawn, his eyes wide, pleading.

His grip on my wrist tightened slightly, like he was afraid that if he let go, I’d disappear.

"Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

"You don’t get to do that," I said, my voice barely steady.

I yanked my wrist free, stepping back.

"You don’t get to break me and then ask me to stay."

Mason exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, through his hair, looking more panicked now.

“I never meant—” He cut himself off like the words physically hurt to say.

I shook my head. “You never meant for me to find out.”

Silence.

He didn’t argue.

He didn’t fight for me.

Because he knew.

He knew there was nothing left to fight for.

I felt a sob clawing at my throat, but I swallowed it down.

I refused to break in front of him.

I took a shaky step back. Then another.

"Goodbye, Mason."

And then I turned.

I walked to the door, my steps unsteady, my hands trembling as I reached for the handle.

"Y/n." My name was a whisper, a plea.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

And Mason didn’t stop me.

Because he knew, he had already lost me. Lost me forever.

Mason stood there,

This is what he wanted right?

Now he could go back to Charlotte without having to hide it.

But if this was what he wanted, why did he feel so guilty? Why does it feel like he has lost something big? Why was he feeling... regret?

Mason shrugged off those feelings before muttering "She was just a rebound, this is what I wanted right?"

And that was all it took for him to move on.

Well at least for now.

Mason got back together with his ex two weeks later.

At first, it felt right.

She was familiar. She was comfortable. She was the girl he had spent so long missing, the one who had haunted his thoughts even when he was with Y/n.

For a brief moment, he convinced himself he had made the right choice.

But then, the cracks started to show.

The first time he noticed it was during dinner.

They sat across from each other at a high-end restaurant she had insisted on, a place where the food was overpriced and the lighting dim enough to make everything look perfect for Instagram.

Mason had been talking about his match earlier that day, how exhausted he was, how he’d nearly scored but missed by inches.

She didn’t even look up from her phone.

"That’s nice, babe," she murmured, her perfectly manicured fingers typing away.

He stared at her, waiting, expecting her to say more.

She didn’t.

Instead, she snapped a photo of their untouched plates, adjusted the lighting, and posted it with a caption that had nothing to do with him.

That was just the beginning.

The thoughtful gestures, the ones Y/n had done so naturally, were gone.

There were no lazy Sunday mornings where she curled into his chest, tracing mindless patterns on his skin.

No soft kisses just because.

No remembering how he liked his tea or sneaking his favorite snacks into the fridge after a long day.

Charlotte wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t awful. She was just… absent.

It was clear she loved the idea of him, the status, the lifestyle, the way people looked at them when they walked into a room together.

But him? The man behind the footballer, the one with worries and insecurities, the one who needed comfort just as much as anyone else?

She didn’t see him.

And suddenly, Mason realized, he had been chasing a ghost.

The woman he had truly loved, the one who had memorized every detail about him, who had supported him through every loss, who had loved him for the man and not the player, was gone.

Y/n had been that woman.

His Y/n.

And he had thrown her away like she was nothing.

One night, after another meaningless fight, this time over why he wasn’t posting her on social media enough, he sat alone in his apartment, scrolling through his camera roll.

The pictures of Y/n were still there.

Her smile, so genuine.

The way she looked at him like he was her entire world.

The little videos she had taken when he wasn’t paying attention, him cooking, him laughing at something dumb, him asleep with his arm wrapped around her waist like he never wanted to let go.

He had been so loved.

And he had destroyed it.

By the time he realized his mistake, it was too late.

Y/n had vanished from his life.

Blocked his number. Deleted their pictures. Disappeared without a trace.

At first, he thought maybe she just needed time.

That eventually, she’d cool down, pick up one of his calls, and answer one of his texts.

She never did.

He tried her best friend.

"She doesn’t want anything to do with you."

He tried her family.

"Mason, you hurt her. Let her go."

Her colleagues, her neighbors, nobody would tell him where she was.

And then, one day, when he came to her house once again he heard one of her neighbors call out for him.

"You should stop trying son. Didn't you hear? She left the country."

His stomach dropped.

"What?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she moved. Took some big job offer or something. Left everything behind."

Mason’s heart pounded in his chest.

She had left.

His Y/n had left.

Started fresh. Moved somewhere new. Somewhere he could never reach her.

And for the first time in his life, Mason Mount, who had always been able to fix his mistakes, to win people back with a smile or an apology, knew he had lost her forever.

And this time, there was no getting her back.

That night, I made my decision.

I sat in my apartment, staring at the email that had been sitting in my inbox for days.

A job offer.

My dream job. The one I had turned down for him.

For so long, I had let my love for Mason dictate my every move.

I had stayed when I should have gone, let him convince me that we were enough, that we could make a future together.

I had put his dreams, his career, his needs first, and let mine slip into the background.

But that future didn’t exist anymore.

And now? I had nothing left to lose.

So, I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of my tears, tears that had been falling for weeks now, and clicked accept.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of packing, selling off things I didn’t need, and coming to terms with the fact that I was leaving the place that had once felt like home.

It wasn’t easy, but it was necessary.

"Are you sure about this?" my best friend asked, standing in the middle of my now half-empty apartment.

I exhaled slowly, trying to hold it together.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And I meant it.

The morning of my flight, I did one last thing before leaving.

I blocked Mason. Everywhere.

His number. His Instagram. His Twitter. His email.

I erased him the way he had erased me.

And then I left.

As the plane took off and the city shrank beneath me, I finally felt it. The weight lifting from my chest.

The space inside me that had been filled with doubt, uncertainty, and longing, is now empty but... free.

A new country. A new life. A fresh start.

No more waiting for someone to choose me.

This time, I was choosing myself.

And Mason?

He was just a chapter in a book I had already finished reading.

Mason thought he had made the right choice.

He thought that getting back with his ex would fill the emptiness he felt after losing Y/n, but all it did was magnify the hollowness in his chest.

It was then, in the quiet moments of the night when he lay awake in his bed, that it hit him.

Y/n had been the one.

She had been the one who truly understood him.

The one who saw the person behind the jersey, behind the fame, behind the image.

She was the one who had loved him for him, not for the trophies or the spotlight.

And he had thrown it all away.

He had thrown her away.

But now, it was too late.

The more he tried to convince himself that things were fine, the more he realized that nothing felt right.

His ex wasn’t the person he needed.

And he was so damn lonely.

Training started slipping. He missed passes, lost focus, and the frustration was unbearable.

His coach started noticing, and his teammates were starting to get concerned.

He couldn’t even summon the motivation to push himself. Every match felt pointless, every goal out of reach.

He couldn’t concentrate. His heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His head wasn’t in it. His life wasn’t in it.

And the worst part?

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Y/n.

The way she would smile at him after a tough day, the way her laugh would fill the room like music.

The way she would hold him close when he was stressed or frustrated, as if just being near her was enough to make everything better.

The way she’d remember the smallest details about him, how she would surprise him with his favorite snacks or take care of him when he was sick.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, he would never have it again.

One night, after yet another argument with his ex, something about him not being “present enough”

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone.

He had tried calling Y/n again. She didn’t answer.

Of course, she wasn't going to answer.

She had blocked him everywhere, but every day he hoped that for some magical reason, she would've unblocked him everywhere.

He checked his messages, hoping, praying, that maybe, just maybe, she would reach out. But nothing.

It was as if she had vanished from his life completely.

And that’s when the weight of it all crashed down.

He realized that he had let her slip through his fingers, and now, she was gone.

For good.

Days blurred together as Mason sank deeper into his depression. His training was a mess.

His performance on the field was getting worse by the day.

His teammates were starting to notice his lack of focus and his erratic behavior. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

And then, it hit him like a slap in the face.

It was Y/n all along, not Charlotte. Y/n was his girl and not that fame-sucking ex of his.

Mason had spent so long taking her love for granted, thinking it would always be there, thinking he could come back when it suited him.

But now? Now he realized the truth: She had been the love of his life.

And he had lost her.

Forever.

He spent days in his apartment, alone with his thoughts, battling the crushing weight of regret.

He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice telling him that everything would be okay.

He had let the one person who truly loved him slip away because he couldn’t appreciate her until it was too late.

And in the silence of his empty apartment, with nothing but his thoughts and his guilt to keep him company,

Mason finally understood what he had lost.

Y/n.

The girl he had taken for granted. The one who had loved him without hesitation.

The one he would never get back.

The end

[dollwhite]

Hiii I did this while listening to Harvey by Alex G

SUCCESS IS THE ONLY THING I UNDERSTAND

“Timmy come on it’s not good for you to stay up till 5:00 am every night” you say standing over him

“Mh just a few more minutes m almost done” Tim muttered his words coming out sluggish. It was sad really, a kid his age should never put off his own needs. No matter what their doing.

HEAD BACK HOME TO THE PLACE I GREW UP

“You said that 20 minutes ago, come on it’s time to go to sleep.” You uttered, running your fingers through his short black hair.

“It’s just one more thing I need to do..” he stated, trying his hardest not to just close his eyes shut. He was so close to finishing the case, if you just give him one more minute to finish….

GIVE MY MEDALS TO THE ONES THAT I LOVE

“Come, I’ll walk you back to your room” you say grabbing his hands off the bat computer, Dick had called you to get Tim to go to sleep. He’s been there for hours trying to finish that case, and he wouldn’t listen to anybody elso.

And Alfred is on his vacation day, while Bruce is at a late night gala. So they had no choice but to call you, Damian’s the one that suggested calling you in the first place.

I’LL CHASE HARVEY THROUGH THE DOOR ON THE WALL

As you both started walking up to the manor. Tim started to get more and more sleepy, all that lack of sleep was finally catching up to him.

“ Tim? Come on we’re almost there..” you say, his head resting on you shoulder.

HE SAYS NEVER CATCH ME, NEVER MISS ME AT ALL

Tim has never had a mom figure, he has a father figure and that’s Bruce. He has- had his own mother but they were never close, so when you came into his life things started getting better.

Before you he was never that happy to get his report cards, it was the same thing ever two months.

DROOL CAMES DOWN FROM THE CONNER OF HIS MOUTH

A+

A+

A+

A+

A+

A+

And the every once and awhile B+ in jym. But even that was rare, but when you came? Oh he loved showing you his report card. The way you acted like all A were a big thing?

I SAY I LOVE HARVEY YOU CUT IT OUT

The way you hung the paper up on your refrigerator? The way you patted the top of his head and told him your were poud of him? Like a mom would? Not a mother because a mom asked you what snacks you wanted from the store.

I LOVE WINNING BABY I WANT IT ALL

A mom tells you all the nightmares you have aren’t real.

I WANNA PROVE THAT I GOT THE BALLS

A mom does a bunch of things for their children…..

HARVEY KEEPS ON PLAYING WITH HIS FOOD

He doesn’t understand what big boys do…………

Also I’m think ima just change my theme when I get around internet, because right now I’m just on my mom’s hotspot and it’s not enough to load Pinterest 😭

Also this is rushed, no proofread cuz we die like Jason Todd

Also lest Friday I got in a argument 😅

Reader and Damian are going to have a very weird relationship cuz on one hand she low key wants to adopt him but on the other hand hes a little asshole lmao

[ratb0yyy]

SLEEPING HEADCANONS

SQUID GAME 2 x READER

Genre - Fluff

Reader is G/N!!

Characters: Hyun-Ju, Se-mi

a/n : this might be OOC, I'm so sorry if it is !!

Cho Hyun-Ju / Player 120

• Most of the time, Hyun-Ju is the big spoon

• This is because it makes her feel like she's protecting you and keeping you safe in a way

• She'll very rarley be the little spoon

• If you insist on being the big spoon, she'll allow it and won't mind too much

• Hyun-Ju also LOVES to hold your hands in hers when you guys are sleeping

• Hyun-Ju falls asleep pretty quickly

• If you're not the type of person to fall alseep quickly, or you have insomnia, she will try her best to help you sleep

• She would play with your hair, or your fingers and talk to you till you fell asleep

• Hyun-Ju also wakes up pretty early

•She'll let you sleep in if you guys don't have something planned

• If you guys do have something planned, she will hold your face in her hands, and whisper softly, with a soft smile on her face: "s/o, it's time to get up.."

• When you wake up all groggy, she will push your hair out of your face and place a gentle kiss on your forehead

• Hyun-Ju loves to make you breakfast in the morning !! (she also just loves cooking for you in general)

Se-mi / Player 380

• Se-mi doesn't mind what position you guys cuddle in, she also doesn't care much for cuddling

• But, when she does want to cuddle, she likes to lay on your chest and listen to your heart beat

• She's not one to fall asleep quickly, so if you're like her she won't know how to help you sleep

• You and Se-mi probably stay up late alot

• If you guys are up late you're normaly just watching TV till you both fall asleep

• Se-mi also rarley gets up early in the morning (mostly cause of staying up late..)

• She would probably want to stay in bed and cuddle for a couple more minutes before getting up

•"We should probably be getting up.." You say, sleepiness still in your eyes

•"Yea.. yea.. Sure.. Just a couple more... minutes..." Se-mi responds, with no intention of getting up anytime soon

Kang Dae-ho / Player 388

• Dae-ho LOVES cuddling with you

• He doesn't care what cuddling position you guys are in

• He will hug you so hard when cuddling 😭

• Dae-ho usually falls alseep pretty quickly

• The only time he doesn't fall asleep quickly is if he's having bad memorys during his time as a marine

• When he can't sleep you'll ask him if he wants to talk about it and get it off his chest

• If he doesn't want to talk about it you guys will talk to eachother and watch your guys' favorite TV show or movie together (cuddling obviously)

• Sometimes he'll have panic attacks in the middle of the night due to nightmares reminding him of the trauma he endured as a marine

• When comforting him, you reasure him that everythings okay and that he's safe

• When you hug him and run your hands through his hair and he will slowly calm down

• It takes Dae-ho a while to fall asleep after these panic attacks

• Dae-ho is definitely morning person, so expect to be waking up early every morning 🥲

• When he wakes up he loves to admire you while you're still sleeping

• He just smiles to himself, thinking of how lucky he is to have you

Choi Su-bong / Thanos / Player 230

• Choi is sleeping on top of you 😭

• He is CLINGYY

• If you need to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night he will refuse to get off of you

• Choi doesn't fall asleep very fast, he likes to stay up late

• He prefers to stay up late with you but doesn't mind if you go to sleep before him

• He's a pretty deep sleeper, so good luck getting him up 😭

• Literally refuses to get up if you try to wake him

• He'll pull you back into bed and hug you, nuzzling his head in your neck

• "Lay with me for a little whilee.." he whines

• "How long is a little while?"

• "Just a couple minutes.." he answers, smiling

• That couple minutes turned into an hour.. 😶

Nam-gyu / player 124

• Nam-gyu goes to sleep pretty early

• He won't force you to go to sleep with him but he'll ask

• He doesn't really like going to sleep alone

• He can stay up late but prefers not to

• If you're someone who stays up late, he might get a little worried about you staying up too late

• Nam-gyu's pretty clingy, so any cuddling position is fine with him

• As long as he's touching you in some way, then he's happy

• Nam-gyu prefers to be the big spoon over little spoon

• If you want to be big spoon he'll refuse at first but then he eventually gives in to being the little spoon (he seceretly loves it)

• Nam-gyu will also play with your hair

• He's probably waking up before you

• He'll let you sleep for a little long before he gets lonley and decides to wake you up

a/n : sorry if this is buns 😭 this is my first fic

[hellinistical]

in which the lemurian you work for is dealing with some things...good thing you can help him! happens after ebb and flow. Sub! Rafayel x afab. reader. mdni.

a/n: for @venomaniyah

tw: heat. piv. nipple play (sucking, teasing, pulling, ect.). oral (m. receiving). semi-plot. hand jobs. edging. teasing. "good boy". dacriphyllia. slight dub con. reader is kinda a bully. whiny rafayel. he's desperate to all hell.

wc: 8k

The apartment was small but inviting, with its warm, honey-colored hardwood floors that creaked in greeting with every step. Soft, natural light filtered through sheer white curtains, which swayed slightly in the breeze from a cracked-open window. A hand-me-down sofa, its cushions sagging just enough to show years of use but still firm and comfortable, sat against one wall. A colorful patchwork quilt, likely handmade, was draped over its back, adding a splash of personality to the otherwise neutral tones of the room.

The kitchenette was compact but functional, with a stove that looked older than the apartment itself and a tiny, round table tucked into the corner. A single vase holding fresh daisies served as the centerpiece, hinting at a quiet care for the space. Above the sink hung a row of mismatched mugs, each telling a different story—one from a tourist trap in Paris, another adorned with a faded cartoon character, and a plain one chipped at the rim.

Books lined a modest shelf in the corner, their spines worn but loved, while a few framed photos leaned casually against the wall, featuring smiling faces frozen in candid moments. The apartment had the faint smell of freshly brewed coffee, mixed with a hint of lavender from a diffuser on the table.

Though the space was humble, it lacked of nothing essential. Every detail, from the carefully folded throw on the armchair to the small cactus perched on the windowsill, spoke of a life not defined by abundance, but by contentment and care.

And yet, even though it was well into the day and there were sure to be other things to do, you found yourself staring. Staring at just how pretty he was, dozing off on your couch.

Rafayel’s face was softer in sleep, the usual sharpness of his features dulled by the even rise and fall of his chest. His lavender hair fanned out across the pillow you’d wedged beneath his head, catching the light in a way that made it seem almost otherworldly. His nose twitched every now and then, and his lips parted slightly with each breath, almost as if he were mid-thought, even in dreams.

Yeah, maybe it was creepy. Okay, definitely creepy.

But you told yourself you were just watching over him, making sure he stayed warm and comfortable while he recovered from his fever. The faint pink flush on his cheeks wasn’t entirely gone yet, and his brows furrowed every so often, like even in sleep he was trying to work something out.

The quilt you’d draped over him rose and fell with his breathing, and you noticed he’d unconsciously grabbed hold of one corner, clutching it like a lifeline. It was such a small, uncharacteristic thing for someone who always seemed so composed, so larger-than-life, and it made your chest ache in a way you weren’t sure how to describe.

You wanted to do something—anything—to keep that fevered look from returning. To see his eyes open and find them clear again, their usual sharp, captivating hue instead of the dull, glassy sheen they’d had when he’d stumbled through your door. For now, though, he just needed rest, and maybe you needed this moment, too. “Your scales are so pretty…” you murmur softly, trailing your fingers against the ones on his cheekbones, down his jaw, almost about to linger on his plush bottom lip. And they were. The most beautiful blue you ever did see. 

You press a kiss to the one under his right eye. “Get better, Rafayel.”

It had started slowly. The occasional sharp inhale, the restless shifting, the way his breath had begun coming in shallow pants. At first, you’d thought his fever was just worsening, maybe a bad dream, maybe some kind of delirium. You’d knelt beside him, brushing damp strands of hair away from his forehead, whispering reassurances you weren’t even sure he could hear.

Then he had grabbed your wrist.

His grip had been desperate, trembling, but strong. When his eyes cracked open—hazy, dazed, pupils blown wide—you’d barely had a second to process before he had shuddered, body arching slightly, and let out a soft, wrecked sound that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

He was awake. 

You turn, eyes wide when you meet his own blue-pink gaze. “You mean it?” Pearly tears pricked at his eyes, dripping down the sun-bleached ends of his lower lashes, accompanying them to grace his skin with butterfly kisses. 

His cheeks were rosy, ears tinged with embarrassment and bashfulness. 

“How long were you awake?”

“That- that doesn’t matter.  Did you mean it?”

***

That was hours ago. Now? Now Rafayel- and you- are a mess.

A mess of sweat, drool, tears, and soon enough, exhaustion. 

The fever had been a warning, a quiet tremor before the storm. But you hadn’t known. How could you have?

Now? Now, Rafayel was sprawled beneath you, a mess of sweat, trembling limbs, and ragged breaths. His skin was hot—too hot—his usual pale flush now a feverish pink, iridescent blue scales glistening with sweat. His hands, usually so careful, so hesitant, clutched at the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline, fingers tightening every time a wave of whatever-this-was crashed over him.

You had no idea what to do.

That was hours ago.

Now, the apartment was thick with it—heat, tension, the scent of sweat and something else, something uniquely him, something that curled into your lungs and refused to let go. It was sickeningly sweet.

"Rafayel," you rasped, trying to keep your voice steady. "You—you're burning up. You need to—"

A whimper, a needy, helpless sound, cut you off. His grip on you tightened, nails digging in just enough to make you shiver. His demeanor normally so elegant and fluid, was curled awkwardly against the couch, scales twitching in an unfocused rhythm.

He was shaking.

Your heart pounded.

It was sudden.

His hands fisted in your shirt, pulling you down so suddenly you barely had time to gasp before his lips crashed against yours. It was messy—desperate, awkward, like he didn’t know what he was doing, only that he needed to do it. His feverish body pressed against yours, trembling with something too raw to name, and his breath hitched as his lips moved clumsily over yours, needy and unpracticed.

Your teeth knocked together, the kiss more heat than finesse, but Rafayel didn’t care. He made a small, helpless sound—something between a whimper and a growl—as if frustrated he couldn’t get closer, couldn’t melt into you completely. His fingers were shaking, gripping you like you might disappear, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“Rafayel—” you barely managed, voice muffled against his mouth, but he only made another needy noise, tilting his head and kissing you deeper, more insistent, as if silence was the only answer he’d accept. His breath came in ragged gasps, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, seeping into you, making your skin prickle with warmth.

He was burning up.

His lips dragged against yours, wet and desperate, his sharp canines scraping at your bottom lip like he didn’t know how to be gentle—like he couldn’t. His body trembled under you, fevered and vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before, in a way that made your chest tighten with something dangerously close to want.

You swallowed thickly, hands bracing against the couch as you tried to steady yourself, tried to think past the heat curling through your veins. But Rafayel only whined softly, frustrated, needy, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You had no idea what to do.

But Rafayel needed you.

And gods help you—part of you wanted to give in.

Your head was spinning, your breath uneven, but no. No.

If Rafayel needed you this badly, then he was going to have to play by your rules.

You pushed against his chest—firm, but not cruel—breaking the messy kiss with a wet gasp. He let out a desperate, frustrated whimper, eyes fluttering open, unfocused and glassy. His pupils were wide, swallowing the sea-blue and pink of his irises, his flushed lips slightly parted as he panted.

“Rafayel,” you warned, voice low, steady.

His hands twitched where they still clung to your shirt, fingers flexing like he wanted to pull you back down, like he couldn’t stand even the inches of space you’d put between you. But you stayed firm, watching the way his legs curled tighter, his whole body shuddering.

“Please,” he breathed, voice wrecked, needy. His nails dragged lightly against your skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you that he was still desperate, still burning, still aching.

But you weren’t going to let him lose himself like this. Not without control. Not without you in control.

You exhaled slowly, tilting his chin up with your fingers, forcing him to meet your gaze. “If you need me so bad,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the fevered heat of his skin, “then you’re gonna have to listen.”

His breath hitched.

“You’re gonna have to be good for me.”

A shiver ran down his spine, his lashes fluttering. You could feel his legs twitch against the cushions, restless, a telltale sign of his struggle. His lips parted as if he wanted to argue, to protest, but instead, he nodded, slow, hesitant—obedient.

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Good.”

Now this was how you played the game.

His breath was uneven, hot against your throat, and his grip on you was tight—like if he let go, he’d lose himself completely. It was honestly a strange situation. Here you were, perched on the crappy couch you hadn’t even fully paid off yet, straddling him—this Lemurian, this siren of a man who, by all accounts, should have been the one in control.

And yet, it was you he was desperate for.

You swallowed, watching the way his lavender hair clung to his forehead, damp from fever and sweat. It curled just slightly at the ends, framing his face like seafoam against the tide. He was beautiful, infuriatingly so—his features sharp and delicate at the same time, otherworldly in a way that made your stomach twist. The iridescent sheen of his scales caught the dim light of the apartment, casting soft glimmers across his fever-flushed skin.

He shuddered beneath you, fingers twitching at your waist, like he wasn’t sure whether he was allowed to pull you closer. He looked up at you through heavy lids, his slit pupils dilated, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.

It was intoxicating, having him like this—this creature who could command the ocean itself, who carried an air of danger, of mystery, reduced to a trembling mess beneath you. And it was you he was reaching for.

A sharp exhale left his lips, and he swallowed thickly. “Miss body guard…you’re… cruel,” he rasped, his voice wrecked, hushed.

"Cruel?" Your brow furrowed, lips parting slightly as you studied him.

Rafayel let out a shaky breath, his fingers flexing at your waist, as if torn between pushing and pulling. His expression was something raw, something caught between desperation and frustration, his flushed skin practically glowing in the dim light.

“You are,” he murmured, voice uneven, a touch hoarse. His eyes, blown wide and glossy, flickered over your face like he was searching for something—permission, relief, control. “You sit here, watching me like this, knowing I—” He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. His breath hitched as your fingers ghosted over the faint ridges of scales along his ribs. “And you do nothing.”

Your lips curled at the accusation, at the way his voice wavered. You tilted your head, fingers trailing upward, just barely brushing against the curve of his throat. Rafayel swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His lashes fluttered, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips, torn between frustration and yearning. His fingers twitched at your waist, grip tightening just slightly—like he wanted to pull you closer but knew better than to push his luck.

“You tease me. You—” He exhaled sharply, his head tipping back against the couch, exposing the pale column of his throat. “You make me wait.”

You huffed, tilting your head. “And you hate that?”

His lips parted, hesitation flickering across his face—his pride at war with his need. His legs curled against the cushions, restless, his body tense beneath you.

“… No,” he admitted finally, voice softer, raw. “I—” His breath hitched, and his fingers flexed against your hips. “I like it.”

“Rafayel.”

He shivered at the way you said his name, and gods, the sight of him—half-lidded, lips parted, body tense beneath you—sent a thrill through your veins. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to keep some semblance of control. But you saw the way his hands twitched, the way his grip tightened, the way his breath hitched every time you so much as shifted against him.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to argue, to snap at you. But all that came out was a soft, needy sound—one that sent heat curling low in your stomach.

Rafayel’s eyes flickered down to your hands as they rested on his chest, then back to your face, his breath still coming in shallow, erratic bursts. His lips parted as if to say something, but then he hesitated, shifting beneath you in frustration. The usual smoothness of his voice was gone, replaced with something rougher, more desperate.

“I don’t…” He swallowed, shaking his head as though trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know how to handle this,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands twitched again, but he didn’t make a move to touch you, his fingers almost trembling with the effort to resist. “I’ve never felt—like this—before. You—” He exhaled sharply, almost like a growl. “You make me weak.”

You paused, staring at him, the words sinking in. It was strange, hearing him say it out loud. This creature, who’d seen things you couldn’t even imagine, who lived a life full of power and mystery, confessing that you—you—had somehow unraveled him.

For a moment, you almost forgot the tension, the power play, the strange game you were playing. You were staring at him, really staring, noticing the vulnerability in his gaze, in the way his body shook beneath yours.

You wanted to say something, anything that could make sense of this situation. But for once, you were at a loss for words. 

“Be good for me,” you murmured, lips ghosting just over his,

You pressed a kiss to his lips, soft, inviting—just a hint of warmth, just a taste of what might come. His breath caught as your lips brushed against his, a feather-light kiss that could’ve easily been pulled away from, that could’ve left him hanging. It was your test, your way of gauging whether he could control himself for even a moment.

But the moment he felt it, the moment he sensed your willingness, Rafayel tried to take a mile when you only gave him an inch. His hand shot up, gripping your face as his lips crashed against yours, frantic and desperate, demanding. He pushed, hard, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together, until the kiss was no longer gentle, no longer soft.

You pulled back, a sharp breath slipping past your lips, but Rafayel, still holding you tightly, tried to pull you right back into the kiss, his lips urgent and needy against yours.

“Rafayel,” you breathed, voice low and almost scolding. But you weren’t sure if you could be mad at him, not when he was so completely consumed by whatever feverish, wild desire had taken hold of him. His desperation was palpable, the heat between you two thickening with every second.

The desperation in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was so far gone, lost in the intensity of whatever feverish longing had taken hold of him. His eyes were half-lidded, pupils dark and blown wide, his breath ragged as his hands twisted at the fabric of your shirt, fingers trembling with the need to rid you of it.

“Please—just—take these damned clothes off,” he begged, his voice hoarse and raw, full of frustration. His breath came in jagged gasps, chest heaving, and you could see just how far he was willing to push for whatever he needed in this moment.

You couldn’t ignore the way his body pressed against yours, his skin fevered and hot under your hands, every part of him calling out for something more. 

“I…” You sighed, faltering for just a moment, the heat of the situation almost overwhelming. You had to maintain control, but the way he was looking at you, the desperation on his face, it was starting to make your resolve slip. You could feel your own breath quicken, the tension rising, but just as you opened your mouth to say something, Rafayel made his move.

With a sudden shift, his hands were at your shirt, undoing it with a speed you weren’t prepared for. His fingers were sure, eager—almost frantic—as he peeled the fabric from your body. Before you could even react, his own shirt was gone too, his chest exposed, the scales on his skin shimmering under the dim light.

He was bare now, his body trembling slightly from the fever, but his expression was anything but weak. It was raw, hungry—unashamed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a desperate fire in his eyes as he leaned in, hands roaming over you, pulling you in closer.

The moment was slipping away from you, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself feel it—the heat, the pull between you both, the need so palpable it was almost suffocating.

But just as quickly, your mind sharpened again. You had to pull back. You had to stay in control.

“Rafayel…” you breathed, voice shaking slightly, but firm. "Not yet."

But as you tried to regain that distance, his hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer as he groaned low, his lips already at your neck. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling, raw, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "I need you..."

“I know—I know, baby, just…” You half-joked, the words leaving your lips breathlessly as you pulled away just slightly, feeling the tension between you rise and fall like an unsteady wave. “We can’t do much on this couch.”

You blew a weak, cool breath toward his face, hoping to ease the heat radiating off of him, but the air was barely enough to touch his flushed skin. His eyes fluttered for a moment, a tremor running through his body as he leaned in closer, not satisfied by the brief space between you. His hands were still gripping at you, searching for more—more of your skin, more of your touch, more of anything to soothe the ache.

His lips parted, breath warm against your cheek as he groaned. “Then let’s move,” he muttered, more demand than suggestion.

You could feel the tug of temptation, the pull of his need, but you held onto that sliver of control. "Easy, Rafayel," you warned softly, your hand pressing lightly against his chest to hold him back just a fraction, just enough to catch your breath. "We need to take it slow, alright?"

He groaned, head tilting back in frustration, his legs twitching with impatience. "You're killing me," he rasped, the fire in his eyes still burning bright, but there was a flicker of understanding there too. He wasn’t ready to let go, but he was starting to grasp that you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

“I’ll be good,” he promised, voice hoarse, still desperate, but laced with that same vulnerability you’d seen earlier. "Just—just please."

Fuck. 

You heard the frustration in his voice, and despite the resolve you had to keep the reins in your hands, something about the way he said “just—just please” got to you. The vulnerability, the desperation—it was hard to resist. He had let his guard down, just for a moment, and you could see it.

"Fine," you breathed out in exasperation, your voice a mix of teasing and concession.

His eyes flashed with that dangerous, hungry gleam again, and before you knew it, he was pulling you back into him, more assertive now. His lips found yours, urgent and demanding, and there was no more hesitation, no more games. The heat between you was undeniable, and you could feel the way he melted into the kiss, pressing into you like he had to, like he couldn’t wait any longer.  You pushed him down further into the couch, your hands sliding over his shoulders, feeling the heat of his skin under your touch. The shift in position only heightened the tension, your body pressing into his, the sensation of him beneath you intoxicating. There was no room for restraint now—only the raw, unspoken need that hung in the air.

Breaking the kiss, you trailed your lips to his neck, tasting the salty warmth of his skin. His breath hitched as your mouth brushed against the sensitive spot just below his ear, and he groaned, his hands tightening around you, pulling you even closer as if he couldn’t get enough.

"Gods…" His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with need. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his body arching into yours as you continued to explore the curve of his neck with your lips.

You grasp his chin with your index and thumb, tilting his head to give him a quick peck before grasping his arm. Your fingers traced the heat of his skin, gliding up his arm with slow, deliberate intent before finding his hand. His grip was tight, almost instinctual, like he was afraid you'd slip away if he didn’t hold on. But instead of pulling, instead of giving in to the urgency that burned between you both, you laced your fingers with his, grounding him.

Lifting his hand, you pressed a soft kiss to the back of his palm. It was a contrast to the heat of everything else—gentle, reverent, like you were reminding him that he was yours, that he didn't have to chase or beg for what you were already giving.

Rafayel let out a shaky breath, his body shuddering beneath you. His free hand curled around your waist, squeezing as if he could hold onto the moment, as if he needed something solid to keep himself from unraveling completely. His eyes, hazy and desperate, searched yours.

"You’re so unfair," he murmured, voice hoarse, breathless.

You only smirked, pressing another kiss to his knuckles before whispering, “I never said this would be easy, baby.”

You let go of his hand, watching the way his fingers twitched in the empty space where yours had been. Then, slowly, deliberately, you adjusted yourself, shifting your weight until you were fully straddling his hips. His breath hitched as your hands found his chest, palms pressing against the warmth of his skin, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your fingertips.

Rafayel looked up at you, lips parted, his iridescent eyes blown wide with something between frustration and helpless want. His legs curled against the couch, twitching, betraying just how much restraint he was holding onto—if he was holding onto any at all.

You tilted your head, dragging your thumbs over his collarbones, watching the way his body responded to even the smallest touch. “You’re burning up,” you murmured, voice teasing, though there was genuine concern beneath it.

He swallowed hard, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you, but he was waiting—waiting to see what you would allow. “Then help me,” he pleaded, voice thick, almost desperate.

You leaned in, just enough so your lips hovered above his, just enough for him to feel your breath against his skin. “Patience, baby.” You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, reveling in the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

A frustrated groan rumbled from his throat, his head pressing back into the couch. “You’re torturing me,” he muttered.

You chuckled, the sound light and teasing as you watched his scowl deepen. “Always so dramatic, fish-for-brains.”

His grip tightened on the zipper of your hoodie, yanking it down with more force than necessary. “I’m not dramatic,” he grumbled, though the slight flush creeping up his neck betrayed him.

You arched a brow, amused. “Really? Because you sound like you’re one second away from throwing a tantrum.”

He huffed, pushing the hoodie off your shoulders with an impatient tug, his hands lingering against your arms, warm and just a little unsteady. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “A little bit.”

Rafayel rolled his eyes, but you caught the way his breath stuttered when your hands slid back up his chest, nails grazing his skin. He was trying so hard to play it cool, but you could feel the tension in his body, see the way his tail flicked against the couch in restless anticipation.

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw, barely touching, just enough to make him chase the contact. “You’re cute when you pout,” you murmured.

His hands tightened on your waist, his voice lower now, almost a growl. “Keep testing me.”

You giggled at his half-hearted threat, feeling the way his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your clothes, warm and greedy. He wasted no time, fingers splaying against your sides, tracing up your back, like he needed to touch everything at once. Pushing him down harder, guiding his body to really settle into the couch, feeling the weight of him beneath you, the heat from his skin searing through the thin barrier of clothing between you. Your hands slid over his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath the smoothness of his skin, pressing yourself into him now, just as desperate.

Rafayel’s hands immediately found their place against your back, pulling you closer, fingers digging into your flesh, but you held control.

You trailed your lips down his jawline, then to his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, the warmth, feeling the flutter of his pulse beneath your lips. You could hear the hitch in his breath, the subtle shiver that ran through him as you nipped gently at the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands gripped your hips harder, trying to pull you even closer, but you refused to give him that.

“Someone’s impatient,” you teased, shifting slightly in his lap just to hear the sharp inhale he tried—and failed—to suppress.

Rafayel’s grip tightened, his nails lightly dragging against your skin. “You started this,” he muttered, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as if that would hide the way he was practically trembling beneath you.

You hummed, your fingers threading through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Mmm, did I?” He groaned, frustrated, before nipping playfully at your shoulder in retaliation. “You know you did.” You laughed, letting him tug your hoodie the rest of the way off, his touch growing more eager, more desperate, as he worked on whatever layers remained between you. 

Sliding his hands under your shirt, his fingers worked with practiced ease, undoing the clasps of your bra beneath your shirt as if he’d done it a hundred times before. But just as he started to slide the straps down, you caught his wrists, stopping him in his tracks.

Rafayel blinked up at you, startled, his pupils blown wide with need. “What—” His voice was rough, breathless.

You released his wrists, the subtle tension easing as you slowly took off your hoodie, then your shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor. The movement was deliberate, giving him just enough time to fully appreciate the shift before you leaned back in, watching him watch you, your gaze daring him to speak, to move.

Rafayel’s breath caught, his eyes flicking between you and the space where his hands had been moments ago. He didn't say anything, just a low, desperate sound escaping him as his gaze heated further, taking in every inch of you like he couldn't quite believe it.

You gave him the smallest, teasing smile. "Easier for you now."

The sound that escaped him—low and almost reverent—made your pulse quicken. His hands came to rest against your chest, flat and careful, like he was in awe of the way you felt under his touch. The tension between you, that delicate balance of wanting and restraint, hummed in the air.

"Gods…" His voice was soft, a little shaky, as if he couldn't quite believe this moment. His thumbs gently brushed over your skin, tracing the lines of your chest with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine.

You held his gaze, a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips, teasing him, but inside, there was a soft warmth that you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Careful," you warned softly, your breath catching slightly. "I might get used to you looking at me like that."

His hands faltered. "N-no, no, I want you to get used to it- please, if you’ll let me,"

His words were desperate, trembling with an intensity that made your chest tighten. The raw vulnerability in his voice, the way he looked at you like he was begging for permission to do more, hit you in a way you weren't expecting.

His hands remained on you, tender yet needy, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go. “I want you to get used to it,” he repeated, his voice rough, pleading. “Please, if you’ll let me…”

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the intensity of everything building as his eyes locked onto yours, as though this moment was something more—something deeper—than just the heat between you.

There was no teasing, no games now. Just a raw, open honesty that left you breathless.

“You’re not as good at hiding what you want as you think,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with the heat of the moment.

His words were soft, but there was a tremor in them—vulnerable, unguarded, like he was afraid of the answer. His gaze searched yours, intense and almost desperate for reassurance.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to hide nothin’.” His voice had a quiet edge, a mix of frustration and something deeper. “You... you said I was beautiful… did you mean it?”

You could see the way his throat worked, the way his body seemed to hold itself back, waiting for your response. His question felt so much more than just a passing curiosity—it felt like he was seeking something from you. For a moment, you just looked at him, taking in the way he trembled beneath you, the earnestness in his voice. The way he needed to hear it again, needed to feel validated in a way that went beyond just the physical.

You let your fingers brush gently across his cheek, tracing the sharp line of his jaw as you gazed into his eyes. “I meant it,” you whispered, your voice soft, but full of the sincerity he needed to hear. “You’re gorgeous, Rafayel.”

His breath hitched at your words, his eyes darkening, but there was something different this time. The need had shifted, the hunger now mingled with something deeper—something more emotional.

***

The cool air from the A.C. blasted over your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from both of you. The scene was almost surreal—the hum of the air, the mess of tangled sheets, and the feeling of Rafayel beneath you, his body taut with anticipation, but still yielding, soft to your touch.

You weren’t sure exactly how you got here. It was all a blur of sensations—his hands on you, the heat of his body, his desperate kisses—and now you found yourself in your bed, his breath ragged as your teeth sank into the soft skin of his neck. His back arched up to meet you, responding to your touch with an almost frantic need.

You could feel the pulse of his heart beneath your lips, the way he shuddered every time your teeth made contact, leaving behind dark, angry love bites that were sure to last. He moaned, a low, guttural sound, as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he needed more.

His legs were tangled with yours, bodies pressed so close that it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began. You were so absorbed in him—his scent, his warmth, the way he writhed beneath you

Rafayel groaned, the sound deep and guttural, as your tongue traced over the sensitive mark you'd left on his neck, his hips bucking upward in response. His skin was hot, slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your hands as your fingers splayed across his bare chest.

You could feel his heart racing beneath your fingertips, the tension in his body only building as you met his hips with yours, the sensation of him pressing up into you sending a jolt through your own body. His eyes were half-lidded, mouth parted as he gasped for air, his grip on the sheets tight as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

Rafayel's breath hitched at the nickname, the teasing tone in your voice cutting through the haze of heat that clouded his mind. His body twitched beneath yours, his chest rising as your hands kneaded his skin with gentle insistence.

"Careful now, fishie baby," you murmured, lips pressing to the bite you had left on his neck, a soft kiss that made him shudder in response. He closed his eyes, a soft groan slipping from his throat as your hands worked over his chest.

“Don’t,” he panted, his fingers curling into the sheets beside him, but his voice was soft, almost pleading. “You know I can’t... I can’t control—”

He stopped mid-sentence as your hips rocked against his, making him forget whatever he was about to say. Instead, his breath hitched, and his back arched up again, trying to meet your movements.

“You can control it,” you whispered, lips curving against his skin as you kissed him again. The teasing, the soft touches, the way you knew just what buttons to press—it was intoxicating. “But you just don’t want to.”

His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh with urgency, as if trying to pull you closer, desperate for more. The heat between you both was almost unbearable, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he ached for you.

You hummed in approval, your lips brushing his as your hands moved to trace the line of his jaw, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse under your fingertips. The way he was holding you, the way his body responded to every small movement, made the air feel thick with anticipation.

He was right on the edge, barely hanging on, and you could feel the way his muscles tensed, his breath hitching with each passing second. "I know you want more," you whispered, your voice low and teasing, knowing how badly he needed you to push him further.

But you held back just long enough to let the tension build, feeling his frustration mix with the desire in the air, until he couldn't take it any longer.

You kissed down his body, the sensation of your lips trailing over his skin sending a shiver through him. Each kiss, each gentle brush of your lips, left him breathless, his body taut beneath you. When you reached his chest, you paused for a moment, taking in the way his muscles twitched under your touch, the way his breath quickened.

He moaned softly as your lips pressed to the sensitive skin there, your hands sliding along his ribs, feeling the heat radiating off of him. His fingers found your hair, tangling in it as he pulled you closer, desperate for more of that touch, that connection.

The air was thick with the unspoken tension between you both, and as your lips moved lower, he let out a strangled gasp, his back arching into you again, searching for the next wave of sensation. He was completely undone, lost in the feeling of your touch, and you couldn’t help but smile at the power you had over him.

Rafayel’s nipples were a pretty shade of pink, his areolas and the buds formerly puffy- you had made sure of that with your teasing groping and kneading, taking them between your fingers and teasing them. You take a nipple into your mouth, tongue flicking over it as it stiffens impossibly more, peeking against your wet muscle, your free hand going to play with his other nipple, giving both attention., Biting it softly, you tug on it before sucking it. He mewls, throwing an arm over his eyes. The sound of his whine, soft and desperate, sent a shiver through you, making your heart race. His body tensed beneath you, every nerve alive with anticipation, and the vulnerability in his voice made it impossible to ignore how much he needed you. 

“S’good- ah, Miss Bodyguard, mm,” Rafayel’s voice was shaky, lip quivering in want. 

You paused for a moment, looking up at him through your lashes, your lips still hovering just above his skin. His chest rose and fell quickly, eyes locked on you after he lifted his arm with a mix of longing and something deeper—something more desperate.

"What's wrong?" you teased softly, your voice low and almost playful as you brushed your fingers over his skin, just enough to make him ache, but not enough to give him what he wanted. His whine only grew louder, more pleading.

He shifted beneath you, hands tugging at your hair again, trying to pull you closer, his breath ragged. "Please," he gasped, voice cracking slightly. "Please, don't tease... not now."

“Mmm….but what about what I want?”

His breath stuttered at your words, the weight of them settling over him like a slow burn. He lifted his head, eyes dark with need, lips parted in a silent plea for you to understand. His hands grab at you, and they tighten around your wrists, pulling you just a little closer but not enough to get what he wants. His body, still so tense and aching beneath you, was desperate to meet yours in every way, and yet, he couldn't quite push forward.

"Anything," he whispered, voice raw. "I’ll do anything, just—" He cut himself off, unable to finish the sentence, the frustration evident in his eyes.

"You'll do anything?" you whispered, your voice teasing, almost mocking. "What if I want you to wait?"

His plea came out in a rush, his voice thick with frustration and need, like a confession he couldn't keep in any longer. His hands clenched tighter around your wrists, pulling you even closer, his body pressing up against yours as though he couldn’t wait another second. The vulnerability in his eyes, the desperation in his voice—it was almost too much to resist.

"Please," he repeated, his words shaky, his breath shallow. "I can't take it... not like this." His lips parted, the tension in his body making every word sound almost like a plea for mercy.

You really couldn’t deny him. Not when he looked at you like that—eyes blown wide, lips parted, body trembling beneath you as he clung to your wrists like they were the only thing keeping him grounded.

A shaky breath left your lips as you finally, finally gave in, pressing yourself flush against him, your fingers threading into his hair. His whole body shuddered, his grip on you tightening as if afraid you might pull away again.

"Alright, fishie baby," you murmured against his lips, the teasing lilt in your voice softened by the warmth in your gaze. "I'll give you what you want."

And with that, you closed the space between you, letting him have everything.

So you sit up- just a little over him now, and look at his aching dick. 

Because fuck. Even his dick was pretty. You’d have to take a mental note to really admire it later. A grower, but still. It wasn’t like it was hard to get him up.  Lining him up with you was easy enough, but sinking down on him? 

His tip was flushed, crying. A pearl of pre building up, like he was just seconds away from just coming undone and you hadn’t even done anything except tease him and make out. 

It was adorable, really. 

So you don’t put it in. 

Because fuck that.

Scooting down albeit a little awkwardly, you lay on his thighs, looking at him cheekily. Rafayel’s eyes meet yours, and he swallows thickly. 

“Silly Rafayel- I think we’re on a first-name basis by now, wouldn’t you agree?” “I…”

You kiss his tip, and he gasps, arching his back off of the couch. “F-uck!”

And how cruel of you, to just grin, pressing your hand down on the soft of his stomach, forcing him to lay down, to hold back his twitching as you tease his dick with your licks and kisses. 

He lets out a sharp gasp, his head knocking back against the pillow as your palm presses firm against his stomach, grounding him. His body jerks, instinctively trying to follow every sensation, but you don’t allow it.

“Stay still,” you murmur, voice low and commanding, watching the way he shivers beneath you. His breath is ragged, his chest rising and falling in frantic, uneven movements as he stares down at you with wide, desperate eyes.

“I—I’m trying,” he whimpers, his fingers twitching against the sheets, like he doesn’t know whether to grab onto you or tear them apart.

You smirk, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach, watching as his muscles jump under your touch. “Trying isn’t doing, fishie.”

Rafayel whines, head tilting to the side, but he obeys—barely. His tail thrashes behind him, his fingers gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles pale, his whole body trembling with the effort of not moving, of letting you take control.

“Good boy,” you praise, and the way he shudders—gods, it’s almost enough to make you lose your patience. Almost.

Taking him into your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, letting out a moan as your spit all but covers his shaft. 

“F-fuck, fuck, fuck- I’m, o-oh!” 

You had started to pump him in your hand as you worshiped his tip, the sounds of squelching skin too much for his red ears to bear. 

“Y/n- oh, g-Y/n,  mm-ah!”

A mess. A nasty, lewd, beautiful mess.

Rafayel was trembling, panting, his skin glistening with sweat, his body writhing despite his best efforts to obey. His hands fisted in the sheets, his knuckles turning white as he tried, tried so hard to stay still like you told him. But the pleasure was too much—too overwhelming, too intoxicating—and he was losing himself to it, drowning in sensation.

His chest heaved with every ragged breath, his lips parted, wet and swollen from all his whimpering and moaning. His lavender hair stuck to his forehead in damp strands, his legs twitching and thrumming, seeking something to hold onto, anything to ground him.

"P-please," he choked out, his voice cracking, desperate, needy. His body arched again, barely able to contain himself, his fingers twitching like they wanted to grab you, to pull you closer, to make you move faster.

But you pull off of his dick completely, your lips connected to him with a string of spit before you wipe it off with the back of your hand. You grab his tip again, pressing your thumb into the pretty slit as you look at him. “God, I just wanna eat you up when you’re like this. Can I? Can you beg f’me pretty boy? C’mon, beg f’me.”

And now the Lemurian is just reduced to nothing but his own spit and tears, his cock pitifully hard and angry as he helplessly tried to get some kind of friction. But Rafayel wouldn’t beg anymore, oh no. He had said ‘please’ far too many times for his tastes. 

But when he reached to grab his length to give himself some semblance of relief, he cried out; you had swatted his hand away. 

“Gods- what the he- mmph!”

You were quick to fix yourself over him, delighting in the way his breath hitched.

The plummet was a slow one. 

Whether to tease him or to enjoy yourself, you didn’t know. Maybe both. His angry tip kissed your folds, and that alone had him squirming- as if he wasn’t already, though. 

“Steady, Raf’. Be a good boy, yeah?” “I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m a good boy,”

He of course, would never in the right state of mind call himself that, but god did he need it. So you sink down, gasping as he fills you up, the odd ridges of his cock against your walls making you nearly melt.  Because how.

It’s like the fish-for-brain’s dick was designed to fill you. What could you compare it to….

 It wasn’t fat or anything, not super super long..-

A knot? Yeah. But not exactly. 

As soon as you bottomed out, he threw his head back, gasping like it was too much. Okay, it was too much. But you’re helping him!

“Fuck- are all Lemurians like this, pretty boy?”

He doesn’t answer, his grip on the fat of your hips almost bruising. You start to move, rolling your hips to really get that motion

Up and down, up and down, up and down. His eyes were bleary, pretty and swollen from his tears, the pink almost matching his sore nipples. He’s grabbing onto you anywhere he could- your thighs, your tummy, your chest, your hips or waist… he just couldn’t ground himself!

“Y/n, oh gods, please, please- more-” You don’t answer, suddenly too focused on reaching a high, pretty lips forming a cute lil ‘o’ in surprise. 

Your surprise gives way to him finally able to take some semblance of control, hips bucking up into you like a wild animal. He kinda was a wild animal. 

“I-i need to- I’m sorry, ‘m sorry cutie, ‘m sorry miss body guard, ‘m sorry Y/-”

Your lips slam onto his again in a teeth-clashing kiss, letting him chase his high too as it suddenly dawned on you that you weren’t gonna last like you thought you would. The sound of skin slapping on skin, the lewd squelches, and fuck,  the taste of him- it was simply too much!

Sucking his tongue, he mewls into your mouth, and you swallow his pretty moans. 

And you both come early. There was no warning, or no warning you paid attention to, when he suddenly started bucking his hips faster, his cock dragging and kissin’, dragging and kissin’ all along your pretty pussy walls and shooting straight to your womb. 

“Rafayel- mmph!” 

It happens fast, how he flips you over to be the one laying on your back, hovering over you while he cries pathetically about how sorry he was for finishing inside, kissing your forehead, gasping for breath before ultimately falling over you, collapsing. 

***

The room is quiet now, save for the low hum of the A.C. and the steady rhythm of Rafayel’s breathing. His body is slack against the sheets, his chest rising and falling in the aftermath, completely spent. His lavender hair is a tousled mess against the pillow, damp strands sticking to his flushed skin.

You huff out a breath, watching him. He’s knocked out, utterly exhausted—but at least his ache has been alleviated. Finally.

Rolling onto your side, you brush a few strands of hair away from his face. He looks peaceful now, the tension that had wracked his body completely melted away.

You let out a soft chuckle, pressing a fleeting kiss to his temple before stretching out with a satisfied sigh.

You’d let him sleep.

Gods know he needed it.

[ladywaffles]

A little ditty about the first time Maverick preened Ice’s wings for him… thanks for letting me play in your sandbox! :)

It happens during Ice’s molt, the year they decide to call a spade and spade and stopped leaving before dawn. They send their second class back out to sea three days before Ice molts. Maverick has been an instructor for almost a year, but this is Ice’s first molt as an instructor.

He’s not unused to flying, but it’s been a while since he’s put this many hours in the sky, pulling the maneuvers that Top Gun teaches. He wakes up at three in the morning with an itch in his wings that makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

It’s hell.

Ice trudges to the bathroom and closes the door before he flicks the light on, careful to make sure that it doesn’t bleed out through the doorway and wake Maverick up. If one of them has to be awake and miserable at oh-dark-thirty in the morning, there’s no sense in the other one suffering when they’re in between cohorts.

He gets a look at his wings in the mirror, and it’s rough. He hasn’t looked this bad since he was nineteen and putting himself through the rigor of daily PT in Annapolis. Sighing, he stretches a wing out and starts plucking at the dead feathers, massaging them out until they fall to the floor. It’s a mind-numbing task, especially in the middle of the night when he could be in bed, pressed against the warm line of Maverick’s body next to his, but he knows well enough that he won’t be able to fall asleep until he’s worked most of the way through his wings.

He’s just about to reach for the awkward part by his shoulder when the bathroom door swings open.

Maverick looks about as tired as Ice feels. His hair is rumpled, sticking straight up on one side of his head, and he blinks in the harsh light from the bathroom vanity like a drunk trying to focus on walking in a straight line.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Maverick squints at him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ice says.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Maverick pouts.

Ice stares at him blankly. It’s too goddamn early (late?) for him to figure out what Maverick wants from him.

“It’s the middle of the night, Mav, you should be asleep,” he says.

“We should be asleep,” Maverick replies and drags him out of the bathroom with a steel grip on his wrist. He makes it all the way to the edge of the bed, pushes down on Ice’s shoulders until he’s sitting on the ground, then sits on the mattress with Ice between his legs.

“Maverick, I can take care of this, really, go back to sleep,” Ice tells him.

“Will you just shut up already and let me get on with it so we can both go back to bed,” Maverick grumbles.

Ice does as he’s told and shuts up. Maverick’s already irritable enough, and Ice doesn’t want to piss him off more.

Mav is faster than he is at working the dead feathers free. It helps that he’s got a better vantage point and can actually reach all of Ice’s wing without contorting his arms into twisted poses, but Maverick really is better at preening than Ice is. It feels nice, to have Mav’s nimble fingers running through his feathers. It’s a good feeling on a normal day, when they’re cleaning up after a day of blasting the kids out of the sky, but when he’s molting and every feather out of place is that much more annoying? Ice would bottle the sensation if he could.

He doesn’t realize how deep he’s out of it until his cheek smacks into Mav’s thigh. Ice jerks up, his wings puffing out as he snaps awake.

“You undid it all,” Maverick moans. “Will you just calm down and let me work?” He pushes in between Ice’s shoulder blades until Ice relaxes, then threads his fingers through Ice’s almost-too-long hair and guides it back to rest on his leg.

“No, I want to stay awake,” Ice protests. “You’re awake too, I woke you up—”

“Kazansky, I would not be here if I didn’t want to be,” Maverick says.

“But—”

“Let me take care of you, Ice.”

Ice wants to twist around and look at him, but Maverick curls his own wings around them both, cocooning them away from the rest of the world. It’s hard to fight the lure of comfort then, so Ice lets himself melt into Maverick as he works through the molting feathers.

He falls asleep at some point, and it’s nearly dawn by the time that Mav tugs him into bed properly and drags them both under the covers. Ice drapes himself over Maverick, their chests pressed together, until Maverick winds his arms around Ice’s body and holds him close.

“Thank you, love you,” Ice mumbles, straight into Maverick’s skin.

“Tell me again when you’re awake, hotshot,” Maverick says.

///

The sunshine wakes him up properly. It’s mid-morning, and Maverick is already awake, scratching his fingers along the base of Ice’s wings.

“Good morning, grumpy,” Maverick teases.

“Don’t stop,” Ice whines, tucking his head under Mav’s chin. He feels Maverick’s laugh in his chest, but Maverick does as Ice asks and runs his hands over Ice’s back.

“You could’ve woken me up,” Ice says.

“Funny, I think I said the same thing to you last night.”

Ice lifts his chin enough to look at Maverick. “I didn’t want to bother you,” he says.

“Am I sleeping in your bed?”

“Mav—”

“It’s a yes or no question. Am I sleeping in your bed?”

“Yes.”

“How long have I been doing that?”

“Four months, give or take.”

“In the past four months, have I ever given you the idea that I don’t want to be here?”

“No.”

“Logic and clear thinking would indicate then that I want you to bother me by walking me up when you’re uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? Because it wouldn’t be a bother.” Maverick cups his cheek. “C’mon, Kazansky. I know you’re Mister Ice-Cold-No-Mistakes, but I think you’ve got room for me. I want to be here. Let me be here for you.”

“Thank you,” Ice says. He doesn’t know what else to say. “It’s… been a while since someone did that for me. I usually just ride it out myself.”

“Two fuckin’ years since we met, and you never thought to ask for my help?” Maverick grins.

Ice tries to think of a retort, then last night comes back to him in crystal clear picture, like the sky above the Pacific on a cloudless day.

He knows exactly what to say.

“I get it. I know why you want me to wake you up when I’m up and uncomfortable,” Ice says, pushing his weight onto his elbows so he can hold himself above Maverick.

“Yeah? What is it then?” Maverick asks.

“I love you.”

He watches as Maverick passes through a carousel of emotions in a matter of moments.

“You said to tell you again when I was awake,” Ice continues.

“I did say that, didn’t I,” Maverick replies, breathless. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“If you keep talking to me like that, we’re not gonna make it out of bed in time for lunch,” Maverick says.

“Promise?”

There’s a playful glint in Maverick’s eye, the same one Ice saw the day he asked for a flyby for two.

Ice smiles back. “Love you.”

First post of the new year (even though I started this pic in december shhhh)

and what a surpise, it's more wing!au :) I just like the juxtaposition of admiral Kazansky (2 star here), polished to such perfection even his feathers are gleaming, versus just Ice, casual, rumpled feathers being diligently seen to by his loving partner.

Maverick has trouble sitting still usually, but preening Ice like this gets him to focus like nothing else (except for when he's flying a jet, of course)