#bones you are a disturber of the peace | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yesimwriting · 1 year ago

Note

omg i’m so happy ur taking young coriolanus requests!! i’d love a oneshot of him falling for reader (whos from the districts) and him trying to deal with it

Summary: Coriolanus has no interest in his assigned tribute beyond her potential assistance in helping him win the Plinth prize...or at the very least, that's what he tells himself.

Warnings: Coriolanus being kind of delusional (in deep denial) and possessive, jealousy, a crush being treated like a terminal illness, Coriolanus trying really hard to talk himself out of said crush by comparing the reader to an animal/pet in his internal thoughts

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His nails dig into the soft skin of his palm with enough force to leave stinging crescents in their wake. He's too far gone to feel the marks, to know when to relieve pressure to avoid breaking skin.

When the idea of having the best and brightest of the Academy's senior class was initially presented, the concerns about having such prominent members of the Capitol interacting so closely with representatives of the districts was highly contested. Most of the outcry had been from concerned parents--wealthy fathers and overly doting mothers desperately attempting to convince their leaders to not subject their poor, innocent children to that kind of proximity with something considered so other.

After all, those from the districts are closer to animal than man. If an outburst of hatred doesn't result in a Capitol heir's life and potential being cut short, perhaps some sort of disease would take them instead.

Coriolanus had found that part ridiculous. Not the way the tributes were seen, but the level of coddling the Capitol elite were willing to openly mark their children with. There are ways to mentor from a safe distance and there hasn't been public knowledge of a strange and fatal virus running through the districts in some time.

Now that he's here, standing at the zoo's entrance under the cover of night, food that he can't truly afford to waste tucked into the pocket of his coat, he realizes how naive he had been to not head their warnings. He's come down with something, that's the only explanation for the sweat coating his palms and the nervous turning of his stomach.

This infliction is something that you've done to him. Unintentionally, of course--your lack of cut throat nature and maliciousness had been a disappointing discovery at the time--but still true. Why else would he come here to feed you when his family can barely feed themselves?

Coriolanus walks further and further into the zoo until the familiar cage is in view. There are a no peacekeepers inside of the space and less than a hand full patrolling the perimeter. It's late and the games are tomorrow morning, any of the tributes that wanted to cause problems would have done so by now.

It shouldn't matter to him, none of them would turn him away. The mentors weren't explicitly told to stay away which means that the peacekeepers wouldn't bother him. He could always say that he's here to discuss last minute strategy, that the earlier bombing had cut his time short and that Dr. Gaul had given Academy students permission to make up that time if they so wished. But the thought of having less of an audience soothes him slightly.

He stands where he had stood beneath the daylight, near the corner, as far from the other tributes as physically possible. Regret begins to knot his stomach. Everyone's asleep. This will be the most alone together the two of you have ever been. It's also so dark, and you're likely asleep as well. How will he find you? Is it wrong to disturb the last peaceful rest you might ever experience?

The more he thinks, the more an urgency he can't wraps itself tight beneath his bones. The sensation, a likely byproduct of his ailment, makes him wish that there was some way to scratch beneath his skin. Right no longer matters, and neither does his growling stomach that begs him to just eat the food he had taken from the Academy's lunch and disappear back into the night. He needs to see you, to see that--

"You're going to be okay." Your voice, a soft whisper that brings him back to the present.

You're awake, the vague shape of your crouched form resting against one of the artificial rocks. You're also comforting someone with a much larger frame. Something in his chest turns to stone.

Here he is, wandering the Capitol streets in the dead of night, a pocket full of food that he had hidden from his own family for your sake and you're--you're not thinking of him at all.

Maybe his infliction had been more intentional than he thought possible. Your kindness could be a ruse and Coriolanus has heard rumors of your people. Some say that your ancestors practiced spirtual arts in order to enchant others. Perhaps you've bewitched him.

His own naivety burns through his chest. You're supposed to be his. If that's how it is, then he's freeing himself of you and your kind eyes and honey-laced voice. He'll--

"Coriolanus," a surprised, careful sound that's much warmer than your attempts at soothing someone had sounded.

His name forces the pinching feeling in his chest to be replaced by an uneasy warmth that crawls its way up his neck. He's suddenly glad for the darkness.

He follows your silhouette as you quickly push yourself to your feet with no regard for the boy next to you. Your movements are swift yet quiet, and the care behind them keeps him steady. You don't want to wake anyone; you want this to be just you and him.

"You're--" You stand so close to the bars that it'd take nothing at all to reach for you. "You're here." You place a hand on the bars that divide you, fingers curling around the cool metal. "Are you okay?"

The question is laughable. He's at the tribute zoo only a few hours before the games begin because some instinct had made seeing you again feel as important and necessary as breathing.

But you're not asking about that. You're asking about him, about his injuries from the bombing. "I'm fine," he assures you, "A little scraped up from the debris and I did lose consciousness, but I was treated for all injuries."

You're finally close enough for the moonlight to make a difference. He can make out the unruliness of your hair from the way that life has treated you since your reaping, the form of your tattered dress, your facial features and...the long gash that now marks your forehead.

"And I was told that you were as well." Someone in passing had mentioned that the tributes were cleaned up after the bombing. They weren't prioritized or given valuable resources, but they were cleaned up. Injuries were cleaned and dressed to prevent infection from getting in the way of the games.

You frown, tilting your head slightly as if to hide the length of the mark. Something in his chest tightens again, the sensation much more aggressive than before. Your smooth, gentle skin now marred...

His own defensiveness hits him like a physical blow. Coriolanus blames the feeling on familiarity. The desire to keep you in the best condition possible is no different than what someone would feel for a prized pet. You're his tribute, after all.

"It sort of happened after."

Panic seizes at his chest. After. One of the peacekeepers or another tribute had hurt you. "Who?" The coolness of his own voice shocks him.

You angle your head downwards, the motion distinctly dismissive. Coriolanus won't accept that. Who are you to hide something like this from him? After everything he's done for you, don't you trust him? His arm moves forward without his permission, pulling at your arm so that your body shifts closer to the bars. His other hand then slips between the poles and grasps your chin firmly between two fingers.

He tilts your head, giving himself the space needed to examine the entirety of the cut. It stretches down the start of your hairline and stops just short of your eyebrow. Not too long or wide, but the dried blood still smeared on you implies that it's deep.

"Who did this to you?"

His hold on you is steady, but not so tight that you couldn't step away if you wanted to. You hold still as he takes the time to examine the rest of your face for injuries. Your acceptance leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. Coriolanus releases you like you might burn him.

"I don't--" Of course you don't want to tell. Your nobility runs so deep, you don't care what it costs you.

An odd wave of distress washes over him. The night air feels wrong against his skin, too cold for the thin clothing he put on in his hurry to get to you. "You shouldn't alienate your mentor the night before the games."

Your lips pull down into what feels like a pout. You stare at him with wide eyes. "I'm not trying to alienate you." The genuineness of your words knots his stomach. "I--I'm glad that you're here, that you're okay." Usually, sugar coated words from you are enough to crack at his exterior. He's feeling a lot less amicable tonight. "The girl from district 4 was aggravated tonight. I think she wanted to intimidate the other careers into listening to her so she targeted Wovey and I was kind of--around."

Translation: your too-good-for-the-arena heart took over and you inserted yourself in a conflict that had nothing to do with you. "I told you to be careful."

You nod solemnly at the reprimand. Your lips part, but before you can say anything, the sound of your name steals your attention. You turn away from him, keeping one hand on the metal bars. "Yeah?"

"Are you coming back soon?"

The question jabs at him like a thumb finding a bruise. The tribute you were comforting may come from the same district as you, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things. By morning, your destiny to be rivals in the arena will be sealed. He won't risk anything for you the way Coriolanus is. He'd snap your neck in an instant if it meant going back home. Surely, even you're not kind hearted enough to not see that.

You crane your neck to look back at him, but your body stays angled towards the other tribute. The urge to hold you in place, to bring your attention back to him physically aches. Is your final meeting before the games really going to be cut short because of some other tribute? The look you give him is apologetic enough to make his chest constrict. After all he's done for you.

"I'm talking to my mentor." Your response dislodges something from his chest. "Why don't you check on Wovey? I think that'll help."

The sound of shuffling fills the space, and then that's that. The two of you are as alone as two people like you can be.

"It was nice of you to come here," the admission leaves you carefully, "I-I tried to see what happened to you after, but they brought us back here so quickly, and I--"

"It's alright."

He never expected for you to be at the hospital. The mental image is strange enough as a concept in itself. You, sitting in one of those stiff hospital seats, waiting desperately at his bedside. You, in the same room as his cousin and grandmother, all three of you concerned and co-existing. It doesn't fit, you're not like them. You're district. That's inherently lesser, inherently replaceable no matter the level of your charm or--or appeal.

But if that's reality, than why was your name the first thing that stumbled past his lips when he woke up? Why was his first thought after being discharged about getting back to you? Why does the fact that you were sitting with the male tribute from your district turn his stomach? Why does he now have a personal vendetta against the girl from 4? These can't possibly all be things that someone would feel for a favorite pet, can they?

This train of thought is nauseating, and the last thing he wanted for the final night before the games. "I was worried." You force these words out in a jumble of colliding syllables, like if you didn't pry them out fast enough, they'd never manage to find their way out.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, imprinting the details of the small crease between your eyebrows and your nervous eyes to memory. The look tugs at something dangerously close to fondness. "Then you know how I'lll feel tomorrow." That, in itself, is a confession pulled from him the same way a rotten tooth would be extracted. "How I'll feel until you come back."

You stare at him, eyes wide. "If this is about the prize money the peacekeepers talk about, you're doing a good job."

There's a stiffness to the way you say this, a guarded quality that soothes him more than it should. The thought of him only being invested in you only because of what he can get out of your success displeases you.

It's instinct to want to ease you. It'd be easy, too. All it would take is a comment that implies that he can be here for more than one reason. The response sits at the back of his throat. Is that why he's here?

The natural answer is of course. Why else would he lose sleep? What other reason could he have for risking taking Academy food and exposing his poverty? Something he's rarely willing to do for himself and his own family.

"A person can want more than one thing at the same time."

You can't hold his gaze, eyes cautiously darting downwards. The display of shyness makes things feel a little warmer. It makes him bolder. Coriolanus moves his hand again, letting his fingers cover yours. You don't move away.

"I almost forgot." His free hand makes its way into the pocket of his coat, finding the carefully folded napkin. He's going out of his way to emphasize the casualness of food. The only thing caring about this gesture is that he had thought to come, not the food itself. There's no such thing as scarcity in the Capitol. "Here."

He offers the neatly tied fabric in the gaps between the bars. You don't attempt to take back the hand pressed between the pole and his own palm. You take the gift in your free hand and don't attempt to let go of him until you realize that you won't be able to untie the makeshift parcel with one hand.

You open it slowly, examining the contents of his offering carefully. Two biscuits, a few crackers, a small wedge of cheese, and another baked good that reminds him of a denser, more durable version of cake.

"Thank you," The truth to your gratitude forces something uncomfortable to wedge itself between his ribs.

You don't start eating right away, your head instinctually turning back. He realizes what you're doing almost instantly. "If you're going to share everything I give you, there's not much point in bringing it."

A little harsher than he meant to be out loud. It's not your fault. Your family is large and of a taking care of each other mentality. If there's food for one, there's food for all.

You nod, accepting the criticism the way you usually do. It's a good thing that you're so pliable, that you're eager to keep the usual comfortable atmosphere between the two of you. Sometimes, though, it feels a bit like kicking a puppy.

Carefully, you bring a cracker to your lips, chewing cautiously. Taking anything makes you guilty, another byproduct of your upbringing. Sometimes Coriolanus wonders if all of this would be easier if you were brought up like the majority of district children, more ravenous and unapologetic.

You'd told him about your mother before, a free spirit who works in a textile factory that produces lavish fabrics instead of standard peacekeeper uniforms. Even though the work isn't much different, you spoke about it like it made all the difference. My mother loves beautiful things so much she doesn't even care about who they're for.

That had been the first time he had found himself thinking about your appearance. If your mother's love is reliant on beauty, he realized, then you must have grown up with consistent affection.

You speak of her, of your entire family, in a way that confirms his hypothesis. You've told him stories of the way she hangs up the prettiest fabric she can find to hang up and turn one room into two--a necessity with so many of you living in a set of conjoined apartments.

"You're..."

You trail off, pressing your lips together nervously in a way that he's gotten used to. It usually signifies that you're concerned about being impolite. That's another thing that doesn't fit the district mold, even here you hold onto manners and social cues. Even when you first met him, you had fallen back on habit. He had introduced himself as your mentor and you absentmindedly asked how he was in that way that people do when they run into an acquaintance.

Normally, if he presses or even just prompts you once or twice you'll reveal your initial thoughts. They're rarely what he expects them to be. Instead of responding to the light raise of his eyebrows, you pick up a biscuit before stretching your arm towards him.

"Oh, no I'm--"

"You're hungry." That's what you almost blurted out.

You don't mean anything by it, or, at the very least, not anything beyond the realm of worry. Heat rises up Coriolanus's neck slowly but surely. You know nothing of his world and yet you knew that to have his hunger exposed would be embarrassing. You know that it's not the kind of hunger that comes from missing a meal or two on a particularly busy or chaotic day.

"Don't worry," you tack on, "It's not noticeable unless you know what to look for."

The comment is a little too reassuring, too on the nose. Can you read him that easily? Coriolanus takes the biscuit before he can pick apart your comment any further. The corner of your mouth shifts into an almost smile. You then break apart the wedge of cheese and try to hand him that along with most of your crackers and a piece of the pastry.

"No, I can't take all of that."

You stare at him oddly. "You've been injured," you stretch your hand out again, "You need your strength."

There are several reasons why you need your strength more than he does, but he can't figure out how to insist on that without making it seem like this is a final meal. He doesn't want to give you a chance to see it that way, so he takes the a little less than half of what you're offering. "Compromise."

You nod, accepting his terms. He's unsure who starts it, but the two of you end up sitting in front of each other. You smooth the napkin out in front of you, setting up what's left of your food like a makeshift picnic. "My mother used to take me for picnics."

"Yeah?" There's something about your stories about your life back home that are attention drawing. It's not so much mundane content of life in district 8 and the fact that it still managed to produce someone like you, it's the way you speak. You're expressive and bright.

"Mhm," you finish off your first cracker, "Eight isn't exactly full of nature, but there's this wooded area past the factories and if you know where to go, you'll find this clearing that's practically untouched. She'd go there sometimes on days off when she needed to collect wildflowers to turn into paints and she'd bring who she could...me, my siblings, cousins..."

You pick up a piece of cheese, setting it on a cracker. "Neighbors, sometimes." Your voice wavers in a way that sticks out. Despite an initial tearing up on your first night, you haven't cried or behaved in anyway that indicates that this could be your end. He doesn't want you losing hope now. "Tanner used to go with us."

It's whispered with the intensity of a confession. The boy you came with, the boy you were speaking with--you grew up with him. That's a bond that's not as easily dismissed. That's something strong enough to challenge his connection with you.

Why does it matter? He's earned enough of your trust, you spoke in a way that earned more donations than anyone else. You trust him enough to actually fight in the arena. It--it doesn't matter if you...

"Do you care for him?" The question surprises both of you equally. His own bluntness, the slight edge to his tone...it's too much for a mentor.

"Uh," you sniffle once, "He was a good friend when we were little, our families know each other." An knot so tight it's difficult to stay sitting there twists his stomach. "We're a little less close these days."

If you comforting him during the dead of night, losing sleep during your last chance to rest is your version of less close, Coriolanus doesn't even want to imagine your normal. "You shouldn't expect any loyalty during the games, the second the count down begins, there's no such thing as friendship."

You wipe at your face with the back of your palm. "What makes you so sure?"

Your question isn't a challenge or an attempt to convince him that the boy would never hurt you. You're asking because you're curious, because you want to know his thoughts. "Human nature."

It's more nihilistic than he usually is in front of you, but his patience is wearing thin. The soreness of his body is starting to catch up with him and wasting the little time you have less discussing someone so insignificant is draining.

His annoyance has to stem from how little the other tributes matter to him. That's the only reason he can piece together, especially when his brashness is likely pushing you away.

"Then why can I trust you?"

Another question that you mean. It's not a slight or an attempt to indicate that you're not there yet with him. He didn't come here to cast doubt on the bond he so carefully helped build.

He can't look at you as he speaks, "Because I'm going to do anything I can to get you back."

You nod, your eyes retreating to focus on your lap. "For the prize money, for your school."

He picks at the edge of his biscuit, a few crumbs falling to the ground. "I already told you, I want more than one thing."

That's not exactly what he said...this reiteration of it is more blatant. Heat burns his face. You peak up at him through your lashes.

If you had been born in the Capitol, you would have done well. You're found of civility and social norms despite a lifetime in the Districts and despite only knowing you stained in various levels of grime, he can tell that our features are pleasing. Polished, dressed, and brought up differently, you would have been a regular Capitol darling.

Coriolanus shakes his head once, an attempt to dismiss his thoughts. Why care about what you could have been? Why imagine what you'd be like if you were part of his word?

"You're not going to--to rely on him in the arena." It's framed as a question, but in reality, it's more of a hopeful statement.

You pause, genuinely thinking about your response. "No." You rest a hand on your bent knee, gently scratching at the skin. "Not rely."

The answer isn't concrete enough, but he has no right or reason to say much else. "Don't let your guard down. Not for anyone."

You nod, reaching for what's left of your biscuit, "I won't, I promise."

"Good, I'll be watching and I'll remember when you get back."

Get back. You wipe at your cheek with the back of your palm. "Yeah, when I get back."

The dryness of your voice cracks at him. If you consider yourself defeated before even stepping into the arena, you won't come back to him. For him. For the Plinth prize.

He shoves the thoughts down as deep as they'll go. They don't manage to get very far, crowding his throat in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Coriolanus doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he slips his hand between the cage's bars. He lets his hand sit there, palm facing upwards in a silent offering.

Coriolanus stares at his arm as a way to prevent himself from taking in your reaction. A beat passes, and then the tips of your fingers are brushing against his before settling against his palm. He squeezes your hand tightly, so tightly he's aware that it's probably uncomfortable, but the prospect of holding you so tightly that you can't vanish is too assuring.

"Do you have to--to go soon?"

He adjusts his hold on you, bending his fingers so that they can rest between yours. The rest of his household is asleep by now, but they'd be able to tell if he spent the night here and that would worry them. It would also make the morning much more complicated...he'd have to shower and change before the games begin in order to hide where he spent the night.

"No," it leaves him before he realizes what he's saying, "I can stay as long as you'd like."

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, "Good."

That makes something in his chest feels like it's going to burst. He shouldn't care. He should see this open display of clinginess as an inconvenience. And why would he risk getting caught as someone that spent the night on the floor of the zoo when there's nothing left to convince you of?

The answer strikes him so harshly he nearly lets go of you. He didn't just want you to ask him to stay to prove something, he wanted the excuse to stay. He--he wants to be near you...and not in the way that someone wants to spend time with a puppy.

The truth to it is simple. Straightforward. He cares about you.

He can hear that you're speaking, but your words are too distant to mean anything.

"Coriolanus?"

No. No. He--he isn't meant to care about you of all people, to feel these kinds of--No. No, he can't. He's not biologically wired to. And yet, he can't let go of your hand.

"Coriolanus?"

He squeezes your hand even tighter. "You didn't ask me."

"What?"

"The other thing I want, you didn't ask me about it." The words leave him in a rush, an uneasy mess that he needs out.

Confessing turns these kinds of thoughts into reality, an undeniable force that he wishes he could vanish. But maybe if he gets it out, the ache of it will be expelled from him. Maybe he'll finally be able to think about something else that doesn't involve analyzing your every expression like your life depends on it.

"No," your eyes are wide, a deer realizing they're not the only ones at the watering hole, "I-I didn't."

A small part of him is disappointed that you don't take the opportunity to press. You usually do, chatting like you're a regular friend and not his tribute. "I'll tell you anyways." He swallows, gripping your hand like a lifeline. You squeeze back, a silent display of support. "It's you."

Your hand goes slack in his. Coriolanus warns himself that it's best to keep his eyes away from you, to not read any--he breaks, gaze snapping upwards to watch you.

"Me?" Your voice is fragile and impossible to read. You lift your intertwined hands as best you can between the poles that make up the cage. You lean forward, pressing your lips against the back of his palm. Your eyes briefly fall shut.

"I--" You set your intertwined hands back in place. "I think the practical thing to do would be to forget about me." The rejection cuts through him. All he can do is stare. "You know what's going to happen tomorrow."

Your twist your hand in an attempt to steal it back as you push yourself upwards, adjusting so that your weight is on your knees. Coriolanus instinctively shifts forward, grabbing your arm to keep you close. He moves to sit up on his knees. "You're going to come back." You stop trying to push him away. "Do you care about me?"

"You're being unfair," your whisper is harsh, "Even--even if I win, where would that leave us?" He's silent. "I'll be back in a cage and you'll stay on the outside, only this time they won't be in proximity to each other."

You're logical. You're right. And he can't bring himself to care. "Do you care about me?"

"Of course I do," the response is frustrated, exhausted, "I think I might even--" Your mouth clamps shut, eyes briefly leaving him. "I think I love you." You drop head, giving Coriolanus only the slightest glimpse of your now glassy eyes. "But what does that matter?"

The word loosens something in his chest. He gets as close to the bars as physically possible, pulling on your arm in a way that almost makes you fall forward. The new proximity seems to drain any remaining fight from you.

He leans forward, his lips finding yours in the space between metal. It takes you a second to catch up with what's happening, but once you do, you return the display of affection. He pulls your bottom lip between his own before releasing you enough to let you breathe.

"Is this real?" The question takes its time coming out, slow and through pants. If he thought thinking about you before was a type of sickness, then this is something terminal. You nod instinctually, urgingly. "Then we'll find a way." You're both resting your head against the bars. If it wasn't for the invasive metal in the way, you'd be resting against each other. "Just come back to me, and everything else--we'll figure it out."

He can write to you. He can find an excuse to bring you back to him. Maybe another aspect of the games--something that requires victors to visit the Capitol.

You nod, acceptance finally coloring your features as you squeeze his hand. "We'll figure it out."

----

a/n i've gotten so many Coriolanus/thg requests,, pls feel free to keep them coming <3

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

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anantaru · 11 months ago

Text

BITTERSWEET TASTE

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — being in the knights of favonius came with its own responsibilities, yet why was it so unbelievably difficult for kaeya to get up in the morning when you‘re laying next to him all pretty and riled up?

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 3.1k

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — decided to repost this hidden fic, enjoy <3

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, prone bone, fingering, morning sex, morning wood, biting, he cums in you, basically kaeya doesn't want to go to work <3

there was a pearly glow in the morning sky with the first of many rays of sunlight casting a rosy hue up the bedroom, prickling on kaeya's bronzed skin.

fluttering his eyelashes open for the first time post slumber, he scrubbed his face with his hands as to try to wipe away the tiredness that was still viewable on his handsome features. He yawned, stretching his broad body, tilting his neck left and right.

if only he didn't have to work today, he thoughts to himself, fighting off his laziness and huffing out dramatically.

naturally, ever since the grandmaster left for an important expedition, kaeya had to work more than usual, do stuff he in any other circumstances wouldn't have to bother to even bat an eye over.

of course, with the entire cavalry gone, one would think that the cavalry captain himself wouldn't have to particularly do much, yet he still had to aid the knights with various tasks as they were short in staff.

a low sigh escaped him and his heart bubbled with swells of delight upon taking in the look of his sleeping beauty curved up into a ball, your breathing tranquil with your eyes scrunched together.

how can someone be so cute and beautiful? while also infecting him with blissful joy.

leaving nothing to the imagination, his mind froze with his body feeling light, as if he wasn't entirely there yet, wandering his piercing gaze over your heaving figure, drinking in your peacefulness.

he tried to decipher on how he managed to end up so lucky, how it was him, of all people, who captured your heart.

on further analysis, he focused and crossed his vision over you, his breathing slowing down. He caught a glimpse of your white panties nudged out of your sleep shirt, the fabric was flimsy and was barely able to keep everything hidden and tugged away, the outline of your puffy folds poked out just slightly and watered his mouth on sight.

next, kaeya heavily settled his hands on your hips and pulled you closer into his embrace, he was still very much tired and exhausted, the thought about him having to leave for work in a bit was annoying, straight up mind shattering, a frustrated growl tingling in his throat.

cocking his head in the nook of your soft neck, kaeya took in your scent, so familiar and soothing, kissing the thin flesh under your ear. The strokes of his rough lips on you ultimately stirred you from your sleep, a dizzying sense of pleasure crawling over your shoulders.

"kaeya?" your voice was whispery and barely there, laced in with a raspy undertone when you cradled your head to the side, meeting his hooded eyes. "morning, beautiful."

you couldn't help yourself but roll your eyes at him, such tease, your brows crinkling at the corners as a peel of laughter echoed in the large room. With your hand, you removed the navy blue hair strands that covered your boyfriends handsome face, stilling your palm on his warm cheek and brushing your thumb over his lower lip.

"don't you have to work?"

"hmm." nuzzling himself into you, he continued, "how awful would i be if i don't?" kaeya crossed his arms around you with the plush of your behind pressed against his member, your eyes growing to the size of saucers upon realizing how riled up he had gotten.

"jean won't be happy if you're late." attempting to disturb him from his little fantasy, he set off the heavy erection in his pants, gently rutting itself within your softness, his rough tongue eagerly dragging over your neck and biting down the wet spot, ultimately forgetting about your words, as if he didn't perceive them in the first place.

"foul play!" he feigned a dramatic, teasing tone, "but this isn't about jean right now."

his hips bucked up yet again, this time unconsciously before one of his hands wandered towards your stomach, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your panties to pull them down in a single motion. Your breath was trembling with a sweet squeak robbed out of your mouth, melting into his warmth with your eyes closed.

his hand disappeared within your heat, nudging in between your thighs as you spread them a bit to make it easier for him to travel to where you craved it. "only for five minutes kaeya, okay?"

"five minutes, five minutes." he repeated sheepishly, gaping his mouth open and poking out his sharp canines from underneath his upper lip, prancing on your neck, adding his rough tongue up until reaching your earlobe to gingerly suck on it. You whined from his little scheme, noticing your nipples perked up from underneath your shirt and rubbing over the flimsy material as you whined at the first long finger poking at your entrance.

your cheeks grew warm, drizzling hot and your eyes fluttered close to relish in the digit filling you at last, the stretch was barely painful or to be perceived yet still pleasurable. Your insides were twisting and turning around his skillfulness which had kaeya's vision turn blank, jaw dropping loosely before a massive grin heaved on him.

considering on how your moans sounded, how they pooled over his ears like sweet liquid, sugary candy, kaeya figured you were very much sensitive, might be because you had just woken up, carefully wiggling his finger deep into you to wheedle another reaction out from your lips.

"don't hide your sounds from me, don't even dare."

his gorgeous face was behind you, kaeya absolutely despised it when you hid your pleasure from him, your lust and ache, sometimes you even did in on purpose to drive him mad, yet he always made sure to punish his sweet little angel properly afterwards.

"kaeya, it feels good." he was spreading the mess over your folds with every shove into your core, you nodded frantically to signal him how well he did, your head falling back against his neck as he added another finger into the mix, almost immediately pulling it into you and searching for more with his hungry eyes.

this time you stretched further, hole parting, the combination of his middle and ring finger rubbing their rough pads into your velvety walls had you short of breath, nudging your sweet spot. You were rocking side to side as you held each other in a loving clasp, moaning and breathing in sync.

a simple happiness, that's what it was for kaeya, seeing you unravel for him in such a short amount of time, a confident bubble bursting in his belly as he noticed the heavy dent in his boxers, growing, aching and rubbing against the uncomfortable material of his sweat shorts.

kaeya drew in his breath upon noticing your spasming walls, letting go of the air in his lungs with a shiver. He shifted his leg, pressing you closer together and increasing the pace on his hand. Without warning he scissored your sensitive cunt, curling and sending waves of electric thrills throughout your skin.

your eyebrows knitted together in concentration, tightening your jaw as you moaned his name, arching your spine away yet he jerked you back almost immediately, "I'm so close kaeya.. please." your skin was heated, yet the warmth crossing you from deep inside roamed into you in fast spurts, slumping back and forth.

"i want you to cum on my fingers, can you do this for me?" hoarsely voicing his command with authority taking over the room, he shoved his fingers in, thick and wet, delving them into you as you grinding yourself back, meeting his hand halfway through his heavy tugs.

"i‘m gonna cum—" moaning in protest, your sloppy hole suckled down on kaeya‘s slender, skillful digits, clamping your thighs to hold him there when you spasmed, shivering and whining when your orgasm threw itself at you.

kissing and biting your neck he hummed in satisfaction at your tones, your pleas and begs, the vibration he exclaimed was filling you and hit your core in a torrent of electricity.

your hands abruptly clasped onto his wrist to still his movements yet kaeya was chasing your release like a wild beast, finger fucking you through your climax with sloppy noises turning you into an embarrassing mess.

creating friction through his rough way with you, you grabbed him, your mouth opening but nothing came out and throat tightening when you cummed at last with a silent cry of his name, sobbing your words.

pure bliss, that's how kaeya would describe it, his palm glistering with arousal. "now would you look at yourself, what a sight to behold." your mind was a bit off and still wobbly, cradling your head back to look at him through lidded eyes, meeting his lustful ones.

"shut up kaeya, you wanted this." your sassiness was maddening and set his loins on fire, truly delicious. Kaeya pulled out of you, a string of your essence connecting him to your core when he did something that almost brought you on the verge of release again.

pleasantly dizzy, his slick covered fingers found his mouth when he pried the pads past his plump lips, lapping onto his digitd to drink in what you gifted him with, moaning and groaning around his fingers and hollowing his cheeks to suck them dry.

a whisper, a moan, taking itself out on your craving body when you watched in anticipation, now fully awake and completely forgetting that kaeya was very much late for work, not to mention the little '5 minute rule from ealier' was nowhere to be found. The aroma of his scent clasped around you, filling your nostrils and getting you weak in the knees, cradling your senses.

another long inhale, you yanked his hand away and kissed him, hard. Shaking, tantalizing goosebumps bristled on your skin, a sharply edged euphoria playing in your heart upon noticing his fully erected member resting against your thigh, a big wet splotch plastered on the side.

your fingers listened to his silent pleas, traveling down his stomach before cupping his groin, caressing it with your warm palm. You rolled forward, eliciting a groan from your boyfriend when he captured you in another kiss, rutting himself into your hand like a horny beast. "you're so fucking perfect for me." he sputtered, adding his strength on your hips to pull you back abruptly.

kaeya rose up, displaying himself to you as he exposed of his shirt together with his pants and boxers, cock plopping out and standing fully erect. His tip was swollen and rosy, desperate and needy when he beckoned you to turn around, following suit.

you lowered yourself onto the silky, white pillows with your behind perked up, your drenching pussy on full display for him to indulge himself in. Fuck, he wanted to be inside you right now, wanted his cock to be drenched full with filth and lewdness and make love to you.

"five minutes, right?" he taunted you with it, amusement finding him on how you thought you’d be satiated by a mere five minutes.

kaeya couldn't wait any longer, simply draping your shirt up and not giving a single fuck to discard of it completely, your glowing back greeting him. His rough hands branded your shaking skin, a satisfied growl deep in his lungs was leaving him as he got a hold of his stiff erection to drag it in and out of the little tunnel he created with his hand.

"i'm gonna be so late." chuckling to himself and in a way, it sounded as if kaeya was making fun of said fact, butterflies cascading through his stomach at the mere sight of you alone.

of course this was way better than working and fulfilling his duties.

your glistering pussy fluttered around nothing, sobbing and aroused, still mourning the loss of his long fingers when you trapped your lower lip in between your sharp teeth, hiding a moan.

"baby—" you're mewling now, "please don't tease me, i can‘t take it." wiggling yourself back, kaeya couldn't help himself but smirk devilishly, so unbelievably handsome that the sight of it would've made you cum on the spot. "who do you think i am? i'd never!"

pretending to be shocked, he lowered himself, hands pressing on your behind and gripping the plush of your ass, squeezing and wiggling it. An electric pulse went through your bones when he brushed his cockhead within your folds, collecting your filthy essence on his skin and slobbering him wet.

the natural lubricant would come in handy, surely, kaeya was mostly rough with you and in all honesty, you didn't mind, more so did you secretly encourage it whenever he'd claim you like that, whenever he'd show you how much he desired you without actually using any words.

he was perfect, truly, he was broad and thick, pressing himself into you and filling you to the brim, cunt parting in a rough manner you wouldn't want any other way.

every twitch, turn and twist of his cock you could feel, witness and drink in, you cried out whiningly in a breathy way with tears dwelling in your eyes. He draped himself over you, chest flushed on your back and licking a straight line on the back of your neck with his rough tongue, your tiny hairs sticking into the air from convulsing shivers.

"fuck, you're so tight today." his words were lustful and imploring, savoring and distracting you from the slight discomfort of your lower region being practically impaled by him. A string of saliva connected your skin to his lips, he was messy with you, adding spit and drawing it on your neck to continue to suckle and bite the wet flesh, hitting your sweet spot but not moving where you yearned for it the most.

kaeya pushed you back, leaving his tip in and waxing over your reactions, sending a bolt of lightning down your spine upon snapping himself back, roughly and so unbelievably hard that you thought your heart would actually burst out of your chest.

crying his name you moaned in tune with the pace he was settling for, dragging his raw member into your shivering insides and rubbing deliciously on your favorite spots, punctuated thrusts pressing roughly within you.

relentless, that's how he was with you, marking and branding you with his thick cock alone, his heavy balls smacking at your behind and eliciting arousing torment in your core, feeding into your desires when the flirst droplets of tears covered your warm skin, sticking on your cheeks.

large hands tilted your hips up while simultaneously applying pressure on your back to nudge you against the mattress, the new position making it possible for kaeya to dig into you more.

yet in comparison you got tighter, your hole delicate and milking him for all he's worth. Your oversensitive pussy was on its breaking point, drooling and making a mess out of his length, swallowing him whole, as if you were made for him.

"I'm so close-" you sobbed and he growled at your voices, changing the intensity and snaking up one of his skilled hands to your shaking clit, rubbing you fiercely in tune with his hips. "i know baby, i can feel you." your heart erupted, kaeya was delving as deep as he could possibly go, blown pupils directed to where your bodies connected and sloppily drooled over each other.

kaeya believed he was in heaven, more so loving to see you dripping wet of arousal and he was the cause of it! he alone was responsible for your fucked out state, mustering the strength to keep going, rubbing and pinching your clit in between his rough pads.

tearing you forward, you cried out his name in between panting, coaxing him on to go faster, more, you needed more and had to release now.

"I'm gonna fill you up." through gritted teeth, he told you his favorite way to come undone, something about you trusting him this much was catapulting him to cloud nine. His bruising grip overthrew your body, no words were bothered to be voiced by you, far too gone with the ache in your core threatening to break, teetering on edge and so fucking close, you wanted to get there already, your whines laced with frustration.

sore, sweaty and aching you twitched around him, soul smoldering and stinging when you finally cummed hard, each thrust barreling through your body and sending you over the edge, fisting your fingers into the cushions under you while almost ripping them apart.

your toes curled inwards with your skin shaking, jolts of torment and deep pleasure grasped and hid the control of your body from you, leaving you to kaeya with your sensitivity. How hot your body became, igniting flames in you and bursting the sweet bubble in your belly, the one that sent you spiralling into desire and bliss.

he flattened his hips on you, stilling himself when he came in a broken groan. Kaeya shifted his weight up in a much more convenient angle so he wouldn't suddenly crush you or collapse on top of you from the intense orgasm.

"fuck, that's it baby, that's it." his thumbs buried into your hips, pouring his sweet cum in you and archons, did he cum a lot, it was quilling over and sobbing down your aching hole, staining your thighs together with his pelvis.

he slid his cock out before greedily swatting it back in, moaning in tandem and feeling the residue of your orgasm wash over. He sunk in on you as though overwhelmed he twitched yet again, eyes pointing towards the filth in your legs. Your entire body tightened and his groans sliced you up, how blunt and raw they sounded, how shameless and unbelievably hot.

"fuck, what a mess i made." he heaved out a satisfied sigh, grinning and laughing wildly, casting a gentle shadow on you.

turning your sore body around to face him, you met his gaze, drawing your arms out for him to kiss him. Kaeya chuckled at your adorable teary expression, leaning forward to apply kisses on your lips, swaying you with his charm.

"i don't want to go to work." he painfully admitted to you next, pouty lips pecking your nose, cheeks and going back to your mouth, nibbling on your skin.

"kaeya, you need to go to work." you gently whined at him while still being utterly sensitive.

brushing his bangs away with your fingers, you settled your warm palms on his face and watched him display puppy eyes for a bit, as if he was waiting for you to urge him to stay yet you simply squeezed his cheeks playfully in response.

he huffed out, nudging your nose as he carefully drew himself back with a frutrated sigh. You tilted your head in an irritated manner when your confused eyes followed his body leave the bedroom.

"lets hop in the shower together, i‘m going after i promise."

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #genshin x you #genshin impact drabbles #kaeya x you #kaeya drabbles #genshin drabbles #genshin x y/n #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x y/n

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awful-little-goose · 3 months ago

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What's it like in each bishops harem?

This one’s been in the ask box for a WHILEEE (sorry Anon), but I really needed to get my headcanons to a place where I liked them (even wrote some short fics about it- no, I won’t share ✨✨✨)

Enjoy!

Leshy is completely endeared with all his lovers, but the way he shows his affection can be…unpredictable. Still, he’s easily swiped off his feet and even offering him a simple bouquet is enough to make him swoon. His biggest flaw is that he tends to forget that mortals are…mortal, fragile, and easily traumatized. He is very physical with his affection, and his feelings can sometimes take over him. Mortal bones are oh so fragile, and their minds so much more so…but come to the party, my sweet, enjoy the festivities, the taste of wine, and the burn of alcohol reserved to the gods. Ignore the maddening illusions and your heart in your throat, he looks so delighted.

Heket is by far the most terrifying goddess of the bunch. She intimidates her spouses and is quite dominant, but has shown to be easily charmed by spouses with a strong personality.

She’ll take her partners to watch terrifying things, such as public executions, sacrifices, cannibal banquets, or even torture sessions, either to show off her power, or intimidate her partners into obeying her. She is prone to violent fits of anger. Still, she does love to just lay around with her partners, and relax under the autumn sun. Deep inside, she cares for some of them, but her ways of showing affection are…disturbing. Now, dear, why haven’t you touched your dinner? She killed them for you herself…

Kallamar is the sweetest one. He spoils his lovers rotten, compliments them day and night, and expects just as much affection in return. He demands rich, elaborated gifts, and loves taking his darlings on swimming dates. He’s very, VERY easily flustered under all that sass. His biggest flaw is his insecurity, which can lead him to being…quite unstable. Surely, he is loved, and adored…isn’t he?

Shamura seems cold at times, but they do care for their spouses. Of the bishops (excluding Narinder), they have the least partners, but those they keep are highly loyal, and treated with respect. They can be a little overprotective at times.

They expect their partners to be incredible fighters, and highly cultured. And they won’t hesitate to put them in fights, intellectual or physical, against one another…and they only keep champions. Losers have only one place to be: wrapped in a bundle of silk, hung above the ground, in the nest of Shamura’s scorpions.

Bonus, Narinder: Narinder doenst have a harem, and is instead waiting for the one soul that will ignite fire to his cold, dead heart. He can be caught thinking about when he’ll meet his dear however, and plans on covering them with tokens of appreciation, honor, and peaceful dreams…

��as well as keeping them close at his sides. So close they will forget their own individuality.

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averycutesalamander · 1 month ago

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finished the 2.6 story and promptly blacked out and wrote this in a feverish haze. minor gore warning (it's really mild but still). also this is up on ao3 if that's your preference. comments always appreciated but not obligated 💕 xoxo love yall

Boothill tries not to sleep very often.

He doesn't particularly need to, either; he can get away with around a dozen hours every week if he pushes himself – which he often does. The only time he sleeps with any consistency is when he's with you, in the interim between his long journeys away.

He doesn't often have pleasant dreams, but when he does, it's always when he's sleeping by your side. His particular favorite is an impossibility, as dreams so often are.

He's back on Aeragan-Epharshel, playing with Clementine. She's a bit older, now – around ten. She's still just as sunny as she always was – though he hasn't quite managed to get her to stop tugging on his hair; perhaps he should be content with her progress so far, considering that she never pulls hard anymore. He's outside with her on a blessedly warm fall day, painting stones with the pigments you made by hand; the holidays are a few months off, and Clementine wants to paint customized stones for everyone she can think of, aunts and uncles included. (She told him very decisively that she'd make his rock on her own. It has to be a surprise, obviously.) He'd argue that her painting is far better than his, but he still makes one for you – a messy collage of your favorite colors on a shiny black stone, forming a smeared mimicry of the night sky.

When she tires of that, he hauls her up onto his shoulders and heads inside to badger you, disturbing your reading. You banter; you chat; you help Clem clean up, then dot her little forehead with kisses until she laughs – that sweet, warm laugh, like the chime of a bell. After that, he helps you out with dinner, the aroma of casserole filling the entire house. Clem lingers by your feet, clinging to your pants as you chop vegetables plucked from the garden that morning. She looks up at you with those dewy doe eyes, pouting dramatically until you relent and give her small chunks of veggies; you're so used to her habit of begging like a dog for scraps that you bring out a little more vegetables than you need every time. He watches on with a tender, lovestruck smile, perfectly content.

When he woke up from that dream, it was to the silence of your bedroom, his eyes burning and his chest aching something fierce. He looked down at your sleeping form sprawled over his body, your limbs tangled and your face soft with sleep. With his hands shaking slightly, he shifted to hold you just a little tighter against him, savoring your weight, your warmth, your smell.

That dream will never be a reality, but at least he can fulfill some morsel of it.

It's rare for him to be so fortunate as to have sweet, peaceful dreams like that one – despite the irreconcilable yearning they're tainted with. Most dreams – such as the one he's having right now – are not so pleasant.

Smoke clogs the air, so thick that it burns his lungs. Flames press in on all sides, licking at his heels, searing his skin. The smell of death, of burnt hair and flesh, of ash and misery, is so oppressive that he feels like he's suffocating under the weight. A cacophony of screaming echoes from all around him, cannon fire bursting in his eardrums, but through the noise, he hears it – the shrieking wail of a child in pain, piercing straight through his heart.

He's running, clamoring through the fire, stumbling over the rubble of destroyed homes and corpses whose roasted, blistering hands grasp uselessly at his ankles, their croaking voices begging him for help; his instincts urge him to obey, to haul them out of the fire and carry them to safety, to tend to the wounds of his family – but he knows in his heart that there's no use. There is no safety here, nowhere to bring them, no way to treat burns so fierce that they've bared bone and sinew.

But there's a dash of hope in his heart, because that girl's crying is so clear, so crisp – he must be close. Yet no matter which way he turns, no matter how fast he runs, no matter how far he sprints into the carnage, he can't find her. Her cries turn sharper, more anguished; she sobs his name, pleading, begging, but her voice only seems to be getting further away. His chest heaves, his tears evaporating from his eyes before they can spill, his flesh melting from his bones in a slurry of fat and muscle. Why can't he find her? Where is she? Why did it come to this? Why, why, why–

“It's okay, bee.”

A soft voice echoes in the back of his head, nearly muffled by the deafening noise battering him from all sides. He collapses to his knees, completely spent, his whole body disintegrating into ash. He's burning, he's burning, but so is Clem – he can hear her screaming, louder and louder, piercing clean through his skull. He has to find her, he has to get up, he has to–

“Wake up, honey. It's okay. I've got you.”

The voice is a little louder now, and it feels like his body cools slightly, like the flames have been slightly dampened – but a moment later, they roar back to life with a vengeance. This can't be happening; this can't be real. He can't–

“Wake up.”

He jerks awake with a gasp, his whole body shaking like a leaf. He can hear your voice in his ear, your arms wrapped tight around him, his head nestled against your chest as you slowly rock him back and forth. He's already clinging to you, arms locked around your waist, but he pulls you in even tighter, desperate for an anchor. His breathing skips as he sobs, not a tear to be found, his body aching with phantom pain.

It takes a few moments for him to even process your words. “You're alright,” you murmur softly, stroking tenderly through his hair, your other hand tracing soothing circles into his shoulder. “Shh, shh. It's okay.”

Mindlessly, stupidly, he blubbers your name, nearly incomprehensible in his distress.

“I'm right here, baby. I've got you.” You tighten your hold slightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Breathe with me, sunshine. Can you do that?”

You take a deep, slow breath, your heart beating steadily in his ear. On instinct, he mimics you, his lungs stuttering in his chest. The air of your exhale tickles his hair, and his own warms your skin, taking with it a bit of his tension. Inhale, exhale; slowly, his hydraulics begin to relax. Inhale, exhale; his hands grow a bit steadier, his palms flattening against your back. Inhale, exhale; he swallows heavily, the fear bleeding out of his veins.

The two of you stay like that for some time, your breathing keeping him grounded, letting him clear his mind. “I'm… I'm sorry,” he rasps, so soft that it's nearly muffled by your skin.

You shush him softly. “Nothing to be sorry about, honeybee.”

He doesn't even have the energy to rebuke you; as the terror flees his body, exhaustion rushes in to fill the gaps. After a moment, he murmurs, “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I'm okay.”

He can practically feel the gentle, concerned furrow of your brow. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying up to talk with you, if that'll make it easier.”

He shakes his head, burrowing a bit further into your chest. “You're helpin’ just by bein' here, honey.” Slowly, he begins to rub circles into your back, just as you're doing to him. “This is just fine.”

He can sense your hesitation, can hear it in the beat of your heart. He lifts his head to kiss your collarbones, shamelessly savoring the scent of your skin.

“I'm okay,” he whispers. “Just get some rest for me, sugar.”

You're silent for a beat before finally sighing, your body relaxing against him. “If you say so.” You lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “Promise you'll wake me up if you want company, alright?”

He smiles, a tender, shaky little thing, then presses his ear to your chest. “Sure thing, pumpkin.”

Thankfully, it doesn't take too long for you to drift back into a light sleep, your breathing deepening, your heart slowing next to his ear. Your natural rhythm soothes him so efficiently that he might've fallen back asleep if he weren't actively trying to stay awake. He distracts himself by stewing over your plans for tomorrow, how he'll spend his precious time with you.

He'll make you breakfast in the morning, he decides – though he'll have to be careful not to disturb you. He always loves watching you wake up, and he's sure it'll be even better if it's to a fresh plate of food.

Yeah, he thinks, his lip quirking fondly as he nuzzles into you a bit more firmly. That'll be good.

#sal.txt #boothill x reader #reader insert #x reader #gn reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #boothill #sal.sdfb

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joelsrose · 26 days ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 7

previous chapters

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settled into an effortless rhythm, a silent understanding weaving through each day, each small gesture a testament to a bond growing deeper. Slowly, Joel began to reveal just how much he cared, his actions softer, his gaze lingering a bit longer, and soon enough, it became clear to everyone that something between you both had changed. As his guard lowered, he began to open up, sharing pieces of himself he’d kept hidden, letting his feelings show in quiet, unguarded moments.

14k words yes im insane - lemme know your thoughts in the comments pleaseeee TW: mentions of blood etc

You woke slowly, a gentle warmth cocooning you as you stirred, your senses gradually sharpening. Your arms were wrapped around something solid and warm, and as awareness crept in, you realized it was Joel—his body nestled against yours, your chest pressed to his broad back. You were the one holding him, your arm draped across his middle and your fingers resting lightly on the rough fabric of his shirt. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was a quiet lullaby, soothing in its rhythm, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself linger in that fragile peace. You didn’t dare shift, afraid to disturb the moment, or worse, wake him and shatter the unexpected intimacy of it all.

You remembered going to bed with a careful distance between you, an unspoken boundary neither of you dared to cross. But sometime in the night, that space had disappeared. Now, you were wrapped around him from behind, your arm draped over his torso, fingers resting lightly on his chest. Your head was tucked close to the curve of his neck, your breath mingling with the warmth of his skin. His slow, steady breathing matched the gentle rise and fall beneath your palm, a quiet rhythm that seemed to draw you closer still.

Your gaze drifted to the back of his head, where his hair fell in disheveled waves. The strands curled slightly at the nape of his neck, revealing the way they grew in unruly patterns. It was a small, intimate detail you’d never noticed before—how a few pieces were shorter, sticking out stubbornly, while the rest fell in gentle, careless layers. The sight stirred something deep within you, an unexpected tenderness at this quiet, unguarded glimpse of him. You traced the outline with your eyes, almost tempted to reach out and brush your fingers along the roughness of his hair and the warm skin beneath.

Carefully, you shifted, mindful not to rouse him, and let your gaze drift to the clock on the wall. The hands hovered over 8:00—later than you usually rose. You must have slept deeply, the kind of rest that felt like a gift, untouched by dreams or darkness. It was as if the steady rhythm of his breathing had wrapped you in a rare tranquility, holding the world’s troubles at a distance and banishing the nightmares that too often haunted your sleep—the visions of blood and shattered bones. A quiet satisfaction unfurled within you, a reluctant recognition that maybe—just maybe—this peace owed itself to the warmth shared in this accidental closeness, the comfort of finding something solid and real, even if only for the night.

His words from the night before echoed softly in your mind, a gentle murmur that lingered, refusing to fade.

"You're someone worth taking care of."

There had been a quiet sincerity in his voice, a truthfulness that slipped past the defenses you’d so carefully constructed—the ones that seemed to crumble effortlessly under his touch, as if he knew exactly where to press to unravel each layer.

You hadn’t known how to respond then, could only look away and swallow the surge of feelings that had risen, unbidden and overwhelming. But now, in the stillness of morning, with the steady warmth of his body grounding you, those words resonated differently. They didn’t feel like a debt repaid or an obligation fulfilled.

You sensed Joel stirring beside you, a faint shift that sparked a sudden awareness in your chest. Without thinking, you slid your arms away and edged toward the far side of the bed. A wave of fear gripped you, sharp and immediate—if he woke to find you this close, he might recoil, retreat behind the walls he always kept up. The thought of him pulling away from the moment you had shared, the fragile comfort found in sleep, stung more than you expected. So you withdrew first, putting space between you before he could, as if distancing yourself might soften the sting of rejection.

He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. His features were softened by sleep, the early light casting a tender glow over the rugged lines of his face. He looked almost ethereal—his hair tousled in careless waves, eyes still half-lidded with the remnants of slumber, and the shadow of stubble tracing the curve of his jaw. There was a timelessness to him, as if the burdens of the world couldn't touch him here, not in the quiet sanctuary of your room. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, a deep rasp that reverberated through the stillness between you, stirring something within.

"Hey," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if to clear away the last remnants of sleep. "How'd you sleep?"

There was a tenderness in his gaze that stole the breath from your lungs, and you felt a quiet relief that he didn’t bring up last night’s events.

“Yeah, good,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to sound casual despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

"Coffee?" he offered, his tone light but his gaze steady.

“Yes, please,” you replied, forcing a small smile in return. His response came in the form of a slow, easy grin before he pushed himself up and headed downstairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, your gaze lingering on the way his back flexed with each step until you finally tore your eyes away.

The moment he was out of sight, you let your head fall back onto the pillow with a soft groan. A deep exhale escaped you as you tried to shake off the lingering sensation of his presence—his warmth still clung to the sheets, and his scent lingered in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to erase the traces of him; the bed still carried the memory of where he had been, refusing to let you forget.

•••

Each day, the sharp edges of your pain dulled a little more, and you and Joel fell into a quiet rhythm that neither of you spoke about but simply accepted. It started with small gestures—a cup of coffee left on the counter, the way he’d linger in the doorway to check on you before heading out.

There was a quiet comfort in the silence, an unspoken understanding as you both moved through the space. It had become his habit to settle beside you each evening, a book or a glass of whiskey in hand. Right before bed, he’d offer the pain medication with a glass of water and a simple, “Here.”

You’d accept it without a word, the ritual itself evolving into a shared form of solace—an unspoken promise that neither of you was alone in this.

When the hour grew late and the house fell silent, he would slip into bed beside you, a quiet understanding that had taken root since that first night when you asked him to stay.

What began as a single gesture—his lingering presence in the darkness, offering comfort when you needed it most—soon became a habit neither of you questioned. Each night after that, he simply stayed, as if it were the most natural thing, a silent agreement that bound you together in the quiet hours. Though you never dared to show it, you were glad to have him there, his presence easing a loneliness you hadn’t realized you were carrying. But it unsettled you too, how safe you felt with him beside you—it stirred something unfamiliar, something that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

The bed that had once been your solitary refuge, where you had cried yourself to sleep or lain awake with thoughts that refused to quiet, felt different with him there. It had transformed into a shared sanctuary, where the weight of your loneliness melted into the warmth of his body nearby, and the stillness of the room was softened by the steady cadence of his breathing.

His presence was a silent promise, a new kind of intimacy that settled in the dark like a fragile truth, too precious to name aloud. Neither of you dared to acknowledge it, as if speaking it would unravel the delicate arrangement that had come to feel like home.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he needed it as much as you did—the quiet company of someone else, the shared solitude that seemed to soften the edges of the night.

There was a rhythm to your nights now. He’d help you settle in, adjusting pillows, making sure you were comfortable, and then climb in beside you with a sigh as if shaking off the weight of the day. Sometimes, his arm would find its way around you in the stillness, his touch tentative but lingering. Other nights, you’d wake to find your own hand resting on his chest or his fingers brushing yours, small touches that spoke of something deeper, something that grew stronger in the quiet moments where words fell away.

Each morning, you awoke tangled together, the warmth of his body a quiet comfort you’d come to depend on, even if you’d never admit it. But inevitably, one of you would stir first, disentangling from the other with gentle, hesitant movements—clumsy in their attempt to preserve the illusion that nothing had happened.

It was a practiced ritual, a silent agreement to undo the intimacy that unfolded in sleep, as if by slipping away before the light touched the room, you could keep the fragile truth of those moments hidden beneath the covers, buried where it felt safe and unspoken.

•••

Joel had noticed something was off—the way you stared out the window, your gaze fixed on the distant figures moving outside, going about their lives while you remained trapped inside. It was a cruel reminder of all you couldn’t do, a world continuing on as if you weren’t missing from it. When you finally turned back to your breakfast, you only picked at it, pushing the food around your plate without taking a bite, your eyes distant, as if you were some place far away.

Despite the slow progress you’d made, frustration had begun to root itself deep in your bones, growing stronger with each day confined indoors. You missed the freedom of patrol, missed tending to your garden with dirt under your nails and the sun on your skin. The restlessness gnawed at you, sharpening the edges of each hour, made worse by the doctor’s warning that it could be months before you were back to your old self.

You were exhausted by the helplessness, by the stifling dependence that came with being cared for. It weighed on you like a dull ache, pressing harder against your chest with every breath, refusing to let you forget how far you still had to go.

"Everything alright?" Joel's voice broke the quiet, his gaze steady as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

You let out a long sigh, setting your fork down with a soft clink. "Not really," you confessed, frustration creeping into your tone. "I’m just… tired of feeling useless. Like I’m stuck in this holding pattern, just waiting for my life to start again."

Joel set his mug down with a quiet thud and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know it feels that way,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

“But you’re not just sittin’ around—you’re healing. That’s not nothin’. It takes a hell of a lot more out of you than you realize.” His gaze softened as he spoke, a quiet conviction settling into his tone. “And you will get there. When you do, you’ll come back stronger than you ever thought possible.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the edge of the table, then added, “What do you say we get outta here for a bit?” His voice was lighter now, almost hopeful. “I’ve got the day off, no patrols. Thought maybe you could use a break from all this.” He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got somethin’ in mind.”

Joel reached for his jacket, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he moved with a calm purpose. "Gonna borrow Tommy's truck," he said, nodding toward the door. "Figured we could use the wheels—make things easier." He swung the door open, letting the crisp morning air spill into the room, its chill brushing against your skin as you stepped outside.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as you followed him to the truck. There was a hint of playfulness in his demeanor, a spark that made your pulse quicken with a flicker of anticipation.

He glanced back at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, his voice carrying a low, teasing edge. "Just trust me—it’s a surprise."

As he helped you into the passenger seat, his hand lingered briefly, his touch leaving a warmth that spread through you, a quiet shiver following in its wake. It was a fleeting moment, yet it left your pulse quickened and your mind wandering to what exactly he had in store. With a rumble, the engine came to life, and as Joel steered the truck down the road, it stretched out ahead like a quiet invitation, promising a brief escape from everything that had kept you confined.

The drive wasn’t far, but soon the air filled with the sounds of bleating goats and the low hum of other animals, drifting in through the open window. It was a simple, familiar noise—comforting in its way—and as you neared the source, a small farm came into view, nestled in the gentle slope of the land like a secret waiting to be shared.

Before you lay the town’s little sanctuary—a modest refuge where goats and sheep meandered under the late afternoon sun, their coats catching the warm light. A few dogs rested by the fence, tails sweeping the ground in lazy contentment, while cats prowled or perched atop hay bales, their eyes half-closed. The air was rich with the earthy scent of hay and soil, and the soft clucking of chickens formed a gentle rhythm in the background.

You took a tentative step forward, your leg free from crutches now but still stiff with a lingering limp. As you moved closer, a small goat trotted over, its tiny tail wagging in welcome. It nudged your leg with a soft bleat, as if greeting an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while.

Joel crouched beside the goat, scratching behind its ear with the ease of familiarity. “I know it ain’t much,” he said, glancing up at you with a touch of earnestness in his eyes, “but I thought you’d like it here. These guys don’t ask for much—just a little attention and maybe a snack.” His voice softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And they sure don’t care if you’re not quite back to your old self.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the goat nudged you again, its eagerness infectious. "This is perfect, Joel," you said, glancing at him with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while.

As you scattered the feed, you soon found yourself surrounded by a gathering of eager, curious faces—goats with wide eyes and wobbly legs, sheep nudging closer for a nibble, and a scruffy old dog who padded over, its graying muzzle nudging your hand for a gentle pat. You reached down to pet him, your fingers grazing his coarse fur, and then turned to give some attention to one of the goats pressing insistently against your leg.

The simplicity of it was soothing, a quiet reprieve from the weight you’d been carrying. You reached out to pet a goat, feeling the texture of its rough fur beneath your fingertips, and let out a surprised laugh when it leaned into you, nearly knocking you off balance.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Careful there,” he teased, stepping closer as if ready to catch you. “They don’t know their own strength.”

You shot him a playful look. “Maybe they’re just excited to meet someone new,” you said, reaching out to scratch behind the goat’s ear.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on you, noting the way the tension had melted from your shoulders, the way a spark had returned to your eyes. “See?” he said quietly, his voice carrying a thread of satisfaction. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the animals seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that peaceful corner of the world. “You were right,” you admitted softly, almost as if sharing a secret. “I needed this more than I thought.”

The two of you wandered slowly through the sanctuary, pausing now and then to rest on a bench near the fence while the animals drifted around you. The scruffy dog trailed faithfully at your side, and when you sat, he placed his head on your knee, as if sensing you needed the comfort. You absently ran your fingers through his fur, finding a quiet solace in the familiar gesture.

“I used to dream about having a place like this,” you said quietly, your voice drifting over the stillness. There was a touch of wistfulness in your tone as you glanced around, taking in the stretch of countryside beyond. “Thought I’d end up in a spot like this someday, growing old with a few animals running around. It seemed like the kind of life I’d want.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “But, you know, life has a funny way of changing course.”

Joel’s gaze settled on you, a quiet thoughtfulness in his eyes. “My daughter… she loved animals,” he murmured, nodding toward the dog curled up in your lap. “Was always begging me for one just like that.” His voice softened, as though the memory itself required gentler handling.

“I used to take her to the aquarium almost every weekend,” he continued, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. There was a pause, a shift in his expression, as if the past had come into focus, vivid and bittersweet. “She’d get so excited, she could hardly stand still.”

“What was her name?” you asked, the question barely more than a breath.

“Sarah,” he repeated, and there was a warmth in his voice that made the name feel like an offering, a piece of a world he hadn’t shared with many. “She was a good kid, funny and smart as hell,” he added quietly, his eyes far away. “You would’ve liked her.” The words hung in the air, full of a tenderness that cut deeper than you’d expected.

For a moment, the silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. It felt like the start of something fragile and unspoken, a connection stitched together by the sharing of old wounds and small, hopeful dreams.

As the sun dipped lower, stretching shadows across the sanctuary, Joel guided you back to the truck, his hand lingering on your arm longer than necessary, a quiet reassurance in his touch. “We can come back anytime,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

“Whenever you feel like it.”

There was a softness in his tone, a quiet invitation that hinted at more than just the promise of fresh air and animals. It felt like his way of saying he wanted to share this place with you, to keep finding reasons to bring you here—an excuse to spend time together beyond the walls of routine.

•••

You returned home with a contented tiredness settling over you, the warmth of the afternoon still lingering in your bones. Joel guided you up the stairs, his hand a steady presence on your back, offering silent support as you made your way to your room. “Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar blend of gentleness and quiet insistence. “I’ll go grab a few things for dinner.”

He mentioned something about picking up fresh produce from one of the local farmers—a bag of potatoes, some greens, maybe a jar of honey if there was any left. You sank into the bed, the mattress cool against your skin, and thought about the quiet sweetness of Joel’s gestures, the way he had gone out of his way to bring a little lightness to your day.

He lingered at the doorway, and though your eyes were shut, you could feel the weight of his gaze, like he was making sure you were alright before he left the room. The silence stretched between you, a moment of quiet that felt almost tender, before you heard the bathroom door creak open.

Then, the steady rush of water filled the air, the sound of the shower humming softly through the walls, and you let yourself sink deeper into the quiet peace of the house, knowing Joel was still nearby.

Your thoughts wandered where you hadn’t intended them to go, lingering on the image of Joel in the shower—the steam curling around him, water tracing the contours of his back, rolling down over the strong lines of his shoulders. The thought took you by surprise, a flush rising to your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the image away.

What were you doing, thinking about him like that?

For so long, you had worked to keep things simple, to focus on the arrangement for what it was—Joel helping you out, taking care of you while you healed. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that, and you’d been careful to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill every space, every quiet moment that passed between you.

But lately, it was becoming impossible to push away the feelings that stirred whenever he did something kind or lingered just a bit too long at your side. The warmth in your chest, the way your skin tingled under his touch, the steady reassurance in his voice—it all left you questioning whether there was something deeper beneath the surface, or if you were only seeing what you wanted to see.

And then there was the conflict simmering beneath it all. Joel had made your life hell for so long, the two of you more often at odds than not. He’d been stubborn, difficult, his gruffness a constant thorn in your side, and you’d spent countless days resenting him. But now, seeing him like this—a different version of him, the one who thought to take you to a sanctuary on a quiet afternoon, who made sure you ate, who lingered in doorways as if he couldn’t quite leave you alone—you weren’t sure what to make of it.

You shook your head slightly, as if the gesture could dispel the confusion swirling inside you. This wasn’t the time to entertain those thoughts. He was just doing his part, wasn’t he? Looking out for you because that’s who he was—a man who took his responsibilities seriously, even when he didn’t particularly like them.

A part of you chastised yourself for even considering it, for letting your guard slip enough to see him as something more than just the man who had caused you so much grief. But the truth was undeniable: right now, he was different. Or maybe, you were finally seeing a side of him that had always been there, just buried beneath the weight of all his rough edges. And that scared you—because the more you saw of that man, the harder it was to pretend you weren’t starting to care.

You rolled onto your side, willing yourself to focus on something else, but the thought of him lingered, like an ember refusing to fade.

•••

Dinner was taking longer than usual, and as you sat in the living room, facing away from the kitchen, you could hear the quiet rhythm of Joel’s movements—the soft clatter of dishes, the scrape of a knife on a cutting board, the low murmur of his voice as he muttered to himself. The scent of food wafted through the air, warm and savory, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You couldn’t see him, but you could picture him clearly: brow furrowed in concentration, his hands working with a surprising gentleness, a quiet dedication that seemed out of place for a man who often carried himself like the world was always on his shoulders. It was a simple scene, but there was something about the way he moved in the kitchen that made you feel unexpectedly at home, as if the air itself was steeped in the quiet intimacy of sharing a space with someone.

“Dinner’s ready in five,” Joel murmured as he stepped into the living room, his voice low and warm. He moved closer, and when you looked up, it felt like the breath caught in your throat. There was something different about him tonight—a quiet, rugged elegance in the way he’d dressed, as if he’d put just a bit more thought into it.

His shirt was tucked in, the fabric fitting snugly over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the sinewy muscles of his forearms, a faint hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. The top button was left undone, exposing the hollow of his throat, and the casual disarray of his hair was different, slightly wet and slicked back.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a half-forgotten dream—his presence filling the room with a quiet magnetism that was impossible to ignore. The soft lighting seemed to highlight every rugged detail, the way his eyes caught the light, the subtle lines that etched across his brow, adding a certain depth to the roughness that usually cloaked him. It was like seeing him through a different lens, one that softened the edges and revealed a side of him that felt both familiar and utterly new, and it stirred something deep inside you—a flutter that you weren’t sure was from surprise or something else entirely.

“Hey,” he whispered, your name slipping from his lips like a soft nudge that pulled you from your daydream. You blinked, suddenly aware of the contrast between his appearance and your own—still in a loose, worn-out sweater and a pair of faded sweatpants, your hair haphazardly pulled back. It was a lazy, thrown-together look that spoke more to comfort than anything else, but in that moment, it felt almost out of place.

“Oh, yeah, sounds good,” you mumbled, glancing down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You need help?” Joel called as you were already halfway up the stairs, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You didn’t answer, too focused on making a hasty retreat. Your cheeks warmed with an unexpected flush as you reached your room, your pulse quickening for reasons you didn’t want to analyze.

Why were you rushing to get ready for dinner, as if it were something more than a simple meal?

You opened your closet and rifled through the hangers, searching for something—anything—that might make you look a little more put-together, a little less like you’d just rolled out of bed. But even as you reached for a blouse that had been buried in the back, you couldn’t help but wonder what had you so flustered. It wasn’t like this was a date. It was just Joel. Yet here you were, caught up in the quiet urgency of wanting to look half-presentable, as if his effort deserved to be met halfway.

You kept rummaging through your closet until your hand landed on a dress—a simple, ankle-length piece in a soft beige. The fabric was light and comfortable, falling loosely to your feet with a natural flow. It had just enough shape to flatter, with a cinched waist that hinted at your curves without feeling too formal, and a neckline that was easy and relaxed.

It wasn’t anything fancy—just a dress you’d worn a few times before when you wanted to look a bit nicer without going overboard. You could already picture Joel giving you a curious look, maybe even cracking a small smile at your effort, but it made you feel pretty, and that was enough.

You slipped it on and wandered over to the mirror, reaching for a brush. You ran it through your hair, working out the tangles until it fell in loose waves over your shoulders, smoothing out the frayed ends from the day. You tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, keeping it casual but a little more put together. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just enough to make you feel like you’d stepped up for the evening without making a big deal of it.

You limped downstairs, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down. You and Joel had shared dinner so many times since he’d started taking care of you, but tonight felt different—there was a kind of anticipation in the air that you couldn’t ignore. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you caught sight of Joel pacing in the kitchen, his movements restless and uncharacteristic.

He was nervous, too; you could tell by the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck, glancing toward the doorway as if waiting for you to appear.

When you finally stepped into the kitchen, your eyes were drawn to the dining table. It was set more thoughtfully than usual—candles flickered gently at the center, casting a warm glow over the plates, and a cloth napkin was folded beside each one. There were even a couple of wildflowers in a small glass jar, adding a touch of color. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had a softness to it, a quiet intimacy that gave the room a hint of date-like charm. You felt your cheeks warm as you took it all in.

“What’s the special occasion?” you asked, glancing up at him with a playful arch of your brow, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice.

Joel froze for a moment, his gaze drifting to you with an intensity that took you by surprise. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering a little too long on the way the dress flowed around you, before finally meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his expression—relief, maybe, or admiration—before he masked it with his usual gruffness.

“Nothing,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he stepped forward to pull out your chair. “Just figured we could use a decent meal, is all.”

But the subtle hesitation in his voice gave him away, a softness there that suggested tonight wasn’t quite as casual as he was trying to make it seem. There was something about the way he kept his eyes on you, like he was searching for a sign that you’d noticed the effort he’d put in. And maybe, just maybe, he was hoping it meant something to you, too.

Warmth crept up your cheeks, and you glanced away, your pulse quickening as Joel's presence loomed close behind you. He gently pushed your chair in, and you could feel the quiet care in his touch, as if he was afraid of disturbing the moment. The faint scent of soap and aftershave clung to the air around him, mingling with the rich aroma of the food he’d prepared, making the small space between you feel charged with a quiet intimacy.

Joel reached for the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the soft candlelight as he poured your glass first, the way he always did—without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He handed it to you with a steady hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly, then moved to fill his own. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, a calmness to them that belied the faint tension in the air, as if he was carefully navigating something unspoken between you.

You took the glass from him with a quiet “thanks,” your voice barely above a murmur. As you brought it to your lips, you couldn’t help but notice how he always did these small things for you first—pouring your drink, pulling out your chair, making sure you were settled before ever thinking of himself. It wasn’t just habit; there was a care in the way he did it, an attention to detail that spoke of something more than just politeness.

It made you wonder if these gestures held any deeper meaning—if they hinted at something he couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud. Perhaps it was just Joel's way, a quiet sense of duty or a Southern gentleman’s instinct that came as naturally to him as the gruffness in his voice.

Or maybe, there was a part of him that was drawn to taking care of you, that found a quiet satisfaction in these everyday rituals. Whatever it was, it stirred something deep within you, a warmth that settled in your chest and mingled with the slow burn of the whiskey as it slid down your throat.

You took a sip, feeling the heat spread, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that these small acts weren’t just habit or instinct, but intention. A part of you wondered if Joel even realized the effect they had on you, the way each quiet gesture seemed to weave its way around your heart, making it harder to pretend you weren’t starting to hope for more.

There was a quiet care in the way he’d set the table, the way he lingered near you as if wanting to be close. But before you could let yourself get too wrapped up in those thoughts, you pulled back, unwilling to read too much into it or risk exposing the vulnerability stirring inside you.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence with a casual tone, pushing the thought aside. “What did you do before all this?” You gestured loosely, the motion sweeping over the candlelit table, the room, and the world beyond the walls—everything that had changed since life turned upside down.

“You wanna guess?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking up, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

This, you realized, was new—this playful side of Joel that had only recently started to emerge. There was a time when his words had always carried an edge, the gruffness of a man who’d built walls too high to let in anything lighthearted.

But lately, there’d been a shift: the way he’d catch your eye and hold your gaze a moment longer, or the rare, dry humor that slipped into his voice when he’d say something like, “Careful now, don’t get too attached,” when an animal at the sanctuary came up to you, or the times he’d grumble, “Don’t think you’re gonna get me to eat that,” whenever you’d suggest adding something new to dinner.

Now, there was a teasing challenge in his tone, the kind that made your pulse quicken just a little. The glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying this—seeing you caught off guard, watching you try to read between the lines of his sudden shift in mood. It was a side of him you were still getting used to, and yet, you found yourself wanting to see more of it, to discover what else was hidden beneath that familiar gruff exterior.

Now, sitting in front of you, Joel had you momentarily forgetting what you were even talking about. He looked so damn handsome like this—leaning back in his chair with a relaxed, easy confidence, the dim light tracing the strong angles of his face. The damp strands of hair that fell just right, still tousled from the shower. His shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it hard to look away. For a moment, you just stared, your thoughts scattering as you struggled to remember how to find your voice.

You tilted your head, pretending to study him with a thoughtful expression as your gaze traced the strong line of his shoulders and the way his hands rested casually on the table, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. “Let me guess… a mechanic? Or maybe a ranch hand?” you ventured, your tone playful, though there was a genuine curiosity behind it.

Joel chuckled, the sound a low rumble that resonated in his chest. “Close, but not quite,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he was enjoying making you work for the answer.

You tapped your chin, narrowing your eyes in mock contemplation. “Alright, how about a carpenter? You seem like the kind of guy who’s good with his hands.”

The instant the words left your mouth, you saw Joel’s expression shift—a flicker of surprise in his eyes, his gaze widening just enough to notice. A hint of color crept into his cheeks, softening the rugged lines of his face, and your own cheeks flushed as you registered the unintended double meaning behind what you’d said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, the words stumbling out as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. But before you could fully sink into the awkwardness, Joel rescued you with a quick, smooth response, clearing his throat.

“I was in construction,” he said, his voice calm and steady, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Built houses, fixed up what needed fixin’… pretty much anything folks needed done.” His tone was casual, as if effortlessly redirecting the moment, but there was an amused glint in his eye that told you he hadn’t missed the implication.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze still on you, and you could sense a quiet satisfaction in the way he’d defused the situation. “Guess you weren’t too far off,” he added, a touch of playfulness in his voice. “Though I don’t know if I’d make much of a carpenter.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that Joel had saved you from your own slip-up. But there was no mistaking the teasing warmth in his gaze, a glint that lingered a little too long, as if savoring the moment. It made your pulse quicken, and for an instant, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—like a thread had been pulled, tightening the space that had always existed, unspoken, between you both.

His voice softened, dropping just enough to carry a hint of something deeper, and there was a new intensity in the way he looked at you. “How about you?” he asked, the question slipping out gently, as though it had been waiting on his tongue for a while. “What did you used to do?”

It wasn’t the first time Joel had wondered about your life before all this, but his own battles—his tendency to keep people at arm’s length—had always gotten in the way. Now, though, he seemed different, like he was reaching across a distance he’d kept for too long, wanting to know more about you than the small glimpses he’d picked up over time. There was a quiet longing in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the moments he’d missed, and the way he asked seemed like more than casual curiosity; it was as though he was finally giving himself permission to see beyond what was right in front of him.

You glanced down at your glass, swirling the amber liquid as if it might offer some kind of answer. The motion was a distraction, an attempt to gather your thoughts as your heart continued to beat a little faster. When you looked back up, the warmth of his gaze hadn’t faded, and you could still feel the subtle change in the air, as though a boundary had been quietly crossed, leaving you standing on unfamiliar ground.

“I was in college,” you said, a note of wistfulness creeping into your voice. “Studying to be a teacher, actually. I always liked the idea of helping people learn—seeing that spark in their eyes when something finally clicked. It felt like you were making a real difference.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening as he listened, a kind of quiet admiration in his eyes. “You’d have made a good teacher,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Still could, you know. Just 'cause the world went to hell doesn’t mean people stopped needin’ to learn things.”

There was a sincerity in the way he said it, a weight to his words that made you feel like he truly believed it, like he could still see that part of you that had once existed before everything changed. The thought stirred something deep inside you—hope, maybe, or just the quiet comfort of being seen for who you used to be, and who you still could be.

You smiled, though a touch of sadness lingered. “Yeah, maybe,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “I was always drawn to science—especially astronomy. I loved the stars, used to spend hours studying them… even had a little telescope back home.”

At the mention of astronomy, Joel’s gaze softened, and he found himself picturing you as that college student, eyes turned toward the sky, your face lit up by the glow of distant stars. He could almost see you standing on a hill, telescope in hand, mapping constellations with a quiet passion that spoke of longing and wonder. It wasn’t just the subject—it was the way you spoke of it, as though the stars were old friends you hadn’t visited in a long time.

The thought stirred something in him. He felt an unexpected tenderness then, a quiet urge to protect that part of you, the part that hadn’t been hardened by everything you’d been through. The stars were still there, after all, steady and unchanging, even if the world had fallen apart. And in that moment, Joel made a mental note, a silent promise to himself to find a way to bring that light back into your life.

You stifled a yawn, the whiskey and warm meal settling over you like a heavy blanket, tugging you closer to sleep with each passing moment. Joel noticed, his gaze lingering on the way your eyelids drooped, how you blinked slowly, as if fighting a losing battle to stay awake.

“Wanna head to bed?” he asked softly, his voice laced with a gentleness that seemed to wrap around you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.

Our bed, you thought, the words slipping into your mind so effortlessly it took your breath away. The thought carried a quiet yearning, an ache you hadn’t been prepared to feel. It startled you how natural, how familiar it seemed—like you’d already crossed that line in your heart without even realizing it, as though you’d begun to think of him as more than just the man who shared your space, but the one who shared your nights.

“No, no,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “This is nice. I’m fine.” But even as you said it, your eyes betrayed you, heavy with sleep and growing harder to keep open. The comfort of the evening wrapped around you like a lullaby, the warmth and quiet pulling you closer to rest with each passing second.

Joel’s expression softened, his gaze tracing your features with quiet understanding. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Ain’t no harm in givin’ in when you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.” There was a reassurance in his tone, a promise that seemed to settle in the air, unspoken yet certain.

Then he did something different—he offered you his hand, extending it toward you with a gentleness that caught you off guard. It wasn’t like the usual subtle press of his hand against your back or the steady grip on your shoulder to keep you balanced. This was more deliberate, a choice to bridge the distance between you, his palm open and waiting.

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like a quiet spark. His hand flexed gently against yours, as if testing the feel of your palm in his, but he didn’t release—his grip only tightened slightly, a steady reassurance that he wasn’t letting go. As you rose from the chair, the room swayed ever so slightly, but Joel’s hold remained firm, grounding you as he guided you toward the stairs.

He stayed close beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours as you climbed, the slow press of his fingers flexing again, as though he could anchor you to him through that simple contact. Each step felt easier with him there, his presence a solid comfort at your side, matching your pace and silently offering his strength. The quiet rhythm of your footsteps seemed to draw you closer, a shared beat that made the space between you feel almost nonexistent.

Even when you reached the top, he didn’t let go. His hand remained entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he led you to the bed. It wasn’t until you sank down onto the mattress that his grip finally loosened, releasing you with a gentle reluctance that lingered in the air.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll be right here.”

•••

The next morning, after helping you down the stairs, Joel took you over to Maria and Tommy’s. “It’s just for a few hours,” he insisted, “while I’m out on patrol.” His tone was casual, but the way he lingered at the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, betrayed a quiet reluctance.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” he said, his voice steady but gentler than usual, as if he was reassuring himself as much as you. His gaze lingered, the words hanging between you like a promise he was determined to keep. “Maybe I’ll bring somethin' good for dinner.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flicker of unease that stirred in your chest. It was irrational, you told yourself—you’d both been on countless patrols before; the risks were familiar, accepted long ago. But as you watched him turn to leave, his silhouette framed in the soft morning light, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you. There was something different about today, an unspoken weight in the air that made the world feel a little less certain, a little more fragile.

“Hey, Joel,” you called out, your voice catching slightly as he was about to leave. He stopped and turned back, the morning light catching in his eyes, casting a warm glow over his features. You swallowed, the tightness in your throat making it hard to get the words out. “Stay safe,” you said, the phrase simple and familiar, yet heavy with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Something flickered in his expression—a brief, unguarded vulnerability that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. For a heartbeat, his gaze seemed to hold a quiet wonder, like your words had reached deeper than they should have. It wasn’t just the sentiment; it was the way you said it—stay safe—like it carried a weight, a longing that ran deeper than either of you had ever dared to acknowledge.

“I will,” he replied, his voice roughened to a low murmur, as if the promise took effort to speak aloud. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than they needed to, like he was trying to memorize every detail—the concern in your voice, the way you looked at him right then, as if you were reaching out without quite knowing how.

Then, with a small nod, he turned and walked away.

•••

You sat on Tommy and Maria’s couch, gripping the warm cup of tea in your hands as though it could anchor you amidst the expectant silence. Their gazes rested on you—gentle, but far too curious to ignore.

They were waiting for you to share something about Joel, to explain how things had really been while you were recovering. When you stayed quiet, keeping your eyes fixed on the steam rising from the tea, they exchanged a knowing look.

“So,” Maria finally said, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “How are things going with Joel?”

You blinked, your fingers tightening around the cup as you fumbled for an answer. “Uh, yeah… he’s been… helpful,” you replied, the words stumbling out slowly. “You know, just helping me with stuff. Up and down the stairs.”

“Mhm,” Maria murmured, the sound heavy with interest. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms like she was settling in for a story you weren’t prepared to share.

“And he’s not a bad cook, either,” you added, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. It had become such a routine that you hadn’t even considered how it might sound to someone else.

“Cook?” Tommy repeated, his eyebrows lifting with curiosity. “He’s been cooking for you?”

You hesitated, the weight of their attention suddenly pressing down on you. “Yeah, like… breakfast and dinner,” you said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Breakfast and dinner?” Tommy echoed, a note of incredulity creeping into his tone. “Jesus, what time does he come over to be doin’ all that?”

You bit your lip, a nervous flutter building in your chest. You hadn’t thought twice about Joel being there at all hours; the days and nights had blurred together as he took care of you. But now, under their curious stares, it seemed like a bigger deal than you’d realized. “Well… he… stays,” you admitted, the words escaping before you could stop them.

A beat of silence followed before both Tommy and Maria spoke at once, their voices overlapping in surprise. “What? He stays?”

Your cheeks warmed, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I thought he would’ve mentioned it,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. “It’s just easier this way, you know, with my leg and all.”

Tommy’s gaze narrowed, his curiosity turning more pointed. “Where does he sleep?” he asked, his tone casual but carrying a note of suspicion.

“On the couch,” you blurted out a little too quickly. The lie tumbled from your lips before you could stop it, and the memory of Joel’s warmth beside you—the way you’d wake up tangled in each other’s arms before pulling apart—flashed vividly in your mind. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you struggled to keep your expression composed.

Maria’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “The couch, huh?” she repeated, her tone dripping with playful doubt.

“Yes,” you stammered, trying to sound convincing. “It’s… practical,” you added, though the word sounded hollow even to you. “For… you know, if I need anything during the night.”

Maria’s smile deepened, as if she could see right through your flimsy excuse. “Right. Practical,” she said, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt.

Tommy’s gaze flicked from you to Maria, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “So, Joel's stayin’ over, cookin’ you breakfast and dinner, and it’s just… practical?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Before you could stumble over an answer, Maria stepped in, though her amusement was unmistakable. “Alright, let’s give her a break,” she said, raising a hand to halt the questioning. “Let the poor girl relax. You can grill Joel about it later.”

You exhaled a silent breath of relief, but you could still feel their eyes on you, a knowing curiosity that didn’t seem entirely convinced by your explanation.

The conversation drifted to safer topics, but you couldn’t ignore the way Maria’s gaze lingered on you, a knowing gleam in her eyes. It was as if she had already drawn her own conclusions, and there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression, like she was far too pleased by whatever she’d pieced together. When Tommy stepped out to run some errands, leaving the house quiet and still, Maria moved to sit beside you, her tone turning softer, more personal.

“Listen,” she began, her voice low and careful, “there’s something I think you should know… about Joel.”

You blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in her eyes. “What is it?” you asked, your pulse quickening, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

Maria hesitated, as if considering her words. “Tommy told me about what happened,” she said. “The night you got hurt… those raiders. Joel almost didn’t make it.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “He went after you—took on those men without a second thought. He saved you, even though it nearly cost him his life.”

You stared at her, the world seeming to shift beneath you. “He… saved me?” you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Joel…?” The name felt unfamiliar in your mouth, like you were speaking about someone else entirely.

Your thoughts spun as you remembered the blood soaking through his pant leg, the stiff way he moved afterward, insisting it was just a graze. You hadn’t questioned it then, had let yourself believe his lie because you’d wanted to. But now, the image of him fighting his way through those raiders, injured and relentless, lodged itself in your mind, and you struggled to reconcile the Joel you knew with the man who would do something so reckless just to get to you.

Maria nodded, her gaze steady. “Tommy said he’s never seen Joel like that before. Said it was like he’d lost all sense of himself, like nothing else mattered except getting to you.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I think he cares about you more than you realize. More than he probably wants to admit.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of disbelief and something you couldn’t quite name. The idea of Joel risking everything for you, of him fighting with such desperation, was so at odds with the man who kept his distance, who grumbled and kept his emotions guarded. It felt like someone had pulled the ground out from under you, leaving you unsteady.

“But… he never said anything,” you murmured, shaking your head as if you could make sense of it. “Why wouldn’t he—”

“Because it’s Joel,” Maria interrupted gently, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He’s stubborn and closed off, and you know as well as I do he doesn’t let people in easily. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things… deeply.” She sighed, her gaze softening. “You didn’t see the way he looked when he brought you back. He was… terrified. I told you how he stayed by you. It was like losing you was something he couldn’t even begin to bear.”

You swallowed hard, a mix of emotions washing over you. The thought of Joel being that afraid for you, of him caring that much, was almost too much to process. The man who had taken care of you, who quietly lingered in your space and made sure you were never alone, wasn’t just doing it out of duty or habit—there was something deeper there, something you only dared to consider in the quiet moments of the night.

Maria reached over and squeezed your hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel a certain way,” she said softly, “but I thought you should know. Joel’s not perfect, and God knows he’s got his walls up, but… the way he fought for you, it wasn’t just because you needed help. It was because it was you.”

The words settled heavily in your chest, stirring something deep and unfamiliar. You hadn’t known Joel had been the one to save you, or that he might feel something for you beyond the unspoken bond you’d shared. The realization felt like a door opening, revealing a side of him you had only recently seen, a side that made your heart race with the possibilities you hadn’t let yourself imagine.

You took a shaky breath, Maria’s words tumbling around in your mind, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to face. “He’s been so sweet, Maria,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the uncertainty that lingered beneath the surface. “But… all those things he’s said to me before, the way he used to be—how am I supposed to get past that? It’s like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something… to remind me why I kept my guard up in the first place.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of your own doubt pressing heavily on your chest. “There’s this part of me that keeps expecting him to push me away again, or to say something that’ll make me feel like I was wrong to think there could be more between us. Like all of this… the way he’s been lately… it’s just temporary, just because he feels responsible.”

The words left a bitter taste in your mouth as they hung in the air, and you felt the familiar ache of doubt clawing at you. “I don’t know how to trust that this is real,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Not when I’m always bracing myself for him to remind me why I was afraid to let him in.”

Maria’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I understand,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “But maybe, just maybe, he’s changed more than you think. People can surprise you, and sometimes the hardest thing is letting yourself believe that someone can be different… especially when it comes to someone like Joel.”

Maria leaned closer, her eyes meeting yours with quiet resolve. “But I’ll tell you this,” she continued, “the way he looks at you now… it’s not just out of obligation. You’ve got him caring about you in a way that scares him. That’s why he’s trying so hard, even if he’s still got a funny way of showing it sometimes. Hell, you saw how surprised Tommy was—Joel cooks for you, he stays over. If he didn’t care, do you really think he’d be doing any of that?”

Her words hit you like a jolt, forcing you to confront the significance of all those quiet gestures, the way Joel had woven himself into your routine. It wasn’t just about helping you recover; it was about being there for you, in a way that went beyond what anyone could expect.

The realization settled over you, mingling with the uncertainty and the hope, leaving you grappling with the possibility that Joel might care for you more deeply than you’d dared to believe.

•••

That night, you waited for Joel, your heart beating in time with the clock’s relentless ticking. He was later than usual, and with each passing moment, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened. The minutes stretched on, and your thoughts grew darker, conjuring images of him caught in a deadly struggle, his breath ragged and desperate.

You imagined him ambushed by raiders, shadows closing in as he fought for his life, or the guttural snarl of an infected lunging at him, teeth bared. Worst of all was the thought of him lying somewhere in the dark, hurt and alone, out of reach. The fears clawed at your mind, relentless and unyielding, refusing to be dismissed no matter how you tried to distract yourself.

You had nearly made up your mind to limp your way over to Tommy’s when you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. Relief washed over you so intensely that you couldn’t stop the breathless word from escaping your lips.

“Joel?” you said, almost too quickly.

He stepped inside, a tired but genuine smile tugging at his mouth, unaware of the quiet agony his delay had caused. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar.

“You’re late,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended, betraying the worry that had pooled in your chest.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, and there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, as though he could sense the tension still winding through you. “I was lookin’ for something… got a surprise for you.”

You blinked, your anxiety giving way to curiosity. “A surprise?”

His smile widened, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes as he stepped closer. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand toward you. “But you gotta wear this.”

He held up a strip of cloth—a makeshift blindfold that looked suspiciously like a piece of an old bandana.

You shot him a wary glance, the corner of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. “Joel…” you warned, the hint of a laugh in your voice.

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that softened the edges of your doubts, unraveling the last threads of your resistance.

And you did—you trusted him almost more than anyone else in this broken world. How could you not, after all the times he’d pulled you back from the edge, his steady hand reaching for you when everything else seemed to be falling apart? He had saved your life more than once, his presence a lifeline in those moments when the darkness threatened to swallow you whole.

You trusted him with every part of yourself, even the pieces that still trembled with uncertainty, the parts you hadn’t dared share with anyone else. It scared the hell out of you, how deeply that trust had taken root, how much comfort you found in the quiet moments when his presence filled the room.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the shift from guarded caution to unwavering trust had taken place, but it was there now, woven into every glance, every touch, every word that passed between you.

And it was terrifying—how much you needed him, how much his very existence seemed to anchor yours. Yet, in that terror, there was also a kind of peace, a quiet certainty that in a world as uncertain as this one, trusting him was the only thing that felt undeniably right.

“Okay,” you whispered, your breath catching as he slipped the cloth over your eyes. His fingers moved with careful precision, securing the blindfold without catching a single strand of your hair, his touch impossibly gentle for hands that carried the roughness of a lifetime’s worth of hard work. The calluses brushed lightly against your skin, yet his warmth seeped into you, surrounding you like a quiet embrace. You could feel his breath, soft and steady, stirring the air near your cheek as he leaned in to tie the knot.

There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a tender pulse that seemed to fill the space between you. Your senses sharpened in the darkness, every sound, every scent drawing you deeper into the unspoken tension. It wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse—it was the awareness of him: the nearness of his hands, the heat radiating from his skin, the quiet promise held in the firmness of his touch.

With your sight taken, the darkness came alive with vivid detail. You felt the warmth of his breath, steady and close, and the roughness of his palm resting gently on the small of your back, guiding you with a touch that was both grounding and electric. His scent enveloped you—a mix of pine, leather, and sweat, earthy and unmistakably him.

The world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only the rhythm of his breath, the subtle rustle of his movements, and the lingering warmth that bridged the space between you.

“You know,” you said, your voice light but trembling ever so slightly, “it’s probably not the best idea to put a blindfold on someone who can barely walk.”

His laughter broke the quiet, rich and deep, the kind of sound that seemed to echo through the night and settle somewhere in your chest. It wasn’t a laugh you heard often—only when he was with Tommy, or when the whiskey had worn down his edges, letting the softness slip through.

“Lucky thing you got me then, isn’t it?” he replied, his tone playful and warm, threaded with a quiet sincerity that made something inside you tighten.

You swallowed, trying to brush off the weight of his words, to ignore the way you got me seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up feelings you weren’t sure you were ready to name. But there was a kind of surety in his voice, an unspoken promise beneath the teasing, as though he meant it more than he was letting on. It was enough to kindle something fragile and hopeful within you, something you hadn’t dared let yourself feel in far too long.

“Where are you taking me?” you whispered, letting him guide you forward, each step steady under the reassuring pressure of his hand.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear. His hand remained on your back, a steady anchor as the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of earth and damp leaves. You could hear the rustle of trees, the faint whistle of wind through the branches, and somewhere in the distance, the soft babble of a creek.

After what felt like an eternity, he stopped. “Okay,” he said, his voice low and rough as though he were on the verge of something he didn’t quite know how to give. “You can take it off now.”

Your hands fumbled with the knot, the fabric slipping free as your eyes adjusted to the soft glow that filled the clearing.

A single lantern hung from a nearby tree, casting pools of warm, golden light across the grass. The glow illuminated a blanket laid out with care, a simple picnic set up atop it—some modest dishes, a loaf of bread, and a jar of honey he had mentioned picking up on his way home. Beyond the small scene, the sky unfurled like a dark, endless canvas, each star a pinprick of light, shimmering against the velvet blackness above. The lantern's glow danced on the edges of the night, merging with the starlight to create an atmosphere that felt both intimate and infinite.

“I figured…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was nervous. You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, cursing yourself for finding it so endearing. It was one of his tells, a small habit you’d come to recognize over the last few weeks spent in each other’s company. You’d picked up on other things, too—the way his gaze would flicker away whenever he was hiding a smile, the slight shift in his voice when he was trying to mask concern, or the way he would reach for the back of a chair, his fingers curling around the wood, when he wanted to touch you but held himself back.

“I remember you said you liked learnin about astronomy,” he said, his voice roughened by a tenderness he couldn’t quite disguise.

Your chest tightened as you glanced up at him—he remembered.

The lantern’s glow cast a soft light across his features, illuminating the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes, the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. It felt unreal, almost dreamlike.

Could this be the same Joel who had once left you crying, who had shut you out with a coldness that still lingered in the back of your mind? Yet here he was, the same man, but now so different—showing you a quiet tenderness that reached places inside you you’d long since closed off.

When you didn’t speak right away, Joel felt a flicker of doubt creep in. His chest tightened as the silence stretched on, and he began to wonder if he’d overstepped, if he’d done too much. Had he read this wrong? The thought gnawed at him, a sudden worry that maybe the gesture wasn’t what you wanted, that perhaps he’d laid his heart bare in a way you weren’t ready to accept.

Before his doubts could take hold, you breathed out, “This is beautiful, Joel.” The words were quiet but laden with meaning, carrying more gratitude than you could fully express. “Thank you,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

You weren’t sure what else to say, how to give voice to the tangle of emotions pressing against your chest—the ache of something hopeful trying to take root, of a longing that had crept up on you so slowly you hadn’t noticed it until now. It wasn’t just the effort he’d made; it was the vulnerability behind it, the quiet way he was reaching out to you without saying a word.

You sank onto the blanket beside him, the coolness of the grass pressing through the fabric and grounding you in the present. Above you, the sky stretched endlessly, a dark canvas dusted with countless stars, shimmering like scattered diamonds. The constellations sparkled with a quiet brilliance, some clustered together, others spread apart, each one a silent witness to the world below.

It was breathtaking, a kind of beauty that made you forget, if only for a moment, the harshness of the life you’d grown accustomed to—the weight of all you’d lost and the scars left behind. For just that instant, the world seemed softer, the edges blurred, as though this little slice of peace could shield you from the darkness that had become all too familiar.

There was a hush between you, a kind of sacred silence that didn’t need to be filled. It wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, allowing you to breathe deeper, to sink into the stillness. It was enough just to be here, to feel the steady warmth of him beside you, to listen to the soft rustle of the night.

He leaned in closer, and you hadn’t even realized how near he was until your shoulders touched, his warmth brushing against you. Your pulse quickened at the proximity, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. “Hey, do you see that star?” he asked, his voice low, a hint of wonder threading through the words.

“Which one?” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over the endless sprawl of night sky, shimmering like a sea of diamonds.

Joel’s hand came up to gently guide your gaze, his fingers grazing your chin as he directed your attention to a bright, solitary point above. You followed his gesture, your breath catching at the sight. The star shone brilliantly, outshining the others with a silvery light that seemed almost alive, as if it held a radiance all its own—a beacon glowing against the dark canvas of the sky.

For a moment, you were so captivated by its beauty that you didn’t notice Joel reaching behind his back. It wasn’t until he produced a small piece of paper and handed it to you that you glanced down, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What’s this?” you asked, unfolding the note.

Your breath hitched as you read the handwritten words—your name, etched in careful letters, alongside a simple inscription: As of this date, this star has officially been named after you. The declaration was informal, the kind of makeshift elegance that only Jackson’s post-apocalyptic world could provide, yet it carried a gravity that made your heart skip a beat.

“You… named a star after me?” you breathed, the disbelief and awe intertwining in your voice. You looked up at him, a mix of astonishment and something deeper flooding through you, making your chest tighten.

He shrugged, trying for an easy nonchalance that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You said you liked stars,” he replied, his tone light, as if naming a star after you was no grand gesture. But the sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on yours just a beat too long, hinted at something deeper.

Joel watched you as you gazed up at the sky, a faint smile tugging at his lips while the starlight shimmered in your eyes. A deep ache filled his chest, a yearning so strong it nearly took his breath away. All he wanted was to lean in and close the distance between you, to press his lips to yours. But he couldn’t—not without addressing the things that had gone unsaid for far too long. Not without apologizing for the times he’d pushed you away, for the harsh words and the coldness that lingered like a shadow between you.

His nerves betrayed him; you could see it in the restless fidgeting of his fingers, twisting together and then releasing, as if a silent struggle was unfolding in his hands. He kept glancing at you, as if searching for the courage to finally speak the truth and let the walls he had built crumble.

He had rehearsed this moment countless times—in the quiet of the shower, as the steam rose around him; in the early mornings when he made you breakfast, his hands steady but his mind racing; and in the stillness of the night, when you lay asleep beside him, and he’d listen to the gentle rhythm of your breath, wondering if you could ever forgive him.

Now that the moment had arrived, the words tangled in his throat, bound up with everything he had kept locked away. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, knowing he couldn’t keep holding back forever.

“Joel,” you whispered, breaking the silence, your voice gentle, “are you okay?”

Joel’s expression shifted, a brief flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with a small, weary smile. For a moment, you thought he might brush the question off, deflect like he always did, but tonight felt different—fragile, almost sacred, as if the starlit sky had stripped away the barriers you both had kept so carefully guarded.

He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers fidgeting as though searching for the right words hidden in the calloused lines of his palms. The silence stretched between you, taut and trembling, as if the next words might snap the tension or bind you closer together.

“I never meant to be an asshole to you,” he murmured, his voice rough with remorse. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Your heart stopped. Was this it? The explanation you’d been waiting for, the truth behind the way he’d treated you? “Handle what, Joel?” you asked gently, your pulse quickening as you sensed the gravity of what he was about to reveal.

He hesitated, the shadows shifting across his face in the dim light. “I’ve said things I didn’t mean,” he began, his voice barely audible, thick with regret. “Awful things… cruel things. Things I wish I could take back.” His expression tightened, the pain etched deep in his features. “Things that cut deeper than I realized.”

“Then why say them if you didn’t mean them?” you asked, your voice steady though your mind was reeling. You needed to understand what lay beneath his harshness, the turmoil behind those walls.

He drew a sharp breath, struggling to force the words out. “I… I’ve lost people,” he said, the raw vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep within you. “Too many people. And it’s a shitty excuse, but I thought…” He sighed, a deep, ragged exhale that seemed to pull the confession from his chest. “I thought if I kept my distance, if I pushed you away… I could spare us both the pain of losing someone again.” His eyes met yours, filled with a grief that spanned years, a haunting reflection of the past. “I thought it would hurt less.”

“Joel,” you whispered, his admission hitting you like a cold rush of air, the weight of his heart laid bare before you.

“It’s stupid,” he continued, his voice rough with self-reproach, “immature, and I know it. That night at the dining hall—"

I could never be with someone like that

His voice cracked, a tremor of anguish crossing his face. “It haunts me. I didn’t mean a word of it.” He looked away, his jaw tightening as he fought against the emotion rising in his throat. “I was scared. Scared of the way you make me feel… scared to lose someone else I—”

He faltered, the unspoken word lingering in the air between you, as if it would cost him too much to say aloud. But you didn’t push him; you didn’t need him to finish the thought. It was already written in every action, in every quiet moment, in the way he had been there for you—unwavering and steady, even when his words had hurt.

He took a shuddering breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, the pain in his eyes undeniable. “And I’d understand if you never did. I just… I needed you to know the truth.”

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand slipping into his. The touch seemed to steady him, as if grounding both of you in this fragile moment. “

You’re not going to lose me Joel,” you said softly, your gaze holding his with quiet resolve.

“I promise.”

His eyes widened, your words settling over him like a balm, softening the raw vulnerability etched into his expression. He held your hand a little tighter, as though afraid to let go, his fingers trembling just slightly against yours. In that moment, neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding passed between you. Whatever this was—whatever fragile thing had taken root between you—it wouldn’t be easy. There were walls to dismantle, wounds that still ached, and a long, uncertain path ahead. Yet, beneath it all, there was something unbreakable, a shared promise that neither of you would face it alone.

You met his gaze, and in the silence, it was as if you’d made a vow without words—a vow that no matter what lay ahead, you were in it together. It wasn’t the end of the struggles or the undoing of years of hurt, but it was a beginning, a single thread of hope that you both clung to, knowing that some things were worth fighting for, no matter how many scars they left behind.

•••

The next morning, you awoke with a smile soft on your lips, your heart warmed by a quiet joy you hadn’t felt in years. Memories of last night flickered through your mind—laughter, whispered secrets, and the gentle way Joel had looked at you beneath the stars. It felt like a new beginning, a fragile hope blossoming amidst the remnants of a world that had taken so much from you.

You turned, half-expecting to find Joel beside you, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool beneath your hand. A slight frown tugged at your brows, a sense of loss stirring at the edges of your thoughts. Maybe he was downstairs, busying himself with breakfast, filling the house with the warm scent of coffee and something simple but comforting.

As you sat up, feeling a newfound strength in your limbs, the sound of hurried footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. A flicker of excitement rose in your chest, imagining Joel coming back to share another quiet morning with you.

“Joel?” you called out, your voice bright with anticipation. But the moment the figure stepped into the doorway, your heart stilled.

It wasn’t Joel. It was Tommy, his face flushed and lined with something far darker than fatigue. The sight of him twisted your stomach, a chill settling over you as the unspoken loomed between you.

“Tommy?” you managed, voice tight with unease. “What… what happened?”

He took a breath, and his eyes, shadowed with worry, met yours. “It’s Joel,” he said, his voice taut and strained, each word laced with urgency. The blood drained from your face, and the room seemed to tilt.

“He’s gone.”

•••

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@somedayheaven @anoverwhelmingdin @joeldjarin @yourgirlcin

@swimmingeggcloudkid @dlwrish @cathsteen @reneerocks3617

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal one shot #ellie tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut

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strnilolover · 7 days ago

Note

maid!reader falling asleep in prince!matt's bed after working all day and he just cuddles up to her

She hadn’t meant to…it had been an exhausting day. Matt had this huge decision that his parents were leaving up to him to decide on — one of the many things he’d have to do when he eventually becomes king.

Darling had fallen victim to running errands for not only Matt, but also taking over some of the other maids tasks who were too exhausted themselves to do them. Sure she could’ve said no — but that isn’t how she is.

When she had finally gotten back to Matt’s room, looking to see if he was there — and when he was no where to be seen, she took a seat on his bed. One thing happened after another and somehow she gathered a soft blanket and slipped under his covers — head hitting the pillow and she was out like a light.

So when Matt had finally entered his room after his duties, There you were, curled up on his massive bed, fast asleep. Your soft breaths rose and fell in a steady rhythm, your body wrapped snugly in the blanket grabbed in a moment of exhaustion. Your face, usually so full of life and determination, was now peaceful, free of the strain that your work often demanded.

Matt’s heart ached at the sight. He knew how hard you worked — not just for him, but for his family and your own. He admired your dedication, your strength, and the quiet kindness you offered everyone around you. But this? This was too much. You must have been utterly drained to allow yourself such a vulnerable moment in his room.

He approached quietly, his steps soft as he neared the bed. Matt hesitated for a moment, torn between waking you and letting you rest. Ultimately, his protective instincts won out. How could he disturb you when you clearly needed this?

Carefully, Matt slipped off his shoes and climbed into the bed beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. He laid down, shifting closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist, pulling you gently into his chest. You stirred slightly, letting out a soft sigh, but didn’t wake. Matt smiled to himself, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“You work too hard, darling,” he whispered into your hair, his voice barely audible. “You deserve so much more than this.”

He held you gently but tightly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back. For the first time in weeks, the weight of his responsibilities seemed to lift. In this quiet moment, with you in his arms, he found the peace he’d been seeking.

As he drifted off to sleep, Matt made a silent promise to himself: he would do everything in his power to give you the life you deserved—one where you didn’t have to work yourself to the bone, one where you could rest as easily as you were now, every single day.

Even if that idea was impossible — he would make it possible just for you.

#ᯓ★ strnilolover #ᯓ★ strnilolover prince matt x maid reader #ᯓ★ strnilolover prince matt au #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #ᯓ★ strnilolover moots #sturniolo x reader #ᯓ★ strnilolover inbox

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marysfics · 2 months ago

Text

In Your Corner

Your girlfriend has an important match tomorrow.

Fluff

The soft hum of the city at night drifted through the open window, mingling with the distant echoes of cars and the faint rustle of leaves in the cool breeze. The moonlight streamed in, painting the room in silvery hues, casting delicate shadows on the walls.

You sat on the edge of your shared bed, leaning against the headboard, your gaze fixed on her. Alexia stood by the window, the oversized shirt she always wore the night before an important match draped over her frame. It fell loosely over her shoulders, the familiar sight tugging at your heart. Her long hair cascaded down her back, catching the light, and her hands rested gently on the windowsill as she gazed out at the world, lost in thought.

You couldn't help but smile, watching her. There was something about this ritual, this quiet moment of reflection before the chaos of the next day. She had always been like this, calm before the storm, but tonight, something felt different. There was an energy in the air, a quiet intensity radiating from her, and you could feel it in your bones.

You knew how much tomorrow meant to her. It wasn’t just another game—it was the game. The culmination of weeks, months, years of hard work, sacrifice, and dedication. But right now, in this moment, she was just Alexia—your Alexia.

She sighed softly, and the sound pulled you from your thoughts. You watched as her shoulders rose and fell, her chest expanding with a deep breath. Her eyes were far away, somewhere beyond the city skyline, lost in the world of her own dreams, fears, and hopes.

"You're quiet tonight," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the peace of the room.

Alexia turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at you over her shoulder. A small, soft smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and for a moment, you swore the room grew warmer.

"I’m just thinking," she replied, her voice low, tinged with a hint of nervousness. It was rare for her to be this vulnerable, to let her guard down, but you knew her too well. She was always strong, always poised, but right now, you could see the weight of tomorrow in her eyes.

You slid off the bed, your feet padding softly against the cool floor as you walked over to her. Gently, you wrapped your arms around her from behind, resting your chin on her shoulder. She leaned back into you, exhaling a shaky breath as your warmth enveloped her.

"It’s going to be perfect," you whispered against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. "You’re going to be perfect."

She didn’t respond right away, but you felt the way her body relaxed into yours, the way the tension seemed to melt from her muscles. Her hand reached up to rest on your arm, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. The silence between you was comforting, filled with unspoken words, with love and understanding.

"I just—" she started, her voice catching in her throat. She paused, swallowing hard before continuing. "I don’t want to let anyone down. My team, my family, you…"

You tightened your hold on her, pressing your cheek against hers. "You could never let anyone down, Alexia. Least of all me. I believe in you, more than you’ll ever know."

She turned in your arms, facing you now, her eyes searching yours. There was a flicker of vulnerability there, a softness that was reserved only for you. The world saw the strong, fearless leader, but you saw the woman behind it all. The woman who gave everything she had, who loved fiercely, and who sometimes needed a reminder that she was enough.

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering on her cheek. "You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Tomorrow, you’ll step onto that pitch and show the world who you are. But tonight… tonight, you’re here with me. And that’s all that matters."

Her eyes softened, filling with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite put into words but felt in every fiber of your being. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours as she closed her eyes.

"How did I get so lucky?" she whispered, her breath ghosting over your lips.

You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest. "I think I’m the lucky one."

For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the quiet hum of the night surrounding you like a blanket. You kissed her softly, slow and tender, a promise that no matter what tomorrow held, this—you—was forever.

When you pulled back, Alexia’s eyes were shining, filled with a renewed sense of calm. "Stay with me tonight?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with something raw and real.

"Always," you replied, taking her hand and leading her back to the bed.

As you settled in together, her head resting on your chest, your fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair, you felt her body relax completely, the last remnants of her tension fading away. She was ready for tomorrow, ready for whatever the world had to throw at her, because she wasn’t facing it alone.

And as you lay there, holding her close, you knew that no matter what happened, you’d always be by her side.

Note: found this in my drafts. Wanted to give you all a little something. My mental health has been low lately, which makes it hard to write. I can be so self critical. I can't promise if there comes another piece before November. I'll try my best.

#woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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lichqueenlibrarian · 18 days ago

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#you know how to whistle don’t you bones? you just put your lips together and…blow #honestly he’s the most disreputable out of all the main trio #bones you are a disturber of the peace #this old man is a menace #I love that jim is scandalized by him #who knew a wolf whistle was going to ruffle Jim’s feathers?#star trek tos #jim kirk #star trek novels #bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #time for yesterday #a.c crispin

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slytherinslut0 · 1 year ago

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Seventeen-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, DARK THEMES, Sexual Harassment, Asshole!Berkshire, Extreme Depictions of Violence, Blood, SMUT, PIV, Virgin!Reader, Loss of Virginity, Dom!Mattheo, Sub!Reader, Oral Sex, Multiple Orgasm, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Emerging from the closet, you and Mattheo shared one more fleetingly charged moment, your eyes locking in a silent exchange laden with unspoken emotions. With a subtle nod, you both returned to your seats, seamlessly slipping back into the roles you had mastered--the poised Ravenclaw and the bad, rebellious Slytherin. The transition was flawless, but beneath the composed exteriors, a storm of emotions raged.

As the game progressed and the night drew on, your eyes locked with Mattheo's from across the circle more times than you could even begin to count--and as the rest of the room remained blissfully unaware, you were acutely attuned to the dance of hidden desires, an intimate connection that thrived in the shadows.

The game of truth or dare continued, growing more wild with each passing round, until most people involved became to tired to continue. In the midst of all of this, Emily and Tom seemed to hit it off, engrossed in their own conversation which seemed to have started before you had even returned from the closet with Mattheo--and as much as the sight was slightly confusing, you were profoundly grateful for the unexpected friendship between them. It undoubtedly relieved the pressure of having to engage with Tom.

As the night wore on, exhaustion settled deep within your bones. Berkshire, thoroughly intoxicated, was gently escorted to his dormitory by Malfoy, his usual disgusting arrogance now replaced by a drunken stumble. Despite the lingering adrenaline from the evening's events, weariness tugged at your limbs, pulling you towards the comfort of your dormitory.

While Emily and Tom remained engrossed in their conversation, you seized the opportunity to excuse yourself quietly. With polite smiles and casual goodnights, you bid farewell to the remaining members of the circle. Each step you took felt heavier than the last, your energy waning with every movement. The echoes of laughter and conversation faded into the distance as you navigated the familiar corridors, the subdued glow of torchlight guiding your way.

Taking a moment to escape the confines of the castle, you stepped into the tranquil courtyard, leaning against the railing and seeking solace under the vast expanse of stars. The night air embraced you, carrying with it a soothing whisper of tranquility. Breathing in deeply, you let the cool breeze wash over you, attempting to shed the lingering tension from your bones after the intense evening you had just endured.

And in the midst of your attempts to find serenity, the peaceful atmosphere shattered like fragile glass, stumbling footsteps making their way toward you. As you glanced over, you watched an inebriated Berkshire stumble his way into the courtyard, bringing himself dangerously close to you, his usual arrogance magnified by the influence of alcohol. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, fixated on you with a disturbing intensity.

"Shit...what do we have here?" he slurred, his words laced with drunken confidence. "A little bird all alone in the night...don't you know it's fuckin' dangerous to be out here all by yourself?"

Your disgust was palpable as you shot him a withering glare. "Save your pathetic lines for someone who cares, Berkshire," you retorted, your voice dripping with disdain. "The only thing dangerous is my dwindling patience at the mere sight of you."

"Why're you such a bitch, huh?" he slurred, his words carrying the stench of alcohol. His proximity was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against your skin. "Must be 'cause you secretly like me, right?"

Your jaw clenched, a mixture of annoyance and disgust bubbling within you. His words were as repugnant as his alcohol-laden breath. The tension you had been trying to relieve was now replaced by a different kind, a sharp pang of frustration at having to deal with his inappropriate behavior.

"I suggest you find your way back to your dorm," you retorted, your voice firm despite the rising irritation. "Your delusions won't make your company any more welcome."

Berkshire's drunken persistence grated on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, his obnoxious confidence seeming to inflate with every word you uttered. Before you could process it, he closed the distance between you, his movements erratic, invading your personal space. His clammy hand shot up, gripping your jaw with a force that made your teeth clench, forcing your eyes to meet his in a cruel display of dominance.

"Why won't you just admit it, huh?" he slurred, his words punctuated by the reek of alcohol on his breath. His bloodshot eyes bored into yours, his arrogance seemingly impervious to your clear discomfort. "You can't deny the attraction, sweetheart...I see it in the way you look at me when you think no one's watching."

Your patience snapped like a taut rope. Anger flared in your chest, hot and searing. With a swift movement, you pushed his hand away from your face, your voice cutting through the night with icy precision, a steely resolve in your voice that should have been enough to ward off any sane person.

"Let me make this abundantly clear, Berkshire," you said, your tone as sharp as a blade. "There is no secret admiration, no desire, and certainly no fucking attraction. You're nothing more than a nuisance, and I have no patience for your delusions. Now, back the fuck off before you regret testing my tolerance any further."

Despite your unwavering stance, Berkshire's drunken laughter reverberated through the courtyard, a disturbing echo of arrogance undeterred by your resistance. He jeered, taking another step toward you, his movements unsteady but determined. The cold, unforgiving metal of the railing you had been standing in front of pressed into your back as he cornered you, his breath reeking of alcohol and menace.

Panic clawed at your throat, but you refused to show weakness, your eyes meeting his with a defiant glare. "Berkshire, what are you-"

Ignoring your words, he advanced further, backing you up against the railing until there was nowhere left to retreat. Your heart thundered in your chest, the weight of his aggression bearing down on you. And then, in a moment of terror, he grabbed you, his grip surprisingly strong, squeezing tighter than you had ever expected. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers dug into your arms, pain flaring through your limbs. The situation had escalated far beyond your control, and the realization struck you like a physical blow.

"Let me go," you demanded, your voice strained but resolute, despite the fear tightening your throat. But Berkshire only tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, his drunken gaze wild and unpredictable. "Enzo, fuck, stop..."

"Shut the fuck up," he growled, he breath grazing over your neck as he pressed himself against you. "You're such a fucking-"

Before Berkshire could finish that sentence, a familiar voice--one usually somewhat smooth and composed, cut through the air with a terrifying intensity.

"Berkshire…if you don't get your fucking hands off of her," the threat in his tone was unmistakable, a promise of unspeakable consequences if ignored. "I fucking swear-"

But Berkshire, lost in his drunken rage, remained heedless, his eyes glazed over with a dangerous mixture of anger and entitlement. “Shut up, Riddle…she fucking wants me…”

You caught Mattheo's eyes from over Enzo's shoulder, ones that once held a glimmer of restraint now blazed with an uncontrollable anger that seemed to ignite the air around him. His usual composure shattered, replaced by a raw, primal fury.

In a heartbeat, Mattheo closed the distance between him and Berkshire, his movements fluid and almost supernatural. His hand shot out like a striking serpent, fingers wrapping around Berkshire's throat like an unyielding vice. The grip was tight, a clear message of the danger Berkshire was in.

“I warned you,” he hissed, and with a swift, powerful motion, Mattheo ripped Berkshire off of you, sending him crashing onto the unforgiving stone ground, a stunned gasp escaping his lips upon impact--Mattheo’s throat was shredded with anger as he growled, “I fucking warned you…”

You stood frozen, your lungs burning as you desperately gasped for air, your vision swimming with a heady mix of fear and relief. Mattheo, his eyes ablaze with fury, descended upon Berkshire like a vengeful deity. His arm darted out, fingers clenching Berkshire's collar in one hand while the other transformed into a merciless fist.

“Stay the fuck away from her…you don’t fucking look at her, you don’t even fucking breathe near her…do you fucking understand me?” Mattheo didn’t wait for a response, the first punch landing with a sickening crack, the sound reverberating through the courtyard like a thunderclap. Mattheo jostled Enzo in his grip, practically spitting his words against his face. “No one gets to fucking touch her…no one except me…fucking no one…”

A momentary pause hung in the air, a fleeting heartbeat of stillness, before Mattheo struck again. And again. And again. He was possessed, every punch a release of the pent-up rage that had been simmering beneath the surface, each blow fueled by a primal instinct to protect, to defend, to punish the one who dared to harm you.

Berkshire's face transformed into a grotesque mask of crimson, his features distorted by pain and fear. The courtyard seemed to pulse with the rhythm of Mattheo's anger, the sound of his blows drowned out by the rapid thudding of your heart--and it wasn't until Draco Malfoy, his normally composed demeanor replaced by wide-eyed shock, entered the fray, that Mattheo's onslaught finally came to a halt.

Malfoy, his strength surprising for someone so slender, managed to pull Mattheo off Berkshire, the latter struggling like a wild animal, his rage still burning brightly, his chest heaving with exasperated fury.

"What the fuck happened here?" Theodore dropped to his knees next to his fallen friend, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched on his features as he met your stunned eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I..." you stammered, your voice barely audible, your mind struggling to comprehend the violence that had just unfolded before you. The shock had rendered you speechless, your throat dry and constricted, words caught in the whirlwind of your emotions. "Yes...I'm okay..."

While you attempted to spit out words, Mattheo's heaving form, still seething with raw anger, ripped himself free from Malfoy's hold. With a voice that carried the weight of his fury, he spoke on your behalf, the words sharp and cutting through the air.

"Berkshire thought he could lay his fucking hands on her is what happened," his voice was cold, each word laced with contempt. "After I warned him...I warned him how many fucking times..."

Mattheo's aura, once magnetic and enticing, was now a tempest, an embodiment of wrath that crackled in the air around him. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with his intensity, as if the very stones beneath your feet could feel his fury. It was a chilling reminder, mostly to you, that beneath the composed facade, there was a force to be reckoned with, a protector who would stop at nothing to shield you from harm--and that thought did inexplicable, disgustingly shameless things to your fucking body.

Draco Malfoy, his usual cool composure momentarily shaken, stepped away from Mattheo, his eyes assessing the situation with a discerning gaze.

"Let's get him to the hospital wing," he suggested to Theodore, his voice cutting through the tension. Nott, too, recognized the need for immediate action, nodding in agreement, before briefly meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry about him...there's no way he hasn't learned his lesson now...fuckin' sorry little prat..."

You nodded in response as the two of them lifted Berkshire, supporting his battered form between them. As they glanced between you and Mattheo, it was as though a silent understanding passed between Draco and Nott. Their glances met, a knowing look shared, acknowledging that there was something more beneath the surface of this situation. They sensed the unspoken connection, the invisible thread that bound you and Mattheo together, but they chose not to pry. Instead, they respected the unspoken boundaries, allowing the complexities of your relationships to remain your own.

Meanwhile, Mattheo turned his attention back to you, his eyes a tumultuous blend of emotions, the storm within him slowly subsiding as he registered the shock lingering in your eyes. With a soft yet determined expression, he stepped closer, his presence becoming a comforting shield against the aftermath of the confrontation that had left both of you shaken.

"Raven, I'm so fucking-" he began, his voice thick with regret and unspoken apologies.

"I'm fine, Mattheo." You cut him off, your heart pounding in your chest, the sight of his breathless, bloodied and dishevelled form doing dangerous things to your cunt--and you knew, more than anything, you just wanted to be alone with him. "Please just take me back to your dorm."

His brows furrowed in confusion, but the desperation in your eyes didn't leave room for questions.

"What-" he started to inquire, but you took a step closer, your neck arching slightly to catch his dark, penetrating gaze.

"Take me back to your dorm," you repeated. "Please."

Upon hearing the raw desperation in your voice, Mattheo nodded, his fingers gently finding yours as he immediately led you down the hall and through the empty corridor to his dorm. The moment he pushed the door open, allowing you to step inside, it felt as though the temperature in the room had increased to a million bloody degrees. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a potent mix of fear, desire, and the undeniable pull that had always existed between you, intensified now by the events of the night.

As you cautiously stepped into his dorm, your eyes were drawn to the familiar sight of the astronomy book lying open on his desk. The memory of the last time you had been in his dorm flashed in your mind--the same book, sitting untouched on his desk, an odd object in the midst of his carefully curated chaos.

"Why do you still have this out?" you questioned, your voice laced with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

The question hung in the air, laden with unspoken implications. Mattheo hesitated, his stormy eyes locking onto yours in a moment of vulnerability.

"Can't a man indulge in the mysteries of the stars whenever he fancies?" he retorted with a smirk, attempting to deflect the gravity of the situation. His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but the tension beneath the surface was palpable. "Or perhaps stargazing is an art reserved solely for beautiful little ravens, hm?"

"Is it because of me?" Your stare bore into him, a mix of curiosity and suspicion flickering in your eyes. “Is it because of me that you have this book?”

He didn't deny it; instead, after a long, silent moment, he simply nodded, almost impenetrably, his gaze never leaving yours. It was a silent admission, a confession that hung heavy in the charged atmosphere of the room. In that moment, the undeniable pull between you became almost tangible, the invisible thread connecting your hearts growing stronger, defying the boundaries you had desperately tried to impose.

You stepped toward him. "Did you miss me, Mattheo..."

Mattheo met your gaze, his expression enigmatic yet stoic, a mask of his usual arrogance and charm slipping back into place. His silence lingered for a moment, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Then, in a voice that held a depth of emotion he was trying to conceal, he replied, "Maybe I did, Raven..."

You moved closer, the air crackling with need as you closed the distance, your heart pounding in your chest. When you finally stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you dared to reach out, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was warm, and beneath your touch, you could sense the subtle tremor that betrayed the restraint he was exercising. Your breath caught in your throat as you tilted your head, your lips hovering just millimeters from his.

"Don't be shy, Mattheo..." you murmured, teasing him with your fingers as you trailed over his jawline. "Why don't you show me how much you missed me..."

Mattheo's jaw clenched under your touch, his dark eyes smoldering with an intensity that matched the simmering desire between you. You sighed when his hands, strong and possessive, found their way to your hips, pulling you closer with a magnetic force that left you breathless. His restraint wavered, the barrier between temptation and surrender growing thinner by the second.

"Salazar fucking save me..." Mattheo's voice was a raspy whisper, a plea and a challenge rolled into one, his vulnerability veiled behind a facade of arrogance. "Who the hell are you..."

You leaned in, your lips hovering dangerously close to his, your eyes locking onto his with a daring intensity.

"Sorry to break it to you, Riddle," you purred, your voice a seductive melody that echoed in the charged space between you. "But I'm afraid not even your maker could save you now..." a teasing smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your breath mingling with his. "Better start counting your blessings..."

"Blessings, huh?" Mattheo's lips curved into a half-smirk, his voice low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "I'd much rather count the seconds until I can taste those sweet fucking lips of yours..."

His words sent a jolt of desire through you, your heart pounding in response to his brazen confidence.

"Gods, you really are a changed man, aren't you?" You murmured, fighting your smirk as his fingers tightened their grip on your hips. "You were never one to wait for permission before..."

"Raven," his voice was a low, raspy whisper, the intensity in his eyes burning brighter. "You're really testing my fucking patience here...and you should know I'm not a patient man..."

Your smirk grew, heat flushing your cheeks, your fingers tracing a tantalizing path along the underside of his jawline, now, teasingly slow.

"Maybe I enjoy testing your limits…maybe I want to see how far I can push you..." you muttered, your voice laced with playful defiance. "Or perhaps I just like watching you squirm, Riddle...perhaps I want to hear you beg for me..."

Mattheo's patience snapped like a taut wire, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of exasperation and desire.

"Look at you, huh...all fucking smug..." he growled, his voice edged with playful frustration as he peered down at you. "You've kept that pussy from me for over two fucking weeks and now you want to tease me like this? Did you forget how bloody fast I can make you crumble for me..."

Your defiant facade began to crack under the intensity of his gaze, a shiver running down your spine.

"Gods, maybe I did..." your voice barely above a whisper, the defiance replaced by a flicker of vulnerability. "Maybe I need you to remind me..."

"Shit...there she is...there's my good fucking girl..." he murmured, his tone a mixture of reverence and desire. "...tell me what you want, Raven..."

A sigh of satisfaction slipped past your lips as his hands tightened their grip, his touch searing into your hips as though he was trying to hang on to his last shreds of willpower. With a trembling voice, you met his dark, penetrating eyes, wetting your lips as you let yourself drown in their depths.

"You," you whispered, your voice a husky admission. "I want you."

He exhaled. "Then fucking have me."

In a whirlwind of desire, his lips crashed onto yours, sending your senses into a frenzy. Your eyelids fluttered shut as both of you inhaled sharply through your noses, trying to catch your breath amidst the electrifying kiss. His hands, strong and possessive, tangled in your hair, pulling you closer with an urgency that matched the racing beat of your heart. Your lips parted in a soft groan of surrender, inviting him in, and his tongue slipped between your teeth with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His lips moved over yours, claiming every inch as though he needed you to survive, and your fingers found solace in the dark waves of his hair, gripping them tightly. Mattheo responded with a primal sound, a low grunt of satisfaction that resonated between your entwined bodies. With a swift motion, he spun you around, his lips never leaving yours, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees met the edge of his bed. The kiss deepened, his mouth exploring yours with a deliberate slowness, his fingers continuing their sensual dance through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, melting the space between you.

Mattheo's tongue danced a tantalizing dance inside your mouth before he withdrew, leaving a lingering connection between your lips. In that moment, silence enveloped both of you, rendering you nearly motionless, lost in a whirlwind of emotions, unsure of what to say, think, or do. You felt the undeniable hardness of his arousal pressing against your belly, causing a flicker of anticipation to ignite within you. Your hands instinctively moved towards the hem of your shirt, but he halted you with a gaze as hard as stone.

"No," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Let me."

A flush of scarlet painted your cheeks, but you nodded in silent consent, your throat tight with anticipation. His fingers bunched the fabric of your shirt, lifting it up and off of you. As you raised your arms, granting him permission to undress you further, he completed his task with deliberate care. The fabric landed on the floor with a soft rustle, discarded and forgotten, while his eyes roamed over every newly exposed expanse of your skin.

It was a ritual you knew you’d never tired of, the way he looked at your body as if it was a masterpiece, a gift he hadn't been prepared to receive.

Under the intensity of his gaze, a cascade of warmth flooded through you, your skin tingling with awareness. His hands skillfully moved behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease. He pushed it off your shoulders, the fabric gliding down your arms, his fingers skimming over the surface of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours in a silent question, before gracefully sinking to his knees in front of you. His warm breath ghosted over your belly, holding your stare as to ask for permission before he hooked his thumbs under the rim of your pants and panties, peeling them down your thighs, revealing your sensitive sex to him--inch by torturous inch.

A shiver rippled through your nerves, sending a thrill down your spine as his molten-gold eyes held yours with hunger that seemed to consume everything in its path. His gaze didn't waver for a single moment, even as he expertly removed your shoes and tossed them aside carelessly. As he rose, his palms trailed over the contours of every curve, his touch igniting a trail of electric sensations in their wake. He towered over you, a commanding presence that left you breathless, and one of his hands delicately cupped your face, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip with a gentle intensity that sent your heart racing.

"Lie back," he murmured.

Your fingers quivered with anticipation as you nodded, succumbing to the electric tension in the air. Slowly, you eased yourself back onto the mattress, adjusting your position so you could lie flat against the soft bedding.

Mattheo prowled around the perimeter of the bed, his intense gaze scorching your skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Each step he took seemed deliberate, his movements exuding a raw, primal energy. After a moment, he paused, his fingers deftly working on the buttons of his bloodied dress-shirt. With a fluid motion, he peeled off the fabric, revealing the chiseled contours of his chest. His pants followed suit, dropping to the floor until he stood before you in just his boxers.

From this angle, the sight of him made your cheeks flush and your breath hitch in your throat. The raw masculinity and confidence he exuded was both breathtaking and overwhelming, leaving you yearning for more as he loomed over the bed, the outline of his throbbing cock straining the fabric of his boxers doing unspeakable things to your body--the sight of it against the background of hard, tense muscle made you clench, and you bit your lip to hide a moan that was sneaking its way out of your mouth.

And even though you knew he noticed, he said nothing, even as his knee dropped into the mattress, even as he shifted, crawling over you, until he hovered above you, looking more fucking angelic than he ever had before, looking like a man filled with devotion, passion and need.

"Mattheo..." fear was mixing with the pull of lust. You'd never seen him like this. "Matty, I--"

"Shh," he said, pushing a strand of hair away from your temple. "Relax for me, princess..."

You drew in a shaky breath, and nodded--and his lips pressed into yours, plush and wet, before he moved, leading a tingling line of kisses down your cheek, to your jawline, to your neck. Leaning in, he caressed your throat with his warm mouth and you gasped, back arcing into him. In response, Mattheo purred, laying layer after layer of soft, wet marks on your sensitive flesh. One large hand slid down your arm while he kissed his way to your breast, nuzzling his cheek into the valley of your chest before drawing a nipple between his lips.

A cry escaped you, your hips bucking into his abdomen. "Oh, Gods..."

"Shh," he said again. "Relax, angel..."

The nickname he called only made you want to writhe more. Your mind internally fucking screaming with need. Taking a deep breath, you nodded anyway.

"My angel," he repeated, planting slow, soft kisses on your stiffening bud. "My fucking sweet little angel..."

He took your nipple into his mouth again, moaning while he suckled it swollen, his hands painting pleasure on your swathes of naked, aching skin. You whimpered, nibbling on your lip to silence any sound, hands slowly slithering their way through his messy, yet beautiful fucking hair. As you tightened your grip on his strands, a groan slipped past his teeth, and he flicked the tip of your peak with his tongue before releasing it, mouth making a hot trail along your navel, his hands massaging up and down the outside of your thighs.

"You're doing so well," he whispered into your stomach. "You're so fucking beautiful..."

"Matty..." you whined, his words creating a storm of bliss in your chest. You didn't know what else to say.

"Keep being good for me..." he kissed his way to the mound of your pussy, holding a rumble in his chest as his lips grazed the top of your slit. "Are you ready?"

Are you ready? He just fucking asked if you were ready. As you gazed at him, his pink lips glistening with saliva, eyes smoldering with desire, the answer became crystal clear.

"Yes," you said. "Yes, I'm ready."

Without further hesitation, Mattheo lowered his head between your legs, your entire body jolting in pleasure as he licked a broad, flat band up your sex, feeling your fingers twirling in the curls of his hair. His mouth was hot and eager as he showered your folds with deep, heavy kisses, sending shivers of delight throughout your entire being. Mattheo's hands held your thighs in place as he slicked his strong tongue in between your slit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your core. Your eyes were fixed upon him, unable to look away from the sight of him worshipping your cunt with his mouth.

"You taste incredible," he cooed, leaving soft kisses along the crease of your thighs. "You know that I thought about this little pussy everyday, don't you?"

Your breath hitched. "Y-you did?"

"Mmhm."

He returned to working his tongue along your inner-folds, gathering your juices along the tip, humming while he swallowed--he was deliberate, taking his time to memorize every bit of your pussy, to draw as much cum from your core as he could. You whined, your clit desperate for attention.

"Matty..." you pleaded, "please..."

Mattheo's gaze met yours as he hummed, sealing his lips around your swollen nub. The intensity of the pleasure collided into you, causing a wracking sob to escape your lips as your eyes closed in ecstasy. His grip tightened on your thighs, tugging you closer to his face. As he sucked on your clit, he gradually built up the pressure, block by block, pushing you towards the peak of orgasm.

Your hips relentlessly rolled into him, urgent moans filling the air as you fell further and further toward overwhelming bliss. "Fuck, Mattheo...Gods..."

His hands left your thighs, exploring your body, gripping and kneading any inch of flesh they could find, until they finally rested on your breasts, thumbs tracing small, gentle circles on your hardened nipples.

"Oh, fuck," you said, "fuck, fuck..."

As the intensity of your pleasure peaked, any words leaving your lips devolved into incoherent wailing. You teetered on the edge, straining against a wall of unrelenting bliss that threatened to overtake you completely. Then, with two hard sucks, Mattheo eased you over, drawing out your climax long and slow against his mouth. Ecstasy consumed you, numbing your skin as your limbs shook and trembled. Every sensation was intensified as he pulled you through wave after wave of pleasure, groaning as your juices coated his lips, your core throbbing and pulsing at his chin.

It felt like an eternity before he finally released you, dragging his tongue up the top of your slit as he panted and gasped for breath alongside you. The aftermath of your intense orgasm left both of you struggling to regain your senses.

Your head rolled along the mattress, lids fluttering open, hands petting at his hair. "Fuck, Mattheo...that was..."

"Shh." He licked his lips, gaze liquefying your center, and returned his focus to your belly, kissing a steady path to your sternum, his hands still stroking at your skin. "I need you to know how much I missed everything...and I mean fucking everything..."

"Oh," was all that left your mouth, teeth pinching your lip when it began to tremble.

"From your perfect fucking tits to your filthy little mouth..." one hand started to palm at your breast, the other still gliding up your side as he inched forward. "From those delicious fucking thighs to that pretty little pussy..." he was at your neck, now, rasping into it, the heat of his body enveloping you. "Every inch of you is fucking perfect...fuck the drugs Raven, you are my insatiable goddamn addiction..."

Every syllable that escaped his lips seemed to caress your very soul, igniting a wildfire of longing within you. His words were like a spell, weaving around your heart and wrapping you in a cocoon of desire. You craved him in a way that transcended the physical, a hunger that went bone-deep. It wasn't just the touch of his skin against yours that you yearned for; it was the merging of your essence, the melding of your souls into an ethereal dance of passion. You wanted to dissolve the boundaries between you, to lose yourselves in a realm crafted solely for your bodies, where every touch and sigh was a symphony of fervor.

And as you met his gaze, there it was, in his eyes--an unnamed emotion that pulsed between you, an unspoken truth that bound you together in a way words could never encapsulate. It was a force beyond reason, an irresistible pull that drew you closer, time after fucking time again.

"You once called me a plague but fuck...you have no fucking idea..." his voice, raw with desire, clawed its way out of his throat. "I haven't even fucked you, Raven...how the fuck have you done this to me?"

Your heart skipped a beat, fingers instinctively curling in his hair. "Do you want to?..."

Mattheo hesitated, as if time itself hung suspended. His eyes searched your face, seeking the truth in your words, and then, he answered, his voice a low rasp,

"Of course I do..." he breathed. "But after what happened tonight-"

"No," you cut him off, your body moving restlessly beneath his. "After what happened tonight, I only want you more...I've never fucking wanted you so fucking badly, Mattheo...it was you who defended me, not Tom, not Zabini, you...it's always been you..."

Mattheo's jaw tensed, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving. "You want me to fuck you..." he said, as though he was trying to make himself believe it. "You want me to take your virginity..."

You nodded, a silent confirmation of your desire, but Mattheo's fingers found their way to your jaw, his touch surprisingly gentle, yet firm. He held your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hesitation, any uncertainty.

"Say it, Raven," he murmured, his voice low and commanding. "You know I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to take your virginity."

Your breath caught in your throat, his proximity overwhelming your senses. With a shaky inhale, you met his intense gaze, your voice coming out as a mere whisper, "I want you to take my virginity, Mattheo."

"Fucking hell..." he breathed, the desire in his tone making your core scream. "You know that means-"

"I'm yours." You cut him off. "Even though all of this could fuck up my entire future, I don't care...I'm yours...I submit my sanity to the disaster that is sneaking around with you, Mattheo...I don't want the safe option, I don't want soft or subtle...I want dangerous, I want messy, I want sins...I fucking want you..."

"Salazar fucking save me..." he breathed after a long moment of staring at you, shifting himself to pull down his boxers, his throbbing cock springing free, smacking against his belly. "You really are a little fucking devil..."

You clenched at the sight of his dick, head glistening with precum, twitching insistently as he shifted, looping an arm under your neck and cradling your head, his face nestling into your neck while his other hand directed the head of his dick against your wet folds, slicking itself along your wetness, your entire body tensing at the foreign sensation.

He was so fucking big...you weren't sure if, "are you even going to fit...you're so fucking-"

"Shh, Raven." Mattheo huffed against your neck, angling back to meet your eyes, that devilish smirk plastered across his lips. "I'll make it fit."

At his words, you clenched again, unable to deny the intoxication of his primal arrogance, his eyes fixed on your face as he angled himself at your core now, the anticipation radiating off of him only fuelling your hunger, sending thrills through every inch of your body.

"Relax," he breathed, eyes boring into yours, the hand behind your head keeping you in place. "And look at me...I want you looking into my fucking eyes as you feel yourself stretching out for me..."

With a nod, you held his stare, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself inside of you, inch by inch, letting you gasp and wince while his thick length stretched you open, until he was fully sheathed within your tightness. The sensation was overwhelming, stretching you to your limit, beyond anything you ever thought possible, and Mattheo only seemed to grow harder with each gasp that left your lips. With him completely seated inside of your cunt, you felt him pulsing at the hilt, felt his already urgent need to cum inside of you. But instead of moving right away, he jerked you closer to his chest, his lips softly grazing yours as he brought his hand to cup your jaw.

"Are you okay?" His voice was torn, shredded, nearly unrecognizable.

You nodded, holding his eyes. "I'm okay."

"Shit, Raven..." a deep groan left his chest as he exhaled, pulling out and plunging back in as slowly and carefully as he had the first time. "You're so fucking tight...fuck..."

You mewled--between the passion in your chest and the newfound sensations between your legs, your head was spinning, something was close to bursting. His skin was so hot against you, and you gripped him tighter, another moan leaving your chest, chin shaking beyond your control, the pleasure and pain commingling in your mind as you surrendered to his skilled touch--Mattheo stared at you through it all with gleaming eyes before he smothered your lips with a kiss, burning and short.

"Is this what you wanted?" The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "Tell me..."

Your fingers dug into his skin, your voice torn between gasps. "Yes, Mattheo..." you mewled. "It's all I've wanted."

He leaned forward, lips feathersoft on yours, kissing you, still easing his cock into you with careful rolls of his hips. The grip at your head soothed your scalp--and you could feel it, could feel yourself blending with his body as he pushed deeper and deeper inside of you, could feel your pulses pounding in pace, could feel the unspoken, intangible harmony coiling in your blood.

"Who else can make you feel like this, hm?" His embrace constricted you, now, stilling you while he rocked deep into you, stuffing you full, his free hand travelling down your belly, grazing over your clit--and you choked, whimpered, limp in his arms. "Tell me who this tight little pussy fucking belongs to..."

The pleasure was overwhelming, earth shattering, entirely all encompassing. Your lids fluttered, your brain spinning. "Oh, Gods...oh my fucking-"

"Look at me, Raven..." he ordered, voice torn. "Look at me or I'll stop."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes, nails biting into his skin, heart pounding in your throat as you felt your sanity dangerously fucking close to shattering, your entire body encompassed in a pleasure that you've never known, a pleasure that only Mattheo fucking Riddle could give you, one that burns you from the inside out, one that shatters every inch of your resolve, leaving you bare before him.

"Tell me..." he whispered, his fingers twirling your clit. You could tell he was close, too. "Fuck...fucking say it…”

"You," you mewled, lost in the melted chocolate swirls of his irises. "It fucking belongs to you, Mattheo...fuck...only you..."

"Shit..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "You love being dirty for me..." his fingers whirled your clit faster. "You love being my nasty little slut, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, Mattheo..." you wailed, body trembling beneath him. "I love it..."

"Fuck--" A feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with long thrusts. "That's it..." he muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum--cum for me, let me feel you..."

You shattered. "Gods--Matty! Fuck..."

Euphoria rended you wide, tearing at the seams of your sanity, and you fractured, convulsing with the sheer strength of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, mouth meeting yours as he came, hips hitting you with every rush of rapture as he quickly followed after you, spilling his release inside your cunt. This seemed to last for minutes, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

You were wilted, spent, a collection of skin and cum and sweat, and when Mattheo finally pulled out, he slumped down on the mattress beside you, pulling you back into his chest, nothing but the collective sounds of your exhausted panting filling the air, neither of you willing to move even though you knew you couldn't stay here all night--but your drooping lids didn't care, your body succumbing to slumber without giving you a choice.

And as you drifted off, you couldn’t help but question how a boy who once had been the bane of your fucking existence, had now become the centre of it.

———————-

Find eighteen here->

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