#but i figured this was long enough already

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Part 1

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

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

Warning: FUTURE ANGST, mentions of past lovers, mentions of sex, cursing, kissing.

Word count: 13937

Rhysand's office was dimly lit, the soft glow of faelight casting long shadows over the dark mahogany furniture. The air smelled faintly of leather, ink, and the rich tang of spiced wine. Cassian leaned back in one of the armchairs, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, while Azriel sat with his customary stillness, though his eyes betrayed the warmth of someone entirely at ease. Rhysand, perched on the edge of his desk, held his own drink with the casual elegance he always seemed to exude.

“Remind me again,” Cassian said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Why do we still have to deal with these Illyrian males who think they’re gods’ gift to training camps? I’ve been dealing with one this week who couldn’t even hold his sword properly, and he still had the audacity to call himself a warrior.”

Rhysand snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “Because if we don’t, they’ll tear themselves apart—or worse, decide to revolt again. You’re good at handling them, Cass.”

“Good at handling them?” Cassian scoffed. “I’ve got three sons at home who listen better than most of those arrogant bastards.”

Rhysand smirked. “That says more about Nesta than it does you.”

Azriel chuckled softly, the sound rare but genuine. “How are your boys doing, anyway?”

Cassian’s face softened instantly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Torran’s growing too fast. He’s already outpacing me in drills. Emrys is still too young to care about swords, which drives Torran insane. And little Calen—” He shook his head, laughing. “That one’s going to be the death of me. He’s climbing everything he sees. Nesta caught him on the roof last week.”

Azriel raised a brow. “The roof?”

Cassian nodded grimly. “Nesta nearly burned the house down when she found him. I don’t know whether to be proud or terrified. Probably both.”

Rhysand laughed, tipping his glass toward Cassian. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“And you don’t?” Cassian shot back. “How’s Nyx? Still giving you and Feyre a run for your money?”

Rhysand sighed dramatically. “Thirteen is...a challenge. He’s inherited Feyre’s stubbornness and my sharp tongue, which is a dangerous combination.”

Cassian snorted. “Sounds like poetic justice to me.”

Rhysand ignored him. “He’s growing into his powers faster than we expected. Sometimes I don’t know whether to be proud or worried. Feyre’s convinced he’s going to be stronger than both of us one day.”

“He probably will be,” Azriel said simply, his voice laced with quiet confidence.

Rhysand tilted his head, considering. “Maybe. But I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Azriel shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Nyx will outpace you before you know it.”

Cassian grinned. “And then you’ll know what it feels like when your kids don’t need you to teach them anymore.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He turned to Azriel. “Speaking of kids, how’s Kaia?”

Azriel’s expression softened instantly, the shadows around him retreating. “She’s...perfect. Curious about everything. She spent half an hour today chasing after her own shadow, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t go away.” His voice was tinged with amusement and an unmistakable love.

Cassian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And YN? Is she keeping up with her?”

Azriel gave a quiet laugh. “Barely. Kaia’s too quick for her own good. YN says she’s going to start making me run after her when she gets tired.”

Rhysand smirked. “You always were the fastest, Az. Seems fitting.”

Azriel shot him a look, though it lacked any real venom. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re chasing Nyx through Velaris at two in the morning.”

Cassian laughed, raising his glass in a mock toast. “To fatherhood. The most exhausting battle we’ve ever fought.”

The other two raised their glasses, the clink of crystal filling the room.

Rhysand’s gaze flicked between them, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

Cassian nodded, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, we have.”

The door to Rhysand's office creaked open just enough for a small, tousled head to peek inside. Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked to the doorway, his eyes softening as Kaia’s little feet padded across the stone floor. Without hesitation, she ran straight to him, her tiny wings fluttering in a haphazard attempt to take off.

“Dada!” she squealed, her voice high-pitched and filled with excitement. She launched herself into his arms with a giggle, and Azriel caught her effortlessly, pulling her close.

“Kaia,” Azriel murmured, pressing a kiss to her messy hair. “What are you doing up, sweetheart?”

She tilted her head, big amber eyes that mirrored his looking up at him with feigned innocence. “I no want bath,” she said, wrinkling her little nose in distaste. Her chubby arms wrapped around him tighter. “Mama say I need bath... but I hide!”

Azriel’s lips twitched at the sight of her determination. “You hid from your mama to come find me?”

Kaia nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing with every movement. “Ye! I run real fast! Hide so no bath! No bath, Dada!” Her words were still jumbled with her toddler speech, but the meaning was clear enough.

Cassian leaned forward in his chair, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “What about me, huh? I don’t get a hug?”

Kaia squinted at him, brows furrowing as if trying to understand. After a moment, she shook her head and pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You too loud!” she declared with absolute certainty, her little lips pouting. “You talk all da time. I no like.”

Cassian laughed, throwing his head back. “Too loud? I’m the fun one, Kaia. You can’t just pick favourites like that.”

But Kaia was already halfway out of his reach, shifting in Azriel’s lap as she snuggled in closer to him. Her tiny hands reached up and tugged at Rhysand’s dark hair, as if the pull of his long strands was just too tempting.

“Rhysie,” she said with a giggle, her toddler voice softening the name into something both endearing and mischievous. Rhysand chuckled, allowing her to yank on his hair without complaint.

“You’re a little troublemaker, Kaia,” Rhysand said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as she pulled harder, then instantly snuggled back into Azriel’s side.

“Don’t pull on Rhysie’s hair, sweetling,” Azriel said gently, though there was a fond smile on his face. He wrapped an arm tighter around her as she cuddled against his chest, clearly not bothered by his warning.

“No bath!” Kaia protested again, her speech barely coherent as she pouted. “Mama no get me! I run! I hide!” She giggled again, clearly proud of herself. “Mama say I need clean. I say no! I say no bath, no bath, no bath!”

Azriel shook his head, chuckling softly as he ran his fingers through her dark hair. “You’re very clever, little one.” He looked at the others, sharing a silent understanding that there was no way Kaia was going back to the bath tonight.

Cassian grinned. “Alright, no bath. But only if you tell me a secret first, Kaia.”

She leaned back in Azriel’s lap, her tiny face scrunched up in thought. “A secret?” she asked, sounding very serious for a two-year-old.

“Yes, a secret,” Cassian insisted. “Tell me something nobody else knows.”

Kaia looked around the room, her eyes narrowing as she thought harder. Then, after a long pause, she smiled brightly. “I cookies,” she whispered loudly, leaning in to make sure Cassian heard. “I no share cookie.”

Everyone laughed, even Rhysand shaking his head with a smile. “That’s a secret?” he teased.

Kaia nodded vigorously. “Big swecret!” she insisted, then looked up at Azriel with all the sweetness in the world. “Dada... no bath?”

Azriel kissed the top of her head. “No bath tonight, sweetheart. But you’ve gotta let me have a drink with the guys now, okay?”

Kaia looked at him seriously, her little brows furrowing. “I no want drink. I want you,” she said, her tone pleading.

Azriel’s heart softened. “I’m here,” he whispered. “Always.”

Kaia settled back into his arms, clearly satisfied. “Okay, Dada. You stay.”

Kaia, content and warm in Azriel’s arms, relaxed into him, her little body soft and pliable as she burrowed closer. Azriel’s wings adjusted slightly, folding around her like a protective cocoon as she curled up against his chest, her tiny hands clasping at the fabric of his tunic. Her hair—so dark and wild—spilled across his arm, and her breath came slow and steady as she began to doze off, her toddler body relaxing against the weight of his warmth.

The low murmur of conversation from the men around them filled the air, but Kaia wasn’t paying attention. Instead, her tiny fingers traced the markings on his arm absentmindedly, her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. She was already half asleep, the soft and steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her further.

Cassian was leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, giving Azriel a teasing look. "You know, I thought Azriel was the quiet one," he said, glancing toward Rhysand with a raised brow. "But now we’ve got the next generation in here, and she’s already taking after her dad. Quiet as a shadow."

Azriel chuckled softly, a quiet sound that only made Kaia snuggle deeper into him. “She doesn’t stay quiet when she wants something,” he murmured, though his voice held the tenderness that came with his love for her.

Rhysand, ever the calm presence, took a slow sip of his drink. “She has a strong will,” he said thoughtfully. “Wonder where she got that from? You or my sister?” He shot a playful glance toward Azriel.

Azriel only gave him a quiet look of warning, his fingers running through Kaia’s soft hair as her breath deepened, little snores just beginning to escape her. He spoke in a low, affectionate tone. “She’s more than just willful. She’s clever. She knows how to get what she wants.”

Cassian grinned. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger already, doesn’t she?”

Azriel’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, his wings fluttering lightly in the quiet, the weight of her trust settling over him. “She knows exactly how to work her way around me.”

“She’s two,” Cassian teased. “Wait until she’s ten, and she’ll have you wrapped up in knots.”

“I’ll be ready,” Azriel said with a soft smile, though the idea of her growing up so quickly left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. He kissed her forehead gently, almost imperceptibly, as she murmured something unintelligible in her sleep.

The conversation drifted away from him as he allowed himself to enjoy this brief, peaceful moment with his daughter, the calm of the room enveloping them. But as the men continued to talk, there was a soft shuffle of footsteps, and Kaia’s small head jerked up from Azriel’s chest, her sleepy eyes blinking rapidly.

“Dada,” she whispered, her little voice thick with sleep. “Mama?”

Azriel stroked her hair gently, reassuring her. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Go back to sleep.”

But Kaia’s curiosity had already taken over. She sat up suddenly, rubbing her eyes as she looked around the room. "Mama? I hide!” she said with a gleam of mischief in her voice, suddenly more awake and alert. Her eyes darted across the room as if calculating the best place to hide from YN. Without warning, she hopped off Azriel’s lap, her tiny wings fluttering in excitement. She scampered to the couch and dove under the blanket with an exaggerated puff of air, pulling it over her head, only her little feet sticking out.

Azriel watched her with a fond, amused expression, shaking his head slightly. “Kaia, you can’t keep hiding from Mama,” he warned softly, though there was no real reprimand in his tone.

Kaia’s voice came from under the blanket, muffled but still clear. “Mama no find me,” she said with utter confidence. Her tiny legs wiggled, her feet kicking the blanket in her excitement. “I hide, Dada! I good at hide!”

Cassian and Rhysand both chuckled at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes twinkled as he looked over at Azriel. “Looks like she’s more like you than we thought. You used to hide from your problems too.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look. “I don’t hide.”

“Of course not,” Rhysand said smoothly, though there was an unmistakable smirk on his face. “Kaia certainly doesn’t.”

Kaia, apparently content with her decision to hide, made little giggling noises from beneath the blanket. Azriel’s wings unfolded slightly in amusement, and he reached for her, gently pulling back the blanket to find her face all scrunched up in concentration as she tried to remain hidden.

“I see you, little one,” Azriel said softly, and Kaia’s giggles broke free as she peeked out, eyes wide with a mix of delight and mischief.

“I’m good hide, Dada!” she announced, her tiny hands still clutching at the blanket.

Azriel smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her face as she crawled back onto his lap, snuggling against him once more. “You are, sweetheart. But no more hiding from Mama. She’s coming.”

Kaia frowned for a moment, but the promise of staying with her daddy seemed to cheer her up. “No Mama. No bath,” she muttered, her speech still jumbled but full of intent. “Hide more!”

Azriel chuckled, knowing full well that this little one would give her mama a run for her money.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway before the door to Rhysand’s office creaked open, and you stepped inside. Immediately, your eyes flicked to the sight before you—Azriel, seated comfortably in one of the chairs, his dark wings enveloping his daughter, who was curled up in his lap, asleep but still warm from the lingering glow of her playful energy.

You smirked as you took in the scene. Cassian and Rhysand were deep in conversation, but both looked up at you the moment you entered, the tension of their talks easing into an unspoken amusement. They’d seen that look before—the one where you were hunting for something (or someone) you didn’t want to admit was far too skilled at evading capture.

“I’m searching for a runaway,” you said with a teasing lilt to your voice, crossing your arms. Your gaze fell onto the small figure tucked against Azriel’s chest, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her little body completely at ease despite her escape attempt.

Azriel’s head tilted slightly as he met your eyes, and a soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You mean Kaia, don’t you?” Rhysand’s voice was dry, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “I’m sure she’s hiding from you because she knows exactly what’s coming.”

“I’m sure she’s just lost in thought,” Azriel replied, though the way he shifted Kaia gently in his arms suggested he was trying to keep her in her comfortable cocoon. “She was really adamant about not needing a bath.”

“Oh, she’s very good at that,” you said, walking further into the room. “I thought I’d check in with you guys, but it looks like you’ve got her well in hand.” You looked pointedly at Azriel, whose face had softened as he ran his fingers through Kaia’s hair.

Kaia shifted in Azriel’s lap, her eyes half-lidded, but she was still awake, and the moment she heard your voice, her little face scrunched up in exaggerated suspicion. She slowly lifted her head, her tiny wings fluttering behind her as she tried to blink the sleep from her eyes.

“No Mama!” Kaia protested, throwing her arms over her face as if it would somehow shield her from the inevitable. “Hide! I hide, no bath!”

You sighed dramatically, taking a step closer, feigning exasperation. “Kaia, sweetheart, don’t you want to be all nice and clean for the night? I was just coming to check on my two favourite people, but I see that one of them is being a little troublemaker.” You crouched down in front of her, smiling at her defiant little pout.

She peeked from beneath her arms, and her lip trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “No Mama. No bath. I hide. I hide from Mama, Dada.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his voice low and soothing. “She’s good at hiding, love. I’ve tried to tell her it’s not going to work.”

“Oh, I know it won’t work,” you said, reaching out to pull the blanket off her tiny form. “But it’s adorable to watch her try.”

Kaia giggled as the blanket was pulled away, exposing her to you. Her small hands shot up to her face again in an attempt to shield herself. “No, no, no bath! I hide. I good hide!”

“You are a very good hider, sweetheart.” You reached down to scoop her up gently, ignoring her protest. She squirmed a little but melted against you when she realized there was no escape. “But no more running. It’s time for a bath.”

Kaia, however, wasn’t about to give up so easily. “I no need bath,” she declared with a loud puff of air. “I already clean! I clean!”

Rhysand’s laugh echoed through the room. “I believe that’s a no, then.”

You shot him a quick, amused glance. “A very determined no, at that. I think she might be more stubborn than any of us.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gazed at Kaia, still nestled against you. “She gets that from her mother.”

“She might also get it from her father,” you teased, raising an eyebrow as you shifted Kaia onto your hip.

“Not that much,” Azriel protested, though the warmth in his voice made it clear he didn’t mind at all.

“I’ll let you both deal with her when she’s three,” you said, already walking toward the door with Kaia clinging to you like a tiny koala. “For now, she’s still in the stage where she’s cute enough to get away with anything.”

Cassian laughed. “Good luck with that, YN. I’ve had a lot of practice with troublemakers, but I’m pretty sure Kaia’s going to be next-level.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’m well aware, Cassian.”

Azriel’s eyes followed you as you walked out the door, Kaia’s arms wrapped tightly around you. “You sure you want to take her?”

You glanced back at him and smiled, a playful glint in your eyes. “She’s your daughter, Azriel. I think you’ve had your turn.”

Kaia let out a loud whine, her small hand tugging at your collar. “No bath!” she repeated, her toddler words still as adorably clear as ever. “I no bath, Mama!”

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” you said, kissing her forehead.

As you carried Kaia toward the door, her little protests still filling the air, you paused and turned back to the three men lounging in the office. Cassian was leaning so far back in his chair it looked like he might tip over, Rhysand was swirling his drink with all the leisure of a man who had nothing but time, and Azriel—well, Azriel was looking at you with that calm, unruffled expression, even though you knew he was just as guilty as the other two.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You know, I have a theory,” you said, bouncing Kaia slightly as she rested her head against your shoulder.

“A theory, hmm?” Rhysand drawled, one brow arching as he took another slow sip of his drink. “Do enlighten us.”

You smirked. “It’s funny how every time Feyre, Nesta, and I are up to our necks with the kids—” you glanced at Azriel meaningfully, “—all of you somehow end up here. Drinking. Relaxing. Laughing like life is oh-so-easy.”

Cassian snorted, his grin widening as he set his drink down. “We’re strategizing,” he said, far too defensively to be believable. “Important things. Illyrian training. You know, for the next generation.”

“Right,” you said, shifting Kaia to your other hip. “Strategizing. Because obviously, the best way to deal with a horde of screaming children is to sit in Rhysand’s office with a glass of whiskey.”

“I think it’s working,” Rhysand chimed in smoothly, giving you a wink. “Look how relaxed we are.”

Kaia, as if on cue, perked up just enough to lift her head and point a chubby finger at Rhysand. “Rhysie no help!” she declared, her toddler voice loud and certain.

You grinned. “Exactly, Kaia. Rhysie no help.” You turned toward the door, raising your voice just enough to carry down the hallway. “Nesta! You’ve got to come see this. The boys are in here strategizing while we’re busy running after all the kids.”

A moment later, you heard footsteps approaching, quick and purposeful, and then Nesta appeared in the doorway, her sharp gaze sweeping over the room. “Let me guess,” she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Drinking and lounging while we’re doing all the work?”

Cassian, who had the audacity to look pleased to see her, leaned back even further in his chair. “We’re taking a much-needed break, sweetheart. You know how exhausting strategizing can be.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Strategizing, huh? And what exactly have you been strategizing, Cassian?”

“Training,” Cassian replied smoothly. “The future. Our sons.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Of course. You’re strategizing, and we’re dealing with three boys who’ve decided that walls are optional for flying practice.”

Cassian sat up straighter, a smirk playing at his lips. “That sounds like good training to me.”

Nesta shot him a look that could have frozen the Sidra. “It’s destruction, Cassian.”

Kaia, catching onto the tension, buried her face against your shoulder, peeking out just enough to whisper, “Cassy in trouble?”

“Yes, Kaia,” you said, grinning. “Cassy’s in big trouble.”

Azriel, who had been quietly observing the exchange with an amused smile, finally spoke up. “To be fair,” he said softly, “the boys did ask for a break.”

“Of course they did,” you said, shaking your head. “Meanwhile, Feyre and I had to chase Nyx off the roof again, and Nesta’s youngest is trying to figure out how to set a trap for the twins.”

Rhysand chuckled, raising his glass toward Nesta. “To the mothers of the Inner Circle. The true warriors among us.”

Nesta raised a brow but didn’t take the bait. “You’re lucky we haven’t strung all of you up yet.”

Cassian leaned forward, grinning as he motioned toward the empty chair next to him. “Why don’t you join us, sweetheart? You deserve a break, too.”

Nesta sighed but finally walked over, claiming the chair with a regal grace. She glanced at you as you shifted Kaia again, who had started to drift off once more. “I’m not doing this alone, YN,” she said. “Feyre deserves to see this, too.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you replied, smirking as you moved toward the door. “I’m going to send her in next. Let’s see how long your little strategy session lasts once the rest of us are here.”

Azriel’s quiet laugh followed you out, and you heard Cassian groan, “She’s bluffing, right?”

Rhysand’s amused voice was the last thing you heard before you turned the corner. “You know better than that, Cassian.”

You didn’t make it far before you paused, a smirk creeping across your face. “You know what? Feyre does need to see this now.” Adjusting Kaia on your hip, you turned back toward the hallway and called out, “Feyre! You might want to come take a look at this.”

The sound of footsteps echoed moments later, and Feyre appeared, her hair slightly mussed, her expression one of mild exasperation. “What is it now? Did Nyx try to jump off something again?”

“Not this time,” you said, gesturing toward the office. “But you’ll want to see what our fearless mates and brothers are up to while we’re busy chasing after their children.”

Feyre raised a brow and stepped into the room, her gaze sweeping over the scene—the three men lounging in comfort, glasses of whiskey in hand, all looking far too pleased with themselves.

“Well, well,” Feyre said, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “What do we have here? A secret meeting?”

Rhysand’s lips curved into a slow smile as he gestured to the empty seat next to him. “Join us, darling. We were just discussing the intricacies of basic Illyrian training.”

Feyre scoffed, striding further into the room. “Basic Illyrian training, hmm? Is that what you call this little boys’ club?”

“I think it’s cute,” you chimed in, bouncing Kaia slightly as she started to squirm. “They’re pretending they’re doing something important while we’re out there making sure their children don’t destroy Velaris.”

Nesta, still seated beside Cassian, smirked and gestured toward Feyre. “Take a seat. I’m sure they’ll explain how their ‘strategizing’ is critical to the survival of the Night Court.”

Feyre shook her head, but there was amusement in her eyes as she looked at Rhysand. “You know, Rhys, I’m starting to think we deserve a break.”

“A break?” Rhysand echoed, tilting his head. “From what, darling? Surely you’re not suggesting life with our children is anything less than a joy.”

You snorted. “Oh, it’s a joy, alright. Especially when Nyx decides to start a game of tag on the roof, or Cassian’s boys decide to see if they can break through a wall with their wings.”

“They’re learning structural integrity,” Cassian said defensively, though his grin betrayed him.

“And how exactly is that helping us?” Nesta asked, her tone sharp as she fixed him with a glare. “Do you know how many walls we’ve had to repair this month?”

Azriel stayed quiet, his hand lightly rubbing Kaia’s back as she snuggled against him, but his lips twitched in amusement.

Feyre stepped closer to Rhysand, placing her hands on the back of his chair. “You know, I think we deserve a week off. No kids. Just us. Let’s see how well you three manage without us.”

Rhysand arched a brow, his voice smooth as silk. “A week off? Are you implying we can’t handle our own children?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shifting Kaia again as she started to doze off. “Can you handle Kaia’s nightly escape attempts? Or Nyx’s tendency to challenge gravity at every opportunity?”

Nesta smirked. “What about when the twins decide they’re inventing a new game that requires smashing furniture?”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Please. We’ve handled far worse.”

“Oh, really?” Feyre asked, her tone dripping with challenge. “Then let’s make it official. One week. No help. No Feyre, no YN, no Nesta. Just the three of you and all the kids.”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gave her a slow, considering smile. “And what would the three of you be doing during this week of freedom?”

“Anything we want,” you replied immediately, grinning. “No schedules. No messes to clean. No nightly tantrums.”

Nesta’s voice was firm. “And no repairing walls.”

Azriel glanced down at Kaia, his gaze softening. “You’d really leave us alone for a week?”

“Yes,” you said, though your heart warmed at the way he was glancing at your daughter. “And you’d survive. Maybe.”

Cassian grinned, leaning toward Azriel and Rhysand. “Come on, boys. How hard could it be?”

Rhysand’s gaze flicked toward Feyre, full of mischief. “Challenge accepted.”

Feyre smirked. “You’ll regret that by the end of the first day.”

You laughed, Kaia stirring slightly as you kissed the top of her head. “We’ll pack our bags tonight. Good luck, gentlemen. You’re going to need it.”

You grinned, shifting Kaia onto your hip as you leaned against the doorframe. “You know, Feyre, Nesta, and I could always go to the Day Court for the week. Helion would love to take us in. No kids, plenty of sunshine, and a lot less chaos.”

Cassian sat up straight, feigning offense. “The Day Court? You’d betray us like that?”

“Oh, it’s not betrayal,” Nesta said with a smirk, tapping her fingers on the armrest of her chair. “It’s survival. And besides, Helion has excellent taste. He knows how to treat his guests.”

Rhysand arched a brow at Feyre, his expression amused. “You’d run off to Helion? Really, darling? Aren’t I enough?”

Feyre tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Well, Helion does throw very good parties. And he doesn’t make me chase a child off the roof.”

Before Rhysand could respond, a loud, familiar voice interrupted.

“NO!”

Nyx came barreling into the room, his curls bouncing as he skidded to a stop in front of you. His eyes were wide with panic, and his wings flared slightly behind him as he planted himself firmly in your path.

“You can’t leave them in charge!” Nyx declared, pointing dramatically at his father, Cassian, and Azriel. “Not again! They’ll ruin everything!”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his expression equal parts amused and offended. “Excuse me, young man. What exactly are you accusing us of?”

Nyx turned on him, his hands on his hips. “The last time you were in charge, Uncle Cassian said I could ‘fly like an Illyrian,’ and then—” He flapped his arms wildly for emphasis. “And then I broke my arm!”

Cassian burst out laughing, clapping a hand on his chest. “That was a learning experience, Nyx. Every Illyrian has to learn how to fall at some point.”

“I didn’t fall!” Nyx shouted, glaring at him. “You threw me!”

“I did not throw you!” Cassian protested, though his grin was far too wide to be convincing.

Nyx crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “You threw me, and then you told Mama it was an accident. I’m still not allowed to go anywhere with you by myself!”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath about reckless behavior and bad influences. “He’s not wrong, Cassian. You did throw him.”

“I helped him fly,” Cassian corrected, raising his hands defensively.

Nyx turned to you, his expression pleading. “You can’t leave us with them! Uncle Azriel doesn’t even let me hold his knives, and Dad just makes me sit and listen to boring stories about being High Lord.”

Azriel chuckled quietly from his seat, his hand still resting protectively on Kaia’s back as she began to doze. “I’m not letting you hold my knives, Nyx. You’re thirteen, not thirty.”

Nyx huffed, his wings twitching in frustration. “I can fight! I’m strong!”

“You’re also grounded,” Feyre said firmly, cutting off whatever argument he was about to make. “And if you’re trying to talk us out of going to the Day Court, it’s not working.”

Nyx’s eyes widened as he looked between you, Feyre, and Nesta. “You’re really going to leave me with them? Mama, you can’t!”

Rhysand smirked, leaning forward to ruffle Nyx’s hair. “Don’t worry, son. We’ll take excellent care of you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Nyx muttered darkly, stepping away and turning toward the door. “I’m telling Aunt Amren. She’ll stop you.”

Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “Amren’s the one who suggested this in the first place. She said we’ve ‘earned’ it.”

You grinned, watching as Nyx stormed off, muttering under his breath about unfair treatment and irresponsible adults. Turning back to the three men, you tilted your head. “Well, there you have it. Even your own son doesn’t trust you to handle this.”

Rhysand sighed dramatically, lifting his drink. “Clearly, I’ve raised a traitor.”

Cassian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Rhys. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Azriel didn’t say a word, but the slight twitch of his wings and the quiet laugh that escaped him said everything.

You smiled sweetly, adjusting Kaia on your hip. “Let me know how that attitude works out for you when we’re gone. We’ll be sure to send Helion your love.”

Feyre and Nesta smirked in unison as you all turned to leave, already planning the week of freedom ahead.

-----

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after all the children had finally settled into sleep. Kaia had been tucked into her bed hours ago, her tiny wings carefully draped over her blanket as she drifted off without a care in the world. The boys had stayed up later than usual, their laughter echoing through the halls until Azriel finally sent them off to their rooms with firm but gentle reminders about the chaos they’d already caused today.

Now, it was just you.

You stood in the bedroom, a soft glow from the bedside lamp illuminating the suitcase open on the bed. You were methodically folding clothes—light dresses, comfortable shoes, and a few things Feyre and Nesta had sworn were “perfect for the Day Court.” A small smile tugged at your lips as you thought about the week ahead. The idea of a break, of sunshine and relaxation with no children demanding your attention, felt like a dream.

The door creaked open behind you, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“Still packing?” Azriel’s voice was soft, laced with that calm, steady warmth you adored.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching sight of him leaning against the doorframe. His hair was slightly tousled, his shoulders relaxed now that the day’s chaos had come to an end. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on the suitcase before meeting your eyes.

“You know,” he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you, “I could still talk you out of this.”

You smirked, turning back to the suitcase as you folded another dress. “Oh, you could, could you?”

He came to stand beside you, his wings rustling slightly as he leaned against the bedpost. “Absolutely,” he said, his tone low and teasing. “Just say the word, and I’ll convince Feyre and Nesta that this trip isn’t necessary.”

You raised a brow, glancing up at him with a playful smile. “And how exactly would you do that? Bribery? Threats? Or are you planning to charm us into staying?”

Azriel’s lips twitched, his hazel eyes shining with amusement. “I was thinking charm, actually. It usually works on you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you placed another item in the suitcase. “Not this time, Shadowsinger. I’m going, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

He watched you for a moment, his expression softening. “You deserve it,” he said quietly. “All of you do. But… Kaia’s going to miss you.”

You paused, your hands stilling on the edge of the suitcase. “Kaia’s going to miss me?” You looked at him, raising a skeptical brow. “She spent the entire day glued to your side, Az. If anything, she’s going to forget I exist.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he straightened. “She loves her mama. Even if she’s too stubborn to admit it sometimes.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the thought of your daughter. “She gets that from you, you know.”

He stepped closer, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, his touch gentle as he studied you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” you said, your voice softer now. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, his hand dropping to rest on your waist. “We’re both lucky to have you.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, the weight of the day melting away. His hand was warm against your side, grounding you in a way only he could.

“You’re really okay with this?” you asked quietly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. “Me leaving for a whole week?”

He smiled, a rare, genuine thing that made your heart flutter. “I’ll miss you,” he admitted, his thumb tracing small circles against your hip. “But I’ll survive. And so will Kaia. Somehow.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his wings folded slightly around you. “I don’t know who I should be more worried about—her or you.”

“Definitely me,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But I’ll try to manage without you.”

You tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. “You’ll do more than manage. You’ll be amazing. You always are.”

Azriel leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was both comforting and full of promise. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice a low murmur.

“Don’t worry about us. Just enjoy yourself, YN.”

“I will,” you promised, your heart swelling with love for the man before you.

As the silence stretched between you, Azriel’s gaze flickered to your lips, a familiar glint of mischief lighting his hazel eyes. His hand on your waist tightened slightly, pulling you just a fraction closer.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down your spine, “we still have some time before you leave.”

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “And what exactly are you suggesting, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel’s wings flared slightly, brushing against the edges of the room as he leaned in. His lips ghosted over yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath, but he didn’t close the distance. Not yet.

“I’m suggesting,” he said, his voice a soft rumble, “that maybe you should stay here and let me remind you of all the reasons you shouldn’t go.”

Your breath hitched as his free hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He dipped his head, his lips barely grazing your jaw as he whispered, “Starting with how much I’ve missed having you to myself.”

“Az,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone steady even as heat pooled in your chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm as his lips trailed along the curve of your neck. “I never said I would.”

Your hands found their way to his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunching under your fingers as you tried to catch your breath. “You’re not going to win, you know. I’m still going.”

His lips paused against your skin, and you felt the smirk that formed there. “Oh, I don’t need to win. I just need to make sure you remember me while you’re gone.”

Your laugh was breathless, and you tipped your head back, giving him better access as his kisses turned more insistent. “As if I could forget you.”

Azriel hummed, his wings curling slightly around you as his hands slid to your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Good,” he murmured, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of the kind of intensity that made your knees weak.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “One more thing,” he said, his voice rough with affection.

“What’s that?” you asked, your voice just as soft.

His lips curved into a smirk as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. “Make sure Helion knows you’re mine.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of warmth as you leaned into him. “I think he already knows, Az.”

“Good,” he said again, his tone playful yet possessive as he kissed you once more, this time with no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Azriel didn’t let you pull away—not that you wanted to. His lips moved against yours with that perfect blend of softness and urgency, his hands anchoring you firmly in place as though daring you to remember anything but him.

The suitcase on the bed was all but forgotten as he coaxed a sigh from you, his mouth tilting into a knowing smirk at your reaction.

“Az,” you murmured against his lips, your voice half-scolding, half-breathless.

“Hm?” he hummed, his tone utterly unrepentant as he kissed the corner of your mouth, then trailed down your jaw.

“You’re distracting me,” you managed, though your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt betrayed just how little you minded.

“Good,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and rough in a way that made your pulse flutter. “You’ve been so focused on everyone else, shadow,”—his favorite term of endearment for you, spoken so softly it made your heart ache—“it’s time someone focused on you.”

Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his words, even as his teasing lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“You know,” you said, your breath hitching when his teeth grazed your skin, “if you keep this up, Feyre and Nesta are going to show up in the morning, and I’m not going to be ready.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and sinful as he lifted his head to meet your gaze. “You don’t need to pack for the Day Court. You could stay here. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it even as you traced slow circles on his chest. “And what exactly would you do to make it worth my while?”

His hazel eyes darkened, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a full grin. “I’d start,” he said, his voice a silken promise, “by reminding you how much I love you. And then…” His wings flared slightly, his fingers tightening on your hips as he leaned in again.

“And then?” you pressed, your voice soft, unable to stop yourself from smiling at the way his gaze lingered on your lips.

“And then,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, “I’d spend the whole week making sure you never want to leave my side again.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, though it was breathless and tinged with heat. “Azriel,” you said, shaking your head even as your hands slid up to wrap around his neck, “you are completely incorrigible.”

“I’m your incorrigible husband,” he said, his lips curving as he kissed you again, slow and deep, until all thoughts of the Day Court faded into nothingness.

When you finally pulled away, your breathing uneven and your cheeks flushed, Azriel’s hands stayed firm on your waist, holding you close. His hazel eyes sparkled with satisfaction, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head as you tried to regain your composure.

“And you love me for it,” he teased, leaning down to brush another soft kiss to your temple.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately for me.”

Azriel chuckled, his wings shifting as he stepped back just enough to give you space. “I’ll leave you to finish packing—if you insist on going, that is.”

“If I insist?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

His smirk deepened, and he lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Go to the Day Court. But don’t be surprised if I show up halfway through the week to bring you home.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to the suitcase on the bed. “Kaia would never forgive you if you left her for that long.”

“She might forgive me if I brought her to you,” he countered, his voice softening at the thought of your daughter.

“She’d love it,” you admitted, glancing over your shoulder at him. “But I think you can handle a week without me. Besides, Helion’s already promised Feyre, Nesta, and me the royal treatment.”

Azriel’s wings twitched, a subtle flicker of something possessive crossing his face before he hid it behind a playful smile. “You’ll be back before you know it.”

“Miss me already?” you teased, folding the last of your clothes and placing them in the suitcase.

“Always,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart stutter.

You paused, turning fully to face him. For a moment, you just looked at him—the man who had been your partner in everything, who had stood by your side through chaos and calm, who adored you and your daughter more than anything in the world.

Stepping closer, you reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. “I love you,” you said softly, the words carrying all the weight of your feelings.

Azriel leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “And I love you.”

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a cocoon. Then, with a final lingering kiss, Azriel stepped back, his hands falling to his sides.

“I’ll check on Kaia before I head to bed,” he said, his voice low.

You nodded, your heart swelling as you watched him leave the room, his shadows trailing after him.

And as you turned back to the suitcase, you couldn’t help but smile, already counting down the days until you’d be back in his arms again.

-----

The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, bathing the room in soft, golden hues. You stirred slowly, the warmth of Azriel’s arms wrapped securely around you, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing. For a moment, you just lay there, savoring the feeling of being tucked against him, his wings sprawled protectively around your form.

His face was relaxed in sleep, the lines of tension from the previous days gone, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at the way he looked—vulnerable and at peace. You pressed your face against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly Azriel—earthy, comforting, and home.

But as much as you wanted to stay there forever, the thought of the day ahead pulled you from the warmth of his embrace. You sighed quietly, trying not to disturb him as you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. The soft rustle of the blankets seemed to stir Azriel’s senses, and you felt him shift behind you, pulling you closer as though trying to keep you there.

“Five more minutes,” he murmured against the back of your neck, his voice thick with sleep.

You chuckled softly, turning your head to plant a kiss on his jaw. “You know I have to go, right?”

Azriel groaned, his arms tightening around you. “I know,” he mumbled, but there was a hint of reluctance in his tone. “But I can’t let you leave yet.”

You laughed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon. Besides, Feyre and Nesta will never let us hear the end of it if we’re late.”

“Mm, they’re already too excited to get away,” he muttered, nuzzling against your neck with a final sigh of contentment. But after a moment, he released you, the warmth of his body leaving a cold spot on the bed.

Reluctantly, you slid out of bed, the cool air of the room instantly making you miss the heat of his touch. You moved to the closet, pulling out your outfit for the day, but as you dressed, you could feel Azriel’s eyes on you, his presence heavy and comforting.

Once you were dressed, you turned back to the bed. Azriel had propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze fixed on you with that dark, intense look he always wore when he was lost in thought.

“You’re really going to leave me?” he asked, his voice soft but with an undercurrent of affection.

You smiled, walking over to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. “I have to. I’ll miss you, too, though.”

He nodded, and for a moment, you stood there together, soaking in the last few moments before the day began in full force.

After a final kiss, you left the bedroom, stepping out into the hall. The house was already stirring, and as you walked toward the stairs, you heard the sound of voices below. When you reached the kitchen, you found the familiar sight of Cassian, Rhysand, and your little Kaia sitting at the table.

Kaia’s tiny feet dangled from the chair as she babbled happily, her wide, bright eyes sparkling up at Rhysand, who was teasing her with a piece of fruit. Cassian sat beside her, his boisterous laugh filling the room as he ruffled her hair. His sons were still nowhere to be seen, probably still asleep, which seemed to be a rare luxury in the chaos of their usual routine.

“Well, well,” you said, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “Look who’s in charge of the kids this morning.”

Cassian looked up, grinning ear to ear. “Someone has to keep an eye on them while you take your luxurious break.”

Rhysand glanced up from where he was sitting next to Kaia, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re welcome. Though, I don’t know why you’re so eager to leave us. Kaia seems pretty happy here.”

Kaia giggled, reaching up to grab at Rhysand’s hair, tugging on it with all the strength her tiny hands could muster. “Rhysie!” she said, her voice lisping around the word as she giggled.

You shook your head with a small laugh. “She really is a handful, isn’t she?”

“She’s a delight,” Rhysand said, his tone dry as he pulled his hair out of her grasp. “I’m just glad I’m not the one who has to deal with her tantrums.”

Cassian threw his head back with a laugh. “I can’t wait to hear what happens when it’s Azriel's turn to watch her this week.”

Before you could respond, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and you turned to find Feyre and Nesta walking into the kitchen, both already fully prepared for the trip.

“We’re ready to go,” Feyre announced with a grin, her bags slung over her shoulder.

“You two really can’t wait, can you?” you teased.

Nesta crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “We deserve this, YN. Don’t try to ruin our excitement.”

Feyre grinned. “I’ll second that. I think it’s about time we leave the chaos behind for a bit.”

You laughed, crossing the room to grab a cup of tea before setting your gaze on Rhysand and Cassian, who were now clearly in full babysitting mode.

“If any of them come back with bruises or broken limbs, I’m blaming you three,” you said, teasing.

Cassian held up his hands in mock defence. “We’ll be just fine. I promise, Kaia’s in good hands.”

“Besides,” Rhysand added, “you’ll be back before you know it.”

As the four of you gathered your things, laughter and light-hearted banter filled the air. But in the back of your mind, you knew Azriel would be there to handle everything while you were away. You just hoped the boys wouldn’t get too out of hand.

-----

The moment the last of the girls left, a tense silence descended over the room, hanging thick in the air. Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel stood there for a moment, exchanging glances as they mentally prepared themselves for what was about to unfold. They’d been through this before, but that didn’t make it any less challenging.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his wings barely brushing against the table. “Are we sure we can handle all of them?” he asked, though it wasn’t a question of doubt—more like a quiet observation.

Cassian grinned, clearly relishing the chaos. “Of course, we can. How hard can it be? It’s just kids, after all,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He shot a glance at Rhysand. “And don’t you dare try to say it’s ‘too much,’ Rhys. You’ve survived worse.”

Rhysand sighed but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “True. But we’ve never had this many all at once.”

The sound of little feet padding into the room interrupted the conversation, and soon the three boys—Torran, Emrus, and Calen—came stumbling in, their messy hair and sleep-rumpled faces betraying that they had just woken up. Their eyes were still half-lidded as they slowly blinked at the scene before them: three fully-grown men standing in a kitchen, attempting to look responsible.

“Dad?” Torran rubbed his eyes sleepily, looking at Cassian. “What’s for breakfast?”

Emrus yawned loudly, his hand rubbing his face. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled, barely opening his eyes as he looked at Rhysand, trying to look as cute as possible to get out of a scolding.

Calen, who was the youngest of the three, immediately latched onto his father’s leg, hiding behind it and peering up at the three men. “Daddy,” he said quietly, a bit unsure of the situation. “Where’s Mom?”

Cassian ruffled his hair affectionately. “She’s off on a much-needed vacation, remember? It’s just us today. And don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

Azriel gave a small, half-amused smile, glancing toward Rhysand and Cassian. “This is going to be fun,” he muttered under his breath.

The sound of more footsteps followed soon after, as Nyx walked in, still looking half-asleep but clearly already aware of the shift in the atmosphere. His eyes immediately flickered from Azriel to the boys, and then he gave a soft sigh, knowing exactly what his father was about to ask him to do.

“Dad, I’m not babysitting them,” Nyx grumbled, clearly tired of the routine.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Rhysand. “You’re not. You’re the oldest; it’s your job to make sure they don’t set the house on fire.”

Rhysand snorted, shooting Azriel a knowing look. “He’s right, Nyx. Just keep an eye on them for now. You’re the only one who can make sure Cassian doesn’t let them eat their weight in pastries before noon.”

Cassian threw his hands up in mock offense. “I don’t always spoil them,” he said dramatically. “But I do know what the kids like.”

Nyx rolled his eyes but nodded, knowing he was essentially outnumbered. He moved to sit at the table and begin slouching in the chair, obviously dreading the next few hours.

Just then, Kaia—Azriel’s little two-year-old—wobbled around room, her hair a wild mess of dark curls, her wide, curious eyes scanning the scene before her. She let out a cheerful giggle when she saw her dad and immediately ran toward him.

“Dada!” Kaia called, her baby voice high-pitched and full of excitement as she tried to climb onto his lap.

Azriel’s face softened as he scooped her up, settling her on his knee. “Hey, little one,” he said, his voice tender as he brushed a stray curl from her face. “What are you up to?”

“I want pannycake!” she declared loudly, bouncing on his lap as if that would make her demand more convincing.

“Of course you do,” Azriel said, half-amused and half-resigned. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Rhysand, with a resigned sigh, stepped over to the counter and grabbed the breakfast supplies. “Looks like it’s up to us to feed the masses today,” he muttered. “Anyone want to help?”

Cassian clapped his hands together, standing up with a grin. “You bet. Let’s make this an event.”

Torran, Emrus, and Calen started to gather around the counter, already too excited by the idea of food to care about their previous grumpy moods. Kaia, now securely in Azriel’s arms, pointed enthusiastically at the pancakes and asked, “Can I have bwuebewwies?”

“You can have whatever you want,” Azriel replied with a smile, brushing a kiss to the top of her head. He could already see that he was going to be wrapped around her little finger for the foreseeable future.

As the group settled into their roles, Rhysand began heating up the pan, Cassian retrieved various ingredients with unnecessary enthusiasm, and Nyx slouched in his seat, trying to act like he wasn’t already mentally preparing himself for the chaos ahead.

“Should we make this a competition?” Cassian asked, his tone light as he bounced between tasks. “See who can get the kids fed and settled fastest?”

Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re insane. But I’m in.”

Nyx groaned. “I’m too old for this.”

Cassian barely had time to react before Torran, Emrus, and Calen launched themselves at him, a unified flurry of arms, legs, and battle cries.

“Attack!” Torran shouted, his voice ringing with the authority of the eldest as he tackled Cassian around the middle.

Emrus scrambled to climb onto his father’s back, giggling uncontrollably. “We’ve got you now, Dad!”

Calen, not wanting to be left out, latched onto Cassian’s leg, his little hands gripping tightly as he added his own gleeful shout to the chaos.

Cassian staggered under the weight of all three boys, laughing as he tried to fend them off. “You think you can take me down?” he bellowed dramatically, his voice booming through the kitchen. “I’m a General! You’ll never defeat me!”

“You’re outnumbered, Dad!” Torran crowed, attempting to wrestle Cassian to the ground.

Azriel leaned casually against the counter, Kaia still perched on his hip, her little hands gripping his tunic as she watched the spectacle unfold with wide eyes. “Should we help him, sweetheart?” Azriel asked, his tone amused.

Kaia tilted her head, considering it for a moment before shaking her head firmly. “Nope. Cassy too loud,” she declared, her baby voice cutting through the noise.

Rhysand snorted from his spot near the stove, where he was flipping pancakes. “Looks like you’re on your own, Cassian.”

Cassian shot Rhysand an exaggerated glare. “Some High Lord you are, Rhys. Aren’t you supposed to lead by example?”

“I am,” Rhysand said smoothly, gesturing to the pancakes with a flourish. “I’m feeding your troops. It’s called strategy.”

As Cassian’s boys continued their assault, Nyx, who had been watching with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, got up from his chair and walked over to Kaia. He crouched down so he was at her eye level, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey, Kaia,” he said gently, reaching out to brush a stray curl from her face. “You wanna get out of here before things get even crazier?”

Kaia blinked at him, her tiny hand clutching Azriel’s sleeve as she considered his offer. “We go?” she asked, her voice curious.

“Somewhere quiet,” Nyx replied, standing up and holding out his hand to her. “Trust me, this week is going to be a mess. We’ve got to stick together, okay?”

Kaia looked up at Azriel, her big dark eyes questioning. Azriel chuckled softly, setting her down on the floor. “Go on, sweetheart,” he said. “Nyx will take care of you.”

Kaia slipped her tiny hand into Nyx’s, her trust in him absolute. Nyx gave her a reassuring smile before glancing back at the adults. “Good luck,” he said dryly, his tone making it clear he didn’t envy them one bit.

With that, Nyx led Kaia out of the kitchen, leaving the three grown men to handle the chaos that was quickly escalating behind them. Rhysand sighed, flipping another pancake onto the growing stack. “You know,” he said, addressing no one in particular, “this might actually kill us.”

Azriel smirked, his calm exterior never faltering. “Speak for yourself.”

Cassian, now pinned to the floor by his three sons, looked up with a mock glare. “You two are terrible friends.”

“Friends who are making breakfast,” Rhysand corrected, raising his spatula in a mock toast.

Cassian groaned, though his grin never wavered, and the sound of laughter filled the kitchen once more.

Cassian finally managed to wrestle himself free from his sons, standing up and dusting off his tunic with a grin. “You know,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, “maybe we should take this whole circus to the cabin.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, flipping the last pancake onto the growing stack. “The cabin? With all the kids?”

“Why not?” Cassian shrugged, his grin widening. “The boys have their Illyrian training this week anyway. They’ll burn off all their energy in the mountains, and we’ll have some breathing room to relax.”

Azriel, who had been silently wiping syrup off his hands after Kaia’s sticky breakfast adventure, froze. His sharp gaze snapped to Cassian, his wings shifting slightly as tension settled over him.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Azriel said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Cassian frowned. “Why not? It’ll be good for the kids, and you know the mountains are perfect for—”

“For the boys, maybe,” Azriel interrupted, his tone measured but with an edge of protectiveness. “But Kaia’s too little. She can barely lift off the ground, and the air pressure in the mountains is different. It’s hard even for fully grown Illyrians.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes thoughtful. “It’s not just the air pressure, is it?”

Azriel glanced at him, his expression unreadable, but they all knew him too well.

“The Illyrians…” Azriel finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “They don’t take kindly to females with wings. Kaia’s just a baby. I won’t let her be exposed to that kind of... prejudice.”

Cassian straightened, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with seriousness. “Az, no one’s going to say a damn thing to Kaia. And if they do, they’ll answer to me. Or Rhys. Or, hell, even the boys. You know we won’t let anything happen to her.”

Rhysand nodded in agreement. “And as for the air pressure, we’ll adjust. We won’t push her to fly or do anything strenuous. She’s your daughter, Azriel. She has all of us to protect her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, the tension in his shoulders still visible. “It’s not just about protection,” he murmured, looking down at his hands. “I don’t want her to feel... less. Or different.”

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, his grip firm. “She’s not less, and she’s not different. She’s Kaia, and she’s incredible. Those winged bastards at the camps don’t get a say in that. You’re her father. She’s got you—and us. That’s all she needs.”

Rhysand smiled softly, leaning forward. “She’s going to grow up knowing she’s loved and cherished. And when the time comes, if she has to face the world, she’ll do it with her head held high because she’ll know she has us behind her. Always.”

Azriel exhaled slowly, the tension in his body easing slightly at their reassurances. He glanced toward the doorway where Kaia had toddled off with Nyx. “She means everything to me,” he said softly.

“We know,” Rhysand said. “And that’s why we’ll all make sure she’s safe. You’re not doing this alone, Az.”

Before Azriel could respond, the sound of loud footsteps filled the air, followed by a cacophony of laughter. Torran, Emrus, and Calen came barreling through the room, yelling as they bolted toward the doorway.

“Nyx! Wait for us!” Torran called, his voice filled with excitement.

“We want to play too!” Emrus added, his little feet pounding against the floor.

Calen, the smallest, brought up the rear, his face lit up with pure joy. “Kaia! Come back!” he yelled, his high-pitched voice echoing as they all disappeared around the corner.

Cassian shook his head, a mixture of amusement and exasperation on his face. “There they go,” he muttered.

Rhysand smirked, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee. “They’re your sons, Cassian. You only have your lack of self-control to blame.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his eyes lingering on the doorway where his daughter had disappeared. Despite his concerns, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “They’re going to wear Nyx out,” he said, the hint of amusement clear in his tone.

Cassian grinned. “Good. That’ll make things easier for all of us.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his gaze settling on Azriel. “So, what do you say, brother? The cabin for a few days? We’ll make it work—for everyone.”

Azriel hesitated for only a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Fine. But if anything happens to Kaia—”

“Nothing will,” Cassian interrupted, clapping him on the back. “You have my word.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a small smile. “You better keep it.”

Cassian’s grin stretched ear to ear, his hazel eyes lighting up like a child who had just been handed his favorite toy. He slapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, his voice booming with excitement. “The cabin! This is going to be amazing!”

Azriel raised an eyebrow at him, his expression unimpressed. “Amazing? You do realize this isn’t a vacation, right? We’re bringing five kids under thirteen with us, including my toddler.”

Cassian waved a dismissive hand, already pacing the kitchen like he was planning a military campaign. “Details, Az. Minor details. This is going to be an adventure! Fresh air, wide-open skies, and the boys can run wild while we sit back, relax, and maybe get some peace and quiet—”

“Cass,” Rhysand interrupted dryly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re describing a fantasy. Peace and quiet? With your sons in the mix? I’d say the odds are slim to none.”

Cassian pointed at him, undeterred. “First of all, my boys are angels—”

“Absolute terrors,” Azriel interjected, his tone flat.

Cassian ignored him. “—and second, they’ll be too busy with training to cause chaos. I’ll get them out there running drills first thing every morning. They’ll be so exhausted they won’t have the energy to do anything but sleep.”

“Drills?” Rhysand repeated with a smirk. “You’re taking them to the cabin, not a war camp.”

“It’s a lifestyle, Rhys,” Cassian said, puffing out his chest like he was imparting sage wisdom. “Besides, you’ll thank me when they’re passed out by sundown and we’re sitting by the fire with a drink in hand.”

Azriel crossed his arms, leaning back against the counter. “And what about Kaia? She’s not exactly going to be running drills, Cassian.”

Cassian’s grin softened, a rare moment of genuine warmth flashing across his face. “Kaia’s going to love it. I’ll make sure she’s safe, Az. I promise. We’ll take her flying close to the cabin where the air’s gentler, show her the river, and teach her how to throw rocks into the water. Trust me, she’s going to have the time of her life.”

Azriel’s expression softened at the mention of Kaia, though he still looked sceptical. “She’s two, Cassian. Her idea of ‘time of her life’ is eating blueberries and hiding under blankets.”

“Exactly!” Cassian said, throwing his arms wide. “And the cabin is perfect for that! We’ll build her a blanket fort by the fire. She’ll never want to leave!”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

Cassian crossed his arms, his grin turning cocky. “Of course I am. I’m going to make this the best trip ever. Just wait—you’ll be thanking me by the end of it.”

Azriel sighed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You’re mad, you know that?”

Cassian clapped him on the back, his grin unwavering. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Rhysand shook his head, lifting his coffee mug in a mock toast. “Here’s to surviving whatever Cassian’s version of ‘the best trip ever’ turns out to be.”

Cassian laughed, already mentally packing for the adventure. “Oh, you’ll survive,” he said confidently. “You might even enjoy yourselves. Trust me, boys—this is going to be legendary.”

Azriel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he straightened up. Cassian’s enthusiasm for the cabin trip was infectious, but the thought of Kaia being away from home in unfamiliar terrain still had him a little on edge.

“I’ll go find Kaia,” Azriel said, pushing off the counter. His shadows stirred, curling lazily around his shoulders as if they were ready to help in the search. “Nyx probably dragged her off somewhere to keep her entertained.”

Cassian smirked. “That kid’s already got more sense than you give him credit for. Kaia’s in good hands.”

Azriel shot him a look that said, That doesn’t mean I’m not checking. Without another word, he strode out of the kitchen, his sharp hearing picking up faint giggles echoing down the hall.

As he walked through the house, he let his shadows fan out, whispering to him about movement and noise. They swirled back, leading him toward the sitting room. When he stepped inside, the sight before him made him pause.

Kaia was sitting on the floor, her little wings fluttering as she balanced a small pile of stuffed animals on top of Nyx’s head. Nyx, sitting cross-legged and perfectly still, looked utterly resigned, though there was a small, amused smile on his face.

“Kaia,” Azriel said, his voice soft but firm as he crossed the room.

Kaia’s head whipped around, her big dark eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Dada!” she squealed, scrambling to her feet. She stumbled slightly before running toward him, her tiny wings flapping in excitement.

Azriel caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” he asked, his tone tinged with amusement as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Kaia leaned back, her little face glowing with mischief. “Pwaying wif Nyxie’s hair,” she declared proudly, pointing at Nyx.

Nyx raised an eyebrow, reaching up to pluck a stuffed animal from his head. “I don’t think this is what my dad had in mind when he said to keep her busy.”

Azriel chuckled, pressing a kiss to Kaia’s temple. “Thank you for watching her, Nyx.”

“Anytime,” Nyx said, standing up and brushing off his pants. He handed Kaia one of the stuffed animals she had dropped. “But fair warning—she’s a little too good at bossing people around.”

Azriel smiled softly, adjusting Kaia on his hip as she giggled and buried her face in his neck. “She gets that from her mother,” he said with a hint of warmth in his voice.

Kaia peeked up at him, her curls bouncing as she grinned. “Dada, we go?”

“Yes, love,” Azriel said, turning toward the doorway. “We’re going to the cabin, but first, we need to pack your things. Come on, let’s get you ready.”

Nyx followed them out, shaking his head. “This is going to be a long week,” he muttered, though there was a glimmer of affection in his voice.

Azriel glanced back at him with a rare, small smile. “It always is.”

As Azriel walked toward the staircase with Kaia securely in his arms, he glanced back at Nyx, who was trailing behind with a casual slouch.

“Nyx,” Azriel said, his tone calm but carrying the unmistakable authority of someone used to giving orders.

The 13-year-old straightened slightly, his sharp eyes meeting Azriel’s. “Yeah?”

“Go pack your things,” Azriel instructed. “Clothes, whatever books or games you want to bring. Make sure you’ve got enough for the week.”

Nyx sighed, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Do I have to? I just got her to sit still. That was hard work, you know.”

Azriel gave him a pointed look, one that made Nyx quickly rethink any further protests. “Yes, you have to. Unless you’d like to be stuck in the same outfit for the next seven days.”

Nyx groaned but didn’t argue further. “Fine. But if I have to pack, I’m bringing all my stuff. Don’t complain when I take up half the space in the cabin.”

Azriel’s lips quirked upward in a faint smile. “Just pack what you need, Nyx. No more, no less.”

Nyx huffed, turning on his heel and heading toward his room. “You’re lucky I like Kaia and my aunt,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite in his tone.

Azriel turned his attention back to Kaia, who was fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Alright, little one,” he murmured, his voice softening as he kissed the top of her head. “Let’s get you packed up.”

Kaia wriggled slightly, her tiny hands gripping his shoulders. “I pack toys?” she asked, her words slightly garbled in her toddler speech.

Azriel nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Of course. Let’s make sure we grab your favourite ones, okay?”

“‘Kay,” she said happily, her wings fluttering as she cuddled closer.

Azriel carried Kaia into her small but cozy room, decorated in soft shades of cream and pale green. Tiny wooden shelves lined the walls, overflowing with stuffed animals, picture books, and small trinkets she’d accumulated in her two short years. Her favourite blanket, a deep blue that matched his siphons, was draped over the side of her crib-turned-toddler bed.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Azriel said, setting her down on the soft rug in the centre of the room. She plopped onto her bottom with a giggle, her tiny wings fluttering as she looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

Azriel crouched down and opened the small wooden chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a soft travel bag embroidered with her name. “We’ll start with your clothes,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Cwothes!” Kaia echoed, clapping her hands.

Azriel stood and moved to her little dresser, pulling open the top drawer where her neatly folded tunics and leggings were stored. He carefully selected a week’s worth of outfits—soft, comfortable pieces that would keep her warm in the cooler mountain air.

“Do you want to help, Kaia?” he asked as he folded a tiny tunic and placed it in the bag.

Kaia jumped to her feet, wobbling slightly before toddling over to him. “I hewp!” she declared proudly, grabbing one of the leggings he’d laid out. Her little hands struggled to fold it, but she managed to mash it into a ball and shoved it into the bag.

Azriel chuckled, his shadows curling around him like an extension of his amusement. “Good job, love,” he said, smoothing out the bunched-up fabric before zipping the main compartment.

Kaia beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “I so good,” she said with a self-satisfied nod.

“The best,” Azriel agreed, lifting her back onto the rug. He moved next to the shelf where her favorite toys were kept. “Alright, what toys do you want to bring?”

Kaia’s eyes lit up, and she immediately ran to the shelf, pointing at a stuffed bat nearly as big as her. “Batty!”

Azriel reached for the stuffed animal, handing it to her. “Batty, of course. Anything else?”

Kaia clutched Batty to her chest, her little face scrunched in concentration as she scanned the shelf. “An’...an’ Bunny!” she declared, pointing to a small gray rabbit.

Azriel grabbed the rabbit and added it to the bag. “Batty and Bunny. Anyone else?”

Kaia hesitated, then nodded. “Puppy!”

Azriel reached for the well-loved plush dog and handed it to her. “Alright, that’s three. I think that’s plenty, don’t you?”

Kaia pouted slightly but nodded, hugging Batty tightly.

Next, Azriel grabbed her favorite blanket from her bed. “We’ll need this,” he said softly, folding it neatly before tucking it into the bag. He also added a couple of her picture books, knowing how much she loved to have bedtime stories read to her.

Finally, he packed a small pouch with some snacks—dried fruit and crackers, her favourites—and slid it into the side pocket of the bag.

“There,” he said, zipping the bag shut. “All ready for the cabin.”

Kaia looked up at him, her big dark eyes shining. “We go now, Dada?”

Azriel smiled, scooping her up into his arms. “Not yet, love. Soon.”

Kaia rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny hand clutching the fabric of his shirt. “’Kay,” she murmured, her voice soft and content.

Azriel pressed a kiss to her curls, his heart swelling with a warmth he could never quite put into words. “Let’s go find the others,” he said, carrying her and the bag out of the room.

-----

You, Nesta, and Feyre stood in the grand room of the Day Court's estate, taking in the sweeping view of the sun-kissed landscape outside. The pale golden walls and sunlit windows were the perfect setting for a relaxing getaway, especially after weeks of chaos back at the Night Court.

As you set down your bag, you sighed with relief. “It feels so good to finally be here,” you said, dropping onto one of the plush couches and looking at the half-empty wine bottle beside you.

Feyre raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on her lips. “Already drinking at 1 PM? I guess we really are living our best lives without any kids around.”

Nesta snorted as she opened a second bottle. “I’m not complaining. I’ve earned this.”

You laughed and took a sip, leaning back against the cushions. “I swear, every moment I get without Kaia trying to climb up my legs is a treasure.”

Feyre rolled her eyes but was clearly amused. “I thought we were all in agreement. A week off. I can’t believe we actually made it.”

Nesta chuckled. “We should’ve left sooner. It’s been a mess with the kids, but at least we finally get some peace and quiet.”

As if on cue, the door to the living room swung open, and Helion strode in, his hair shining like the sun itself. He wore his usual carefree grin, his amber eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he took in the three of you lounging on the couch. “The beauties have come without their beasts. Should I be worried about what you’re all getting up to without them?”

You smirked at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his teasing presence. “Helion, you’re just jealous you didn’t come with us. You know you can’t resist our charm.”

Nesta and Feyre both glanced between you and Helion, their curiosity piqued.

Feyre tilted her head. “Wait, you two know each other that well?”

Helion raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by their interest. “Know each other? We go way back. You could say I’m the loss of her life,” he said, a playful gleam in his eyes. “She’s the one that got away.”

You rolled your eyes, not at all surprised by his dramatic flair. “Not true,” you replied with a grin. “We slept twice, centuries ago. That’s all. And one of those times was when you were trying to win a bet on whether or not you could make me laugh.”

Nesta and Feyre exchanged looks, clearly intrigued.

“Twice?” Feyre asked, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re telling me there was nothing more between the two of you?”

Helion leaned against the doorframe with a knowing look, crossing one ankle over the other. “Ah, nothing more. The truth is, we slept, we laughed, and then we moved on. I’m the truth-teller, after all,” he added, smirking as if to say, don’t challenge me on this.

Nesta looked at you in disbelief. “So, you two really didn’t get together after all that?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Nope. I’m not sure even Helion can hold a candle to the other men I’ve encountered. Besides, we’re still good friends.”

Helion’s grin widened as he walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “The best kind of friend, of course. The kind who knows all your secrets and still manages to make you laugh.”

Feyre laughed softly, clearly entertained by the banter. “Well, I’m glad you two had your fun. But, seriously, is there any chance you two would ever—”

“Stop right there,” you interrupted, holding up a hand to halt her curiosity. “Let’s just say we’ve both moved on. No need for more stories. My husband is way more than perfect for me.”

Helion chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I won’t embarrass you any further. But I still stand by my ‘loss of my life’ claim.”

You smirked, giving him a playful shove. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Just the way you like me,” he replied with a wink, turning to face Nesta and Feyre. “Anyway, welcome to the Day Court. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. And don’t let them fool you; they can’t resist a little sunshine every now and then.”

With that, Helion made his exit, leaving you, Feyre, and Nesta to settle into the quiet luxury of the Day Court, your laughter still echoing in the room.

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a surprised look as Helion left, their curiosity piqued by the snippets of your past that had come up in conversation. They were both clearly itching to ask more, and Feyre, ever the straightforward one, was the first to break the silence.

“You never told us about that,” she said, her voice half teasing, half incredulous. “How did we not know about you and Helion?”

You took another sip from your glass, leaning back and pretending to be nonchalant, though inwardly you were amused at their questions. You had definitely seen more than your fair share of shocked expressions over the centuries.

“You’re only in your thirties,” you said with a smirk, setting your glass down on the table beside you. “I’ve had more time to experience things than you can imagine. I’m in my five-hundreds, remember?”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but intrigued. “Still… How have we never heard any of these stories?”

“Well, the thing is,” you began, glancing between them with a knowing smile, “I’ve had more than just one adventure, if you will. Not just with Helion.”

Feyre blinked. “What do you mean? Like…”

You didn’t let her finish, taking an exaggerated breath. “I slept with Eris too. He’s a charming one, if you can get past his ego. Lucien wasn’t bad either. Good lover, actually.” You shrugged casually, enjoying the shocked expressions on their faces. “And let’s not forget Tarquin. I’ve seen my fair share of High Lords. being Rhysand's sister allows a lot of interactions with higher profiles.”

Feyre’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide in disbelief. “Tarquin? I would never have guessed!”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited. We never got very far,” you added with a teasing grin. “Just a few stolen moments here and there, but you know… Tarquin’s good company when you need it.”

Nesta was almost choking on her wine, unable to keep her laughter in. “Wait, so you really weren’t lying when you said you’ve slept with half the court?”

You raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, smirking. “Wouldn’t call it half, but yes, I’ve been around. But those are just the more notable names. There are more.”

Feyre shook her head in utter disbelief. “How have we been friends for so long, and you’ve never once mentioned any of this?”

“Because, darling,” you said, swirling your wine in the glass with a playful grin, “you two have been busy with your own drama. There’s only so much time in a conversation, and quite frankly, I enjoy watching you both unravel the mystery of my past.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at you, clearly intrigued but also a little annoyed by the way you were making a game out of this. “Okay, fine. But I want to know everything. Tell me about Eris.”

You leaned back, folding your arms and smirking at them both. “Well, that’s a long story. Maybe after another glass of wine?”

Feyre and Nesta exchanged a look, both of them clearly hooked on your tales now, and you could tell they weren’t going to let this go. They were going to need all the details, and you were more than happy to indulge them in their curiosity.

For the first time in a while, you felt truly free. No responsibilities. No expectations. Just three old friends relaxing and laughing in the comfort of the Day Court—and the promise of a few more stories to tell.

A/N: Comments and reblogs would be appreciated, let me know if you'd like to be tagged

[rafesbows]

rafe spots u at the country club (* ´ — ` *)

rafe wasn’t even supposed to be here today. he hated the country club—full of boring conversations and fake smiles. but then he saw you.

your tiny skirt barely covered your plump ass, swaying with every step you took as you weaved through the tables, all sweet smiles and soft giggles while you served drinks. he wasn’t the only one watching, he could see the way the old men at the bar were eyeing you, their stares lingering a little too long. it made his jaw clench, fingers twitching against his glass.

but god, he couldn’t blame them. you were a walking distraction—perfect and cute and so fucking clueless about the effect you had on every man in the room.

when you stopped by his table, the smell of your vanilla perfume hit him first, soft and sugary, just like you.

"hey there," you chirped, pen tapping against your notepad. "anything else i can get you?"

his eyes dragged over you shamelessly: your glossy lips, the curve of your waist, the way that skirt clung to your hips.

"you new?" his voice was low, smooth, the kind of tone that sent shivers down your spine.

you blinked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger as you nodded. "mhm. just started last week."

"figured," he drawled, letting his gaze trail down your legs. "i’d remember seeing you around here."

your cheeks warmed under his attention, and it only made his smirk deepen. you were so easy to fluster—it made him wonder how much easier you’d be to ruin.

"i—um, i should probably—"

"nah," rafe cut you off, leaning back lazily in his chair. "come here."

your brows furrowed, but you took a hesitant step closer, and his hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist.

"when’s your shift over?"

you swallowed hard, lips parting as you stammered, "l-late. why?"

his grip tightened just a little, enough to make your breath hitch. "because," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "i’m not done with you yet."

the bathroom door slammed shut behind you, and before you could even process it, rafe had you pinned against the cool marble counter.

"this what you wear to work, baby?" he muttered, sliding his hands under your skirt, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. "no wonder every fucker out there couldn’t stop staring."

"didn’t—didn’t mean to," you whined softly, the words breathless as his fingers traced the lace of your panties.

"yeah?" he chuckled darkly, lips brushing against your jaw. "then why’s this skirt so fuckin’ tiny? you want attention that bad?"

you shook your head quickly, eyes wide and glassy, but your body betrayed you, pressing into his touch, thighs squeezing together as the heat between them grew unbearable.

"poor thing," he cooed mockingly, dragging your panties to the side. "bet no one’s ever taken care of you properly, huh?"

when his fingers slid through your soaked folds, you whimpered, legs trembling against his.

"so fuckin’ wet already," rafe groaned, pulling back just enough to lock eyes with you through the mirror. his lips curled into a smirk as he unbuckled his belt, his eyes dark and heavy with lust.

"tha's it, baby," he praised, voice low and rough. "now, be sweet for me and let me fuck you like you deserve."

[moonstruckme]

hi hi hii so exited the thawing out au is here to stay!! i'm a figure skater myself so i'd like to request a lil something if u don't mind? this may or may not be self indulgent 🤧 but what about the reader feeling faint/ passes out on the rink during practice? it was kinda scary and my coach was even worse but i've got my trusty crackers and ur comfort drabbles with me 😙

That does sound so scary omg, glad you were okay angel! <3

Read the Thawing Out series here

cw: modern au, fainting, small injury with blood implied I guess but not mentioned or described at all

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

The rink whirls around you, and Sirius’ hands catch you around your middle the second before your skates hit the ice. You feel at once grounded and blissfully unmoored. 

Just outside the boards, Remus nods in approval. You and Sirius glide into arabesque, finishing what you have so far of your new routine. He beckons you over. 

“It’s looking lovely,” he says once you’re close enough. “How does it feel?” 

“Good,” you say. Sirius nods.

“I think a spiral sequence would go well after that,” he says. His hand rests on your lower back, as it often does these days. You tease him for it, say you’re perfectly capable of standing without his help, but really you wish he’d been doing it all along. It’s a mystery to you now; how you and Sirius managed to keep from touching each other for long. 

Remus hums thoughtfully. “It does seem natural there, doesn’t it?” 

“Either that, or a mirrored spin.” 

“Maybe. What do you think?” 

It takes you a beat too long to realize they’re both looking at you. You’d zoned out a bit. You mentally kick yourself; usually you’re much more focussed during practice. 

“I think either one would…” Your voice sounds odd, at once soft and thrumming in your own ears. “…would be fine.” 

You feel abruptly very warm. A tiny shiver passes over your skin, leaving goosebumps where you’re sure there should be sweat, and Sirius’ hand on your back suddenly feels like it’s pressing too close, keeping your already tight shirt held even tighter to you. It’s suffocating. 

“Either one?” Remus looks at you, brow furrowing. “You don’t have any preference?” 

You manage a hum before your elbow bites into the ice. 

You can’t be unconscious for long, because you have the sensation of falling as you wake. You pull in a startled breath. 

“Shh.” Sirius’ voice is a strange mix of gentle and tight. His hand cups your cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. What was that about, hm?” 

You hear skates cutting into the ice, and when you blink your eyes open Remus is dropping onto his knees beside you. He’s taken to wearing his skates during practice so that he can come out onto the ice to demonstrate what he wants from you when words aren’t enough; it’s somewhat unusual for a coach, but you and Sirius are beyond delighted with it. Even now, the sight of Remus on the ice fills you with a burgeoning pride. 

“What happened?” he asks, laying a protective hand on top of your head. 

You realize you’re in Sirius’ lap. His thighs are warm beneath your head and shoulders, the rest of you pressed against the cold floor. After your hot flash of a few moments ago, it feels like a relief. You welcome the bite where your shirt has slipped up your back and your bare skin touches the ice. 

“You saw,” Sirius says. “She just went stiff.” 

That’s not a very flattering image. You sit up, an involuntary sound coming from your throat. 

“Hey, hey.” Two sets of hands on you, holding you steady. “Take it easy,” Sirius says. “Don’t move so much, just—just rest for a second.” 

You let out a breath of assent. Pull your knees up so you can rest your head atop them, skates in a v so they’ll stay put. You feel shaky and all off. 

“Alright, love?” That’s Remus rubbing your back. You recognize him from the slow, long strokes, less firm than Sirius would be. “Does anything hurt?” 

You shake your head. 

“Do you feel sick?” 

You shake your head again. “I’m okay.” 

“You don’t seem okay,” Sirius mutters. You can picture him without looking, the terse set of his mouth, worry that looks like irritation. 

“She just needs a minute, I think,” Remus says patiently. “Let’s go sit down, yeah?” 

If you felt like talking you might point out that you’re already sitting down, but when both boys stand you know they mean the bleachers. You let Sirius pick you up, trying not to feel childish or embarrassing at the way you stick your face in his neck. He rests his cheek on your head like he doesn’t care either way. 

You lie your head on your knees again once he sets you down. Sirius rubs your back, asking you questions that you answer in murmurs of yes or no.

You don’t fully register that Remus has gone, but he comes back a minute later to press a styrofoam cup of cold water into your hand. 

“Can you have some of that for me?” 

You drink rather than answering, feeling the cold in your teeth. 

“I’m going to clean your elbow up, alright?” 

You don’t have a clue what he’s talking about until you look over your shoulder. Remus is taking your elbow into his hand, a first aid kit lying open beside him and your skin split over the jut of your bone. Once you see, you remember feeling the impact on it as you fell. You don’t know how you didn’t notice it aching before. 

Both of your boyfriends are touchier than usual, even Sirius. He rests both hands on your knees, thumbs running over the tops of your kneecaps, while Remus holds your arm in a gentle grip as he tends to your elbow. 

You take a deep breath, letting it rush back out of you. 

“Okay?” Sirius asks worriedly. 

“Yeah.” You give another sigh, not very convincing. “Sorry.” 

Remus smooths a plaster over your elbow, lowering it back to your side. He leans over until he’s in your line of sight. “What are you sorry for, lovely?” 

“I…that I fell.” 

Sirius makes a scoffing noise. “That’s a terrible reason.” 

“Awful,” Remus agrees, lips twitching despite the concerned set of his brow. “We’ve talked about this, haven’t we? Everyone falls sometimes.” 

You let out an amused exhale. “Yeah,” you acquiesce. You look at Sirius. “Did you catch me?” 

He grins. “Don’t I always?” 

You smile, resting your temple on your knee and letting your eyes slip closed. “I feel weird.” 

Sirius tuts, kissing the top of your head. “I can tell, baby. I’m sorry.” 

“Let’s rest here for a little while,” Remus says, his voice low and soothing. “Then we’ll go back to mine, and I’ll make us something for breakfast. Alright?” 

“I can finish practice,” you say, not believing yourself. “Just give me a minute. It’s going away.” 

Sirius gives a chuff of laughter. “Sure, gorgeous,” he says, already undoing the laces of your skates. 

“Mhm. Let’s wait and see.” Remus’ tone is heavy with fondness. 

His hand begins moving over your back again. Sirius slips your skates off, and then rests his head atop yours, his shampoo smell enveloping you. You suppose there are worse ways to miss practice.

[just-aake]

Endearing Entanglements Part 2

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Part 2 of Endearing Entanglements. Being on the run is tough. Natasha eventually has no choice but to call for some help.

Warnings: fluff, light angst, implied sexual themes

Words: 3430

The night air is cool against Natasha’s skin as she stands beneath the cover of shadows near the corner of the empty street. The dim glow of a distant streetlamp barely reaches her, leaving her concealed in the darkness. 

She adjusts the hood of her jacket, the recently cut strands of her dyed blonde hair swaying slightly as she turns her head, scanning her surroundings with caution.

Being on the run has been brutal—physically, mentally, and emotionally. 

Especially after the Raft prison break, forcing her into a constant state of movement with no real moment of rest. 

Supplies are limited, safe havens even more so. 

Every day is a delicate game of survival, narrowly avoiding authorities, slipping past Ross’ men, and making sure those with her remain out of harm’s way.

Keeping her teammates safe is one thing.

Keeping those who willingly choose to help her is another.

Mason has already paid the price for his involvement, detained for his so-called “assistance” to her. Though he had managed to get released, Ross’s watchful eye was now firmly planted on him. 

That alone is enough reason for Natasha to hesitate before reaching out to any of her remaining contacts. 

The risk was simply too high.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

The sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass cut through the quiet night, instantly snapping Natasha’s attention upward. 

Her muscles tense, her hand instinctively hovering near her concealed weapon as her eyes lock onto the source. 

From the fourth-story window of the old brick building across the street, a shadowed figure propels through the new opening and into the air, twisting mid-fall with practiced precision. 

In one fluid motion, they fire a grappling line, the cable anchoring into the adjacent wall, allowing them to swing effortlessly into a controlled descent. 

At just the right moment, they release the line, landing with a smooth roll before rising swiftly to their feet.

Flashbangs detonate inside the building behind them, the brief bursts of light flickering against the windows, followed by the frantic shouts of those left scrambling inside.

Natasha’s gaze drifts from the chaos back to the figure standing just a short distance ahead.

A low hum of satisfaction escapes you as you casually brush the dust from your clothes, barely fazed by the intensity of your escape. 

You take a quick glance around before your gaze finally meets hers.

A grin, wide and utterly unapologetic, spread across your lips.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Without hesitation, you close the space between you, hands gently cradling her face. 

The moment your fingers brush against her skin, warmth surges through her. 

Then, without another thought, you lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss.

Natasha stiffens for just a second, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

But then, the tension melts from her body, her lips parting in a quiet gasp—one you eagerly take advantage of, deepening the kiss with a hunger neither of you had the luxury to indulge in for far too long.

Her hands find their way to you, fingers gripping the fabric of your jacket, pulling you in closer as if afraid to let go. 

It was grounding—this moment of familiarity in a life that had become nothing but uncertainty.

But then, as her hand brushes against your side, you suddenly break the kiss with a sharp intake of breath.

Natasha pulls back just enough to see the flicker of pain flash across your face. Her brows furrow, concern instantly replacing the haze of the moment.

“Careful, love,” you murmur with a soft chuckle, exhaling through the lingering sting. “I think I may have reopened the stitches on my landing.”

A familiar mix of exasperation and affection flickers in her expression, her fingers tightening slightly on your jacket.

“Of course you did.”

Even as she sighs, there is no mistaking the way her hold on you remains steady, unwilling to let you go just yet.

But then, a sudden movement flickers in the corner of her vision. 

In an instant, Natasha’s instincts take over. She yanks you sharply to the side, the sudden motion forcing you off balance just as her hand flies up, launching a compact taser disk at the oncoming figure. 

The moment the disk connects, an electric surge crackles through the air, the assailant convulsing before collapsing to the ground with a dull thud. 

The whole exchange happened in mere seconds.

You barely had time to register it before glancing over your shoulder at the now-unconscious attacker. 

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as you turn back to her, eyes flickering with something both teasing and admiring.

“Still exceptional as always, love,” you muse, tilting your head slightly as your fingers twirl a lock of her blonde hair between them. “Even with the new look.” 

Natasha huffs, rolling her eyes, but there is no real annoyance behind it. If anything, the ghost of a smirk threatens to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah, well,” she exhales, shaking her head as she glances down at the unconscious attacker. “That was my last one, so we need to move.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before grabbing your hand, her grip firm as she leads you down the dimly lit street.

You follow without hesitation, but as you shift your grasp, threading your fingers more securely through hers, you half-expect her to pull away.

She doesn’t.

If anything, her hold only tightens slightly, bringing a small smile to your face.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha curses under her breath, jaw tightening as she wrestles with the lock on their current safe house door. The rusted key refuses to fit properly, scraping against the metal edges of the keyhole with stubborn resistance. 

Her fingers clench around it, frustration mounting with each failed attempt.

You lean casually against the wall beside her, arms crossed, watching her struggle with a barely concealed smirk.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she mutters without looking at you, catching the amusement in your expression from the corner of her eye.

“I wouldn’t dare,” you reply smoothly, but the teasing lilt in your voice betrays you.

Natasha sighs, shaking her head. She knows you too well to believe that. 

Then, just as you part your lips, no doubt ready to make some remark about the questionable state of the safe house, she cuts you off.

“Don’t.”

The single word carries enough warning to make you chuckle lightly, though it does little to deter the glint of amusement in your eyes.

“You really should’ve contacted me sooner, love,” you say, tilting your head as you watch her struggle with the lock a moment longer. “None of my safe houses are like this.”

As if in defiance of your words, Natasha gives the door one final, forceful shove with her shoulder. The force is enough to finally unstick the warped frame, sending the door flying open—along with Natasha, who stumbles forward with a sharp inhale of surprise. 

Before she can steady herself, a firm arm wraps around her waist, catching her mid-fall. 

You pull her back upright and against you effortlessly, holding her steady from behind before letting the movement shift into something softer—a lingering embrace as you rest your chin on her shoulder.

“You don’t know how much I’ve missed your calls,” you murmur, your breath warm against the side of her head.

Your lips brush just under her ear, pressing a fleeting kiss there, light but deliberate.

Natasha exhales softly, the tension in her shoulders gradually loosening as she settles into the familiar comfort of your arms. 

For a brief moment, she allows herself to relax, to sink into the warmth of someone who knows her beyond the mission, beyond the fight.

But then, an awkward clearing of a throat shatters the moment.

Natasha stiffens instantly, instinct kicking in as she steps forward, pulling away from your embrace and pivoting toward the open doorway. 

Steve stands there, shifting slightly on his feet, a plastic bag of supplies in one hand while the other runs across the back of his neck, an awkward expression settling across his features.

“Uh…we can come back later, Nat,” he offers, tone uncertain.

Beside him, Wanda stands with her arms wrapped around herself, making no move to step forward. She isn’t as outwardly uncomfortable as Steve, but the curiosity in her eyes is evident as she glances between you and Natasha.

Before Natasha can respond, you speak first, stepping forward with your usual ease, a charming smile effortlessly finding its way onto your lips.

“That won’t be necessary,” you say smoothly, voice carrying an air of lighthearted confidence. “I’m here to help all of you, after all.”

Steve’s brows lift slightly, skepticism flickering behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you can practically hear the unsaid questions forming in his mind. Wanda’s lips twitch ever so slightly as if amused by the boldness of your declaration, though she keeps whatever she’s thinking to herself.

Still, their silence tells you what you already know: they aren’t entirely convinced.

But that’s never stopped you before.

Your smile doesn’t falter as you turn to Natasha, giving her a quick wink before adding, “We can start with moving you all someplace a little more…comfortable.”

The words hang in the air for a moment before Natasha sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose briefly before giving you a look that’s equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement.

“Alright, let’s go to one of yours.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

You gesture towards different parts of the new safe house, your voice calm and efficient as you lead them through the space.

“Bedrooms are over here, each with their own bathrooms,” you say, motioning toward the respective areas before stopping at the center of the modest yet well-kept living space. 

Three neatly packed duffel bags sit on the coffee table, their contents carefully prepared. 

“And these,” you continue, patting the bags lightly, “are some fresh clothes for each of you. Your new IDs are inside.”

Natasha scans the safe house, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. She isn’t surprised at the level of quality—it’s exactly what she expects from you.

Secure, quick, and discreet. 

You never do anything halfway.

A sharp vibration cuts through the air, the muffled sound of a phone ringing.

Casually, you pull it from your pocket, giving the screen a brief glance before pressing a button to silence it.

Without another thought, you slip it back into your pocket as if the call never happened.

Natasha’s brows knit slightly, her attention lingering on you. 

You don’t leave clients waiting. Efficiency is what you pride yourself on. Quick responses and seamless transactions. 

Ignoring a call? That’s unlike you.

Before she can question it, Wanda speaks up, drawing your attention.

“Is there hot water?” she asks, curiosity evident in her tone at the severely missed luxury since being on the run.

You turn to her with an easy smile. 

“Sure is, love.”

Natasha’s brow twitches almost imperceptibly. The term of endearment directed at Wanda doesn’t go unnoticed, and though she keeps her expression neutral, her eyes flick toward you, subtly watching your interaction with the other Avenger.

You hand Wanda her duffel, and as if sensing Natasha’s gaze, you turn and meet her eyes. 

A knowing glint flickers in your expression as you offer her a small smile.

Wanda, oblivious to the silent exchange, nods in thanks before disappearing into one of the bedrooms.

Meanwhile, you step over to the far side of the room, pull out a black case, and place it on the table.

“Now for my favorite part,” you say with a smirk, unlocking the case and turning it toward Natasha. “Your equipment.”

Seeing her usual, neatly arranged weapons draws a faint smirk to Natasha’s lips. She steps forward, fingers brushing over the familiar weight of her batons, trusty firearms, and multiple taser disks.

“You always know what I like,” she murmurs, amusement lacing her tone.

“Of course,” you reply with a wink before shifting your attention to Steve, who has been sifting through his duffel with quiet curiosity.

“I’m afraid a Vibranium shield might be a little harder to come by,” you muse, watching as he inspects the items inside. “But I’m sure I can get a new protective suit for you—something more subtle for fights while on the run, Captain.”

Steve glances up, nodding slightly. “Appreciate it.”

You clap your hands together, pulling a measuring tape from your pocket with a flourish. 

“I’ll just need your measurements, love.”

Natasha’s lips twitch downward slightly, the term now directed at Steve. As you approach Steve, she catches you throwing a quick glance her way as if watching for a reaction.

Attempting to hide her expression, Natasha averts her gaze, making herself look busy as she checks over the equipment in the case.

Steve shifts awkwardly as you begin taking his measurements, lifting his arms and adjusting his stance as you direct him.

After a beat, he clears his throat. 

“So, how long have you and Nat known each other?”

You hum in thought, not looking up from your work.

“Going on three years now, I believe.”

Steve’s brows lift slightly before his gaze flickers toward Natasha, as if piecing things together. 

“And are you two…?” He trails off, the implication hanging between you.

A low chuckle slips from your lips as you shake your head lightly. 

“No, nothing like that, at least, not exclusively,” you say, your tone lighthearted, though something unreadable flickers in your gaze as you glance at Natasha. 

“Right, love?”

Natasha stills, her fingers pausing against the equipment. She hadn’t expected to be pulled into the conversation. Lifting her gaze, she holds your eyes for a moment before looking away.

“Yeah,” she mutters softly, carefully placing the weapons back in their slots. With a quiet click, she shuts the case.

Silence settles between the group, the only sound in the room coming from the rustling of fabric and the light tapping of your fingers against the tablet as you take notes.

Then, the sharp buzz of your phone vibrating against your pocket breaks the quiet.

This time, Natasha doesn’t miss the way you glance at the screen, the briefest flicker of something unreadable crossing your face before you shut the device off again.

Her arms cross over her chest as she levels you with a pointed look. 

“How much is all this costing you?”

You pause briefly before looking up at her with a smirk.

“That’s nothing you’ll need to concern yourself about.”

As you finish up and straighten, a flicker of a wince crosses your face—so brief most wouldn’t catch it.

But Natasha does.

Her sharp eyes hone in immediately. Without hesitation, she strides forward, grabbing your wrist before you realize it.

“Wha–”

She doesn’t give you the chance to protest, pulling you swiftly toward one of the rooms and shutting the door behind you.

The moment it clicks shut, she turns, hands reaching for the hem of your shirt.

“Hold on, lo—”

Natasha ignores you, lifting the fabric and confirming what she already suspected.

“You did open your stitches,” she accuses, her voice edged with irritation and concern. Her fingers hover over the square bandage at your side, red seeping through the gauze.

Before she can say anything else, your hands cup her face, tilting her chin upward so her eyes meet yours. 

A playful smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of her nose.

“You’re cute when you care,” you murmur, brushing your thumb against her cheek. Then, with a teasing grin, you add, “But it’s not as bad as it looks, love, honest.”

At your dismissive tone, Natasha holds your gaze, searching for something—an explanation, a reason—until she can’t help but voice her thoughts.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers.

The unspoken words pass between you, heavy with meaning. Why are you risking yourself? Why go to such lengths? Why help her?

Your expression softens. Instead of answering with logic or reason, you simply pull her closer, resting your forehead against hers.

“Because it’s something I can do for you,” you say simply.

The sincerity in your voice makes her breath hitch.

Before she can respond, you close the distance, capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s a kiss that speaks of familiarity, of understanding, of a connection beyond words.

Natasha’s hands tighten around the fabric of your jacket as she deepens the kiss, pulling you closer. A soft sound of approval rumbles from your chest, your hands sliding to rest at her waist.

Then, breathless but smirking, you pull back just enough to murmur against her lips, “Do you want to try out the hot water together?”

A faint smirk forms on Natasha’s lips.

Without a word, she grabs your wrist and tugs you toward the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you two.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha’s fingers move idly, tracing faint, absentminded patterns across your bare skin where your top has ridden up slightly.

The slow rise and fall of your chest against her keeps her grounded, your warmth settling into her like an anchor.

She watches you, curled into her arms, the soft glow of the dim light casting gentle shadows across your face.

There’s something about this moment—quiet, unguarded—that makes her reluctant to break it.

But she does. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.

Your breathing shifts slightly, and your eyes flutter open, hazy with drowsiness as you turn your head toward her. A flicker of curiosity crosses your expression.

“For coming when I called,” Natasha continues, her voice steady but quiet. “I know it wasn’t the safest move for you.”

Her hand drifts lower, brushing lightly over the fresh bandage at your side, her fingertips ghosting over the wound with a delicate trace.

A soft chuckle rumbles in your chest. You close your eyes again, nuzzling closer, tucking your head into the crook of her neck as if you belong there.

“Anything for my favorite client,” you murmur, your breath warm against her skin.

Natasha doesn’t reply, but the way her arms tighten around you speaks enough. She presses her cheek against the top of your head, her fingers still tracing along your side, committing this rare moment of peace to memory.

A comfortable silence settles between you. The kind that feels full rather than empty, where neither of you feels the need to fill the space with words.

Then, the stillness is broken.

The muffled buzz of a phone vibrating from the pile of clothes strewn across the floor cuts through the quiet.

You exhale a deep sigh, your breath brushing against her collarbone before you reluctantly pull away.

“I should get going,” you say, sitting up and stretching your arms lightly. Your tone is casual, but Natasha doesn’t miss the flicker of hesitation in your movements. “I think I’ve left my other clients waiting long enough.”

She watches as you gather your things, a strange tightness settling in her chest. There’s something she wants to say—something that lingers on the tip of her tongue.

Don’t go. Stay a little longer.

But the words don’t come.

Instead, she hesitates, her hands clenching briefly at her sides before she exhales softly.

“I…” she starts, but then she pauses, her gaze flickering away as she struggles with what exactly she wants to say to you.

You glance up from your phone, head tilting slightly as you wait for her to finish. There’s patience in your expression but also a quiet knowing—like you already understand what she’s trying to say, even if she doesn’t say it aloud.

Finally, she settles on something simpler.

Something safer.

“It was good seeing you again.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, but there’s something else in your eyes—something unreadable. You step closer, closing the distance between you effortlessly.

Lifting her chin with a gentle touch, you lean in, pressing a slow, delicate kiss to her lips. It lingers, warm and unhurried, before you pull away just enough for your lips to barely ghost over hers.

Your usual teasing smirk makes its return as you murmur against her mouth, “Don’t leave me waiting too long for your next call…”

Another feather-light press of your lips follows—a touch so fleeting yet so certain. And then, in a quiet whisper.

“…my love.”

And just like that, you’re gone.

The room feels quieter without you in it, as if something vital has been pulled away. Natasha stays where she is for a moment before exhaling, pressing a hand against her chest.

Her heartbeat is steady.

But she can still feel the ghost of your lips, the weight of your presence lingering in the space you left behind.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

a/n: Thank you for reading! Hope you all have a Happy Valentine’s Day!

Taglist : @caspianalexander007

[emacrow]

Welcome to the Starlight Toy Galore! How can I help you?

Apparently, 1 toy wasn't enough to in the analysis machine. Dick and Damian were compromised by the toys and refused to part with them.

Babs decided to go this time, but this wasn't the first time she came into the place for investigating, actually..

This was the 36th time she visited, not because a ridiculous tall, very obvious dork of a owner kindly remade his front more wheelchair accessible to enter and couldn't take a goddamned compliment to save his life.

This was her case dammit, and Batman wasn't going to ruin all her processes steps of plans she had already set back, steps now by visiting.

It seem this week was appreciated space theme background that was completely accurate with various sizes planets above attic seemingly look to be floating until one tiny pluto float downward only for a little 7 year old girl with pigtails to wind it up with a blue winding key and watch it float back up with the others.

Danny always went all out in the starlight Toy galore before what caught her eyes was a little boy that had a butterfly hairpin with a broken dolly, a bag of doll pieces that was the missing cracked head and missing arm piece walking up to a station where the Owner Danny Nightingale was await.

"Can you fix mah ma's Sally? Felix got mad at her for not giving him lunchie when he went out with the guys.. and.. and I got all the pieces..! I trade you mah hairpin for you to fix her!" the little boy said softly with quivering confident, raising the hairpin that he was wearing up with his hand.

The Danny looked down on the little boy and bent over slowly, his form still gigantic even crouched down as he nodded, whispering softly to the boy as he ruffled his little hair, carefully picking the broken dolly that seem way too small in those long thin hands.

Carefully placing dolly and the broken pieces out of the bag carefully, The Danny went to the cabinet above the station and pulled out a jar. She could see his body shake as though he knew she was watching. Now, if Babs could almost see what that jar said, she coul-

The hard tug onto her shirt cause her to turn to see a 6 year old little girl in black braids with rose designed beads, bright blue eyes, and a soft grin with a front gap toothy. She had a tagged name, and I'm Ellen Nightingale.

Ellen mischievous little girl who like to play pranks at the beginning but became sweet on her 3 months ago.

She was holding out a strawberry taffy out in her small hand, colorful sensory rings on three fingers and a ducky doodle in yellow and green marker on the back of her hand.

"Oh.. thank you." Babs said softly, holding out her hand to receive the taffy. Ellen smiles with wider, and her eyes gleamed brighter at Babs as she giggles, rushing off to where Babs was previously watching the Dann-..

Ack. She got distracted!

The little boy was walking away, smiling brightly with the fixed dolly now wearing his butterfly hairpin as Danny waved at him.

Ellen tugs onto his apron and points at Babs, whispering something lightly to him as he picks up something from his stationary. Babs felt nervous for some reason, considering he was a ridiculous tall man. Hell, he can give the killer croc a run for his money in size if he were broader instead of slim figured.

And here they come, alright. Babs smiles softly as they both come over. Before Babs knew it, a bouquet of lilacs and purple roses was nearly shoved in her face.

A heavily bright red-faced danny with his hands shakenly holding the bouquet as he tonguedtied on his own words.

"You did the order wrong, Papa!! It was ask, then give the flowers!! All that hard work pwactices over this last night, gone, You big oversized Dumdum!!" Ellen shrieked, pounding her tiny fists on his legs.

Danny wilted like a deflated tube man as if Ellen's tiny blows could hurt him, but Babs couldn't speak as she was laughing too hard into the bouquet she held over her face to hide how red her face was.

Part 1 here <-

[stellewriites]

so tenderly

priceghost x reader

you panted into the pillow, on your hands and knees; john’s fingers and tongue had been working you open for so long, yet kept you just on the precipice of another orgasm, that you felt you were about to buzz out of your skin or pass out for 24 hours.

you were almost regretting going home with him after that drink at the bar.

irritation built up inside of you and you felt desperate enough to unwisely snap at him.

“just fucking get on with it already,” you pleaded.

“gotta make sure you’re ready for him, love,” john cooed; eyes bright, obviously pleased by at your begging. you didn’t like how he referred to his cock in third person, but if it got him moving quicker you’d deal with it. in your panting desperation you hadn’t noticed the second still body stood over john’s shoulder at the end of the bed.

“think i’m— nngghh, please, i’m ready.” you moaned and pushed back on his three fingers wantonly, glaring fiercely when he chuckled. he was just playing with you now. you spat a little pettily, “no offence, but i don’t think you’re as big as you’re building yourself up to be.”

john grinned at your renewed vigour, seeming to revel in your attitude. “nah, not me, love. but they don’t make ‘em bigger than him,” he emphasised and you frowned in confusion. “you’ll be wishing you had longer on my tongue when he’s between your legs. can promise that.”

he slipped his fingers free and rolled you over finally, grabbing your wrists just as you spotted the looming figure behind.

you let out a terrified screech and the unknown man smiled, pulling at the long, thick scar dissecting his lips.

john held firm to your scrambling hands and tightened his knees where he’d straddled your waist. he gave you a quick peck to your cheek, his arousal drenched beard rubbing scratchily against your cheek.

“this is simon. he’ll be joining us tonight,” john said.

[mahyuume]

CAPABLE OF LOVE!

— synopsis. the ways he proofs being capable of showing love!

pairing. various!haikyuu, jjk, bllk, mha x reader | genre. romance, fluff, crack.

reminders. I’m posting after a suuuper long break, hope you guys like this! | mlist

I THINK I NEED I NEED A PICTURE, is something you’ve said countless times to your boyfriend (who will one day be your husband) then proceeding to whip out any kind of device capable of taking a photo. Currently, is happening right now.

“Baby, we need a picture, again!” You gleam at him, the look on his face already dreading the next fifty photos going to be taken; exhausted from taking the last hundred— or maybe more than that photos. But, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine, but this is the last time,” the boy sighs then flashes his award winning smile. Just in time for- click! that. Now holding the freshly printed Polaroid, he takes a look at your face instead of the physical copy of you both.

Staring at the facial features adorned on you, he sees no flaws whatsoever. He stares at your eyes; shiny but with the hints of clear joy. Lips— he’s kissed them multiple times, but never got over how soft and plush they felt. Always wondered how you do it.

“Are you even listening to me?” You turned your head to him, giving him a small frown. He snaps back into his senses from you cutting his train if thought; now darting back at your eyes, then lips again. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the mushy thoughts in his head. “What were you saying?” Giving a small huff, you re-explain why you both need so many photos. But truth be told, he wasn’t listening one bit. Okay, just a little, but your face is something he could look at for hours. The look of love is real when it comes to him, due to the fact that he always manages to accidentally ignore you; all while adoring you.

As voices drown out, he thinks about adding this new photo to the heart shaped Polaroid collection in his room. Cracks out a stupid smile, then further proves to be undeniably whipped for you.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, NAGI SEISHIRO, RIN ITOSHI, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, SHOTO TODOROKI, NEITO MONOMA.

‘CAUSE IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! Is what your boyfriend says almost if not every-time he gifts you things. His reasoning is always “just because” and that he truly meant it when he said if he could give you the whole world, he would. And what I just relayed out for you to process, plays out in your daily life. And is, right now.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Repeated sounds of the doorbell chiming in your ear, you smile as you already know who’s behind the door while opening it for your love. But this time like most, it’s not your love facing you. It’s a big teddy bear that’s twice his size. You’re even surprised a thing like that could fit into his car!

“And who is this for?” You question him, a silly one at that. “Some cute girl I met.” He responds but not so clearly since the bear completely hides his figure besides the arms of his holding it up, drowning in the big fluffy stuffy. You roll your eyes at his answer, “Oh? Come in and tell me all about her.” Entertaining him, you take the legs of the bear and help him inside. And oh my, it was pretty heavy. But no surprise your super strong fiancé could lift it without a sweat.

“I would but…” “But?” “I have more things for the pretty girl inside my car,” he looks over at you with a stupid smile. “If you don’t mind.” He says while walking away back to the front door in a seemingly rush.

Coming back, his hands and arms are full of designer goods, and some even being valentine gifts. Talk about a man who can treat!

“You got me all this?” A gasp leaves your pretty lips as he stares at them, it making him smile in return too. “Yup.” Helping him get the bags, he watches you with a dumb look that makes you wanna slap him for being such a mushy lover. Of course, in a good way!

Opening your early valentine gifts, each one never failed to surprise you and leave you even more grateful for the man watching and recording your reactions. He points to the Nekta bag next to you. In the video, you’re surrounded by countless luxury brands but he decides to point out a specific one.

“Open that one baby.” He smirks behind the camera, watching your face twist into one of excitement and shying away from the camera. “Why? What’s in here?” You say as your paid for nails on hands reach for the Nekta bag. Opening it, there’s many boxes to choose from. You’re not sure which he meant. “Which one?” He points to a small one, the tiniest out of the bunch.

Unraveling the box and seeing the message, cluelessly, you didn’t notice how your boyfriend set down the phone and got down on one knee.

‘Look in front of you dummy.’ You read aloud then looked up. And there he was, holding the missing ring from the box, proposing to you with it.

“Will you marry me?”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI, SATORU GOJO, SAE ITOSHI, REO MIKAGE, KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

TO SEE YOU SMILING IN MY MIND is a memory you often hear being told over and over again by your boyfriend. His dreams of you both are beyond romantic or very dramatic, there’s really no in between.

By far the most exaggerated thing he’d ever say is something about how you two turned into fishes and lived a happy life together swimming around the ocean, avoiding sharks and fishermen. But this time, it’s quite different.

Ding! Ding! Your phone goes off at 7:35pm, right as you’re getting ready for bed or doing whatever it is. Checking what notified you, a smile lit across your face as you read your boyfriend’s display name.

Weird random: Babe

Weird random: I had another dream call me rn it’s so important

Giggling and mentally calling him a weirdo, you read the messages in-app then click the Video Call option.

“Oh my gosh baby, you won’t believe what I dreamt of.” Is what you hear your boyfriend say from the audio of your phone that’s now prompt up on a water glass as a substitute for a stand. “What’d you predict this time?” You cheekily asked him as he closes the space between his device and face; now a super close up of him is in your screen.

You’re not complaining though. He’s in one of those hoodies you promised yourself to ‘borrow’ one of these days and has messy bed hair, which tells you he just woke up from a nap.

“Okay so like, it’s me and you right,” he settles his phone down somewhere around his house, now making hand motions like a story teller. “Mhm.” “We’re having this cute date and stuff right.” “And?” “And then like, you look so beautiful. Like so, like, just so beautiful that flowers bloom when you walk near them type of beautiful!”

Laughing at his silly compliment, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks turn a pink hue. “You’re so corny I swear…” it’s his turn to laugh at your comment, “Come on girl, don’t tease me like that.” His voice suddenly turns into one more of a softer beat, “hurts my feelings.” He says as he puts a hand on his heart, seemingly clutching it. Rolling your eyes at your favorite boy, he continues on with his story- dream. His dream.

“Then boom, some random dude comes up to you and goes like ‘hey you’re pretty’ and I’m like ‘dude back off’ and then we get into a fight in order to see who wins your love.” At this point he was just background music as you did your night routine. “Babe, are you even listening?” Or maybe not.

“Of course I am.” You look at him from the side of your eye, noticing how he’s now closer than earlier. “Doesn’t seem like it.” From the looks of it, it seems like you’re plain out ignoring him. But you’e not, really! “Promise I am.” Adjusting the camera to face you fully now, he focuses on you rather than talking about his hefty dream storyline.

“What if I just married you, like, tomorrow?”

What a nice question he asked, and your answer is…

“I don’t know?” You stop doing whatever you’re doing and look at him. “Why’re you asking?” “No reason.” Liar. “Stop lying!” His hands go up in protest, “I’m not!” He looks away for a bit then returns to stare at you. “Just… just had a dream about it.” And it clicks.

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?” And like that, it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Ah, I guess so…” he muttered, hand on his nape as he realizes he’s not the best at lying when it comes to you. “I mean, come on!” He finally breaks, “you looked so good in the wedding dress and we…” his voice trails off the second you were getting invested.

“We?” You omit him to continue, but it comes out hurriedly. “We had a big, happy family. Like seriously happy.” He admits with a smile, clearly smitten about you. This makes you innerly gush about him.

“Yeah?” “Yeah. We did.” He sighs, “If only it were true.” He fake pouts, an ugly thing he does that makes you laugh horribly. “I mean, it can be.” You nonchalantly said, as if you weren’t wishing for the same thing. His eyes light up from your sentence, lips curling into a smile. “You can’t take that back!” You laugh at his antics, “as if I would ever.”

SHOYO HINATA, TOORU OIKAWA, YUUJI ITADORI, MEGURU BACHIRA, YOICHI ISAGI, KEIGO TAKAMI (HAWKS).

​৻ꪆ. Happy valentines everyone! I hope you like this one. (It’s been planned ever since December.) there were supposed to be two more lines added but I seriously ran out of time and didn’T know who else to write for… so, take this??

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #43

Stitches

Imagine dis…

I was just cleaning my room when I came across an old stuffed toy of mine. It is full of stitches like an amateur trying surgery for the first time and flopping it. I just remembered sewing my stuffed toy together as a kid. Like I was playing on them too harshly or one of my younger siblings got a hold of it and roughed it all up. So when I noticed my mom had no time to help me stitch my toy, I did it myself and the results varied…

…

John Constantine, aka the Laughing Magician, wasn’t an idiot. A drunk? Absolutely. A smoker? You bet. Had the worst bloody taste in romantic or sexual partners? Well, that’s a given. But an idiot? Not a chance. He knew, better than most, that the world he lived in was held together by nothing more than spit, lies, and a hell of a lot of bloody stubbornness.

But lately, something felt off…

Every time some wanker in a bright-colored cape and spandex punched, both literally and figuratively, through time or ripped an open hole to another dimension, it began as if reality was fixing itself.

He still remembered the bloody heart attack he nearly had the first time he read those sodding reports on time travel and dimension hopping. The second his eyes skimmed over the first few lines, he buggered off without so much as a goodbye, diving headfirst into the mess to sniff out whatever godawful consequences those spandex-clad pillocks had left in their wake. So imagine his surprise when, after dragging his sorry arse across the whole damn world, he found… nothing.

Not a damn thing.

No lingering paradoxes, no dangerous tears leaking out eldritch nightmares. It wasn’t natural. And anything unnatural coming from the bastard that split his soul like some two-bit, overachieving Voldemort, made his skin crawl.

So, like any poor sod with a knack for bad decisions and a bloody inconvenient conscience, he followed the ripples.

And that’s how he ended up standing in the inky void between worlds, a cig hanging off his lips, watching some scrawny teenager go to the fabric of reality that was torn apart by yet another one of those bloody spandex-wearing tossers, with a needle, like the universe had personally pissed in his pint.

The kid sat cross-legged in the void, stabbing his bloody needle through the fabric of space-time, and from the looks of it he was fueled by nothing but caffeine and a serious dose of spite. The thread he was using was bright blue, flickering with silver and white specks. Like tiny stars in each thread. Each stitch yanked the frayed edges of existence together, a bit rougher than necessary, like he was pissed off at the whole damn universe.

Constantine blew out a long stream of smoke, taking in the mess around him with a grimace. A sorry bloody sight, that’s for sure.

The kid had already clocked the audience, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t give himself whiplash. He didn’t even bother with a glance, clearly unimpressed.

The kid introduced himself as Danny, then stretched out another few feet of thread and got back to stitching, like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The kid, Danny, if Constantine heard right, grunted, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t stop working, shoulders hunched in exhaustion like he’d been doing this for far too long. The whole cosmic janitor routine: they rip holes, he stitches 'em up. Same old, same old.

Bloody typical.

Constantine crouched down, eyeing the erratic stitching with a mix of curiosity and skepticism. This wasn’t normal, not by a long shot.

Danny let out a sharp, humorless laugh, clearly fed up. He jabbed the needle into a particularly stubborn tear with all the force of someone who'd had enough. The sarcasm practically dripped from him. Seems he was well and truly done with his unglamorous role in this cosmic mess.

Constantine felt a prickle of unease, the kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway.

What happens if you stop?

Danny’s response was all sarcasm and sass, if there was any doubt left, it was gone now. He didn’t even need to elaborate. The answer was bloody obvious if the kid, Danny, ever stopped stitching.

Danny snorted, flashing Constantine a wicked grin, all teeth and mischief. The kind of smile that made his gut twist.

Ah. Bugger.

Constantine didn’t need a bloody prophecy to know what that meant. If the kid stopped, the world wouldn’t just fall apart it would unravel, slow and steady, like a seamstress unpicking stitches, one by one, until nothing was left. And worse? There’d be no afterlife waiting to catch the poor sods caught in the collapse. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just the abyss, swallowing everything whole. No way in. No way out.

Now Constantine was scrambling, doing everything in his power to keep the kid from buggering off while there were still holes left to patch. And, just as importantly, making sure those spandex-clad pillocks finally got the memo, no more bloody time travel or dimension-hopping shenanigans.

The kid must’ve clocked what he was up to because, without a word, he handed Constantine a green-glowing bat with “Creepstick” printed on the side. He didn’t think much of it at first up until, after one particularly miserable day, he swung the thing in frustration and accidentally clocked Superman, who had just been reaching out to ask if he was alright.

For a second, Constantine felt guilty. Then he remembered that the Kryptonian had probably punched more holes in reality than anyone else. That guilt? Gone. Replaced by pure, unfiltered glee.

With renewed purpose, he set his sights on the next offender, the red spandex speedster responsible for most of the timeline’s headaches. The rest of the heroes caught on quickly that he was on some kind of unholy warpath. So when he casually knocked the Man of Steel on his arse with a single swing and grinned like a serial killer who’d just found his next victim, they did the smart thing they got the hell out of his way.

Some of the ones with super-hearing overheard his next target: one of the Flashes.

Constantine knew damn well he wasn’t getting into any afterlife, but for fuck’s sake, if they didn’t stop tearing holes in the bloody universe, none of them would have a place to go. No heaven, no hell just the abyss waiting to swallow them whole. And he wasn’t about to let that happen on his watch.

…

 PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I tried using Constantine POV throughout the entire prompt and as you can see that I over did at the Brit slang.

PPPS: Though, how did I do?….

[diejager]

I’ve been waiting so long to request a part two to the story you wrote where Makarov learns he has a daughter and takes her from her mom. Like especially if said daughter puts up a fight and tries to refuse everything he gives her.

Cw: DARKFIC, kidnapping, forced relationship, tell me if I missed any.

“милая,” Makarov - or your father as he liked to call himself - sighed exasperatedly, his dark eyes glued to your figure, “You’ll eventually need to listen, the world isn’t a safe place.” [Darling]

He watched you roll your eyes, acting like a petulant child despite the years you’ve spent by his side. Five years in and you still fought him at every turn. You were studious, smart and quick-learning, but you feigned oblivion - faked stupidity - just to enrage your tutors enough to force them to leave, if not, you’d force their hand by thinning their already strained patience until they cracked.

He’s been forced to hire different tutors again, and again, and again, the unending cycle of hiring and quitting weighing on his mind more than it did on his wallet. Although they left within the first few months, Makarov learned that you had caught on, however small you were taught was ingrained in your mind. Perhaps not a photographic memory, but a fast and good one.

“And that’s because of who, huh?” you scoffed, crossing your arms and slouched on your chair, the plush fabric moulding to fit your shape, “Cuz last time I checked, I lived a perfectly safe life with mom.”

You stared idly at the plate, the perfectly cooked steak with sauce and spice peppered with perfection and vegetables decorating the sides as if your diner was a piece of art. You always complained about what a waste of time and money it was to be spending on embellishing food when it’d end up disfigured and cut and digested, but to him, it was all about the image. Maybe it was different for you —it certainly was. Everything in his organisation was about the strong image he held, and you were just a part of it: his rebellious and angry daughter, but smart and independent, quick on her feet and silver-tongued with her words.

That made him the proudest. How people underestimated you, spoke in Russian and let a few secrets slip when they were near you simply because you’d never bothered to speak the language or hadn’t grew up beside him. Everyone knew you were his bastard-turned-princess daughter, but you looked like an angry child, moody and childish, untaught and too western to understand them.

“You weren’t, милая,” he shook his head, cutting into his medium rare steak, admiring the pale red that oozed around the cut, “It’s safer for you here —with me. They would have found you, perhaps not then, but later, one day.”

He couldn’t afford losing a piece of himself to his enemies or allies-turned-traitors, to willingly hand them his precious child. So he reached out first, took you in and made sure you were taught from the best. Where you lacked in ballet and dance and piano, you excelled in academics and martial arts. You fought him on it, but still attended these class, knowing that it would only help you. You were stubborn, but not dumb, something he loved about you.

“Eat, you have a new tutor coming in an hour.”

taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce 

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Zae!!!!! (you know me, this is going to be long lmaooo)

That was so incredibly hot I'm not even kidding. I have so many things to say and it still won't do justice to how incredible reading Evanescence was.

First of all, I want to say just how funny that cut was between the woman from Doyle's Tavern insulting him and asking for money in exchange for information to Arthur walking out with said info, all his money and a ban from the Tavern?? Idk it just made me laugh out loud for real 😂. Alright, now more serioulsy—

"Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor."

Looove that section and the paragraph after. Fellow figurative lovers, we are spoiled. And Jesus am I completely insane for finding the whole thing even hotter with a bestial, animalistic Arthur like this? Perfect comparison.

And the whole ring part! Their entire relationship is SO well written and so well balanced. You had shared your doubts with me about how to write an LH, but my GOD, this was absolutely perfect. GIVE YOURSELF MORE CREDIT I'M BEGGING YOU!!

His intrinsic violence, his possessiveness that dominates him in spite of himself is so in character, and YET, we love it, we love him, just as always.

I so love all the nuances you described in both him and the Reader. She's aware of the problems in their relationship and wants to fight him; she refuses to make things easy for him and give him what he wants. She loves him and hates him so much at the same time... And Arthur, all his impulsiveness, his brutality make us think he's looking for control at all costs; in the end, it's just the only way he can react to the fact that it's him who's completely in love with her and under her thumb. Brilliant. The dialogue in this part is really perfect, with Arthur repeating the “Yours” more and more surely. *sighs*

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!” But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw. “No, dammit, cause you own me.”

And the wild kiss right after! The whole prey and predator game, so so good. You know I'm suuuuch a sucker for these kinds of comparisons. And the way they're fighting each other but getting closer at the same time... So, so erotic.

And EXCUSEEEE ME, Reader insulting him as they succomb to it? I am so into this. God it made my body feel all sorts of ways 🥵🔥

He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display. “Say you won’t go,” he choked out.  Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Oh. My. Lord. I could DIE from this simple vision. This is just incredibly hot and so good to read; I wasn't expecting him to actually be the dominated one here. (Big boys just want to be taken care of, don't they?🤭😉)

And Jesus, how do you achieve that Zae? Because the part after was even better!!! Honestly, I was already choking here, and then that:

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.”  “I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back.  “You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.   “I–dammit–I–kn–know.” The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch.  “I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

I AM DEAD!!!! I loved this part so much I think I read it four times already!!! I mean come on guys, the dialogue, every word sounds so fcking good, perfectly transcribing his voice, making him spit out he's indeed too bad for her, and her stroking him like this, him babbling that he'll change? I'm getting all excited again just talking about it 🫠 This is definitely one of my favorite fic moments, ever.

And of course, as always, the grandiose climax, with once again the predator comparison but with HER as a lioness???? ZAE MARRY ME. This was absolute perfection. And even better, the second echo with him finishing inside, while she asserts "Yours". I just can't with that level of perfection, of masterfulness. This is mind-blowing, Zae. You really made me lose my mind with this one.

The last words also struck me; they are so relevantly bitter-sweet. An ideal ending for this nuanced relationship. You're forever inspiring me.

To conclude, one of my new favorites of yours (yes I knoooow every new one is becoming one of my favorites of yours, but hell I'm just a girl and you're still so incredibly talented!). I'm left in awe of your talent, every time, and here especially with such a subtle LH Arthur. Please, be proud, because you really did him justice. Bravo, bravo, bravo.

Love u! -Your loyal Piney 💞

Evanesce

Summary: You try to runway. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female!reader Word count: 3,673 Tags: angst, smut, mid-low honor Arthur, handjob, unprotected p in v, oral, breeding kink, tb? Don’t know her. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, toxic relationship

An: I feel like I ran a never ending marathon with this one. Drafted it a month ago, but I never really vibed with it. Challenged myself to just get it done and make sure I was proud of it. Once again, I'm trying to step out of my comfort zone. Shout out to @googoolies for the note idea! As always, I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Tagging @hihomeghere because you asked ❤️

Evanesce: to dissipate like vapor

Worn floorboards of Shady Bell wailed under Arthur’s weight as songbirds began their morning melodies. The gunslinger scoped the eerily empty, quiet camp for traces of you, but all he found was a folded letter on his pillow.

Echoes of your last conversation flashed in his mind as he tramped across the narrow room to retrieve the note. Two nights ago, The Old Guard overlooked their kingdom from the second-floor balcony as they discussed their plans to wage war against Angelo Bronte. Bile stung the back of your throat as two-thirds of the trio outruled the other. Hosea’s final words to Dutch and Arthur, “You’ll damn us all,” filled you with dread and the overwhelming feeling of impending doom.

Arthur avoided your shadowed eyes as he reloaded his weapons and ignored your outcry against Dutch’s plan. Your desperation had turned swiftly to indignation, and an argument commenced, your voices clashing like swords. You begged him not to go, pleading with the enforcer to listen to reason for once, to listen to you. But he pushed back with the shield of obstinance he had long forged for survival. 

“I don’t take orders from you, woman, and keep your goddamn voice down.”

Thousands of tiny needles pricked at the backs of your eyes at the harsh directive, but you held firm. 

“Arthur, if you go I’ll–” 

“Don’t,” he warned dismissively, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and ambling to the door. He didn’t even bother saying goodbye as he twisted the knob. Your last words fell on ears deafened from years of gunfire. 

“If you leave, I won’t be here when you come back.”

Two days later, Arthur masked his guilt with anger as he skimmed over the last piece of you left in the room. Four words in the polite loops of your handwriting taunted him: Saint Denis. Train. Running. 

After a quick check of the cinch, he found himself begrudgingly engulfed in the city of smog and greed he’d come to hate so much. Riding through the maze of cobblestone, brick, and vermin was like laying under a guillotine, staring up at the blade and waiting for it to drop. Law on every corner, people jammed together, and now, Bronte’s men out for revenge–none of it felt right. 

Taking in a breath that didn’t reach deep enough, he started his search for you in this hornets’ nest of a city. Most of the hotels and saloons served him with nothing but a heavy dose of adrenaline and dead ends. As he approached Doyle’s Tavern, his last stop, he dug his nails into his trembling palm, savoring the sting of apathy that came with the pain.

Arthur made a beeline to Gabe Doyle, reciting his rehearsed description of you. A woman standing beside him, whose garments had seen cleaner days, tapped him on the shoulder. The outlaw didn’t even look at her, didn’t give her time to speak before he rejected her with razor-edge disdain. When Arthur finished, Gabe only shrugged his shoulders, but the woman, still standing close by, let out a derisive giggle.

“He won’t be of no help, mista’. Coulda’ told ya’ for free, but it’ll cost ya’ now.”

Ire made his ears ring, drowning out all the other sounds in the slum’s saloon. He drummed his fingers hard on the worn wooden bar, the taste of pride sour on his tongue. 

“How much?” 

Cleavage spilled over her top as she leaned towards him and twiddled brazenly with the collar of his shirt. 

“Well, for clients that play nice, seven dollars, but for you, rotten dirty bastard––times it by ten.” 

A minute later, he exited Doyle’s Tavern not a cent lighter, heavy with an indefinite ban, but finally, a real lead on you. Four new mocking words overshadowed ones from the letter: Whore house; Courtenay Street. 

A brothel—a goddamn brothel. 

Instinct lured him to the debauched inn, and your name frothed from his muzzle in more of a growl than speech. Like a rabid dog, he snapped and barked orders at the women unlucky enough to be trapped with the beast on the arena floor.

They tried futilely to stop his march down the hall, tried to keep him from getting to you, but the chaos drew you into the colosseum and into the lion’s direct line of sight. You yanked the man-turned-animal by the sleeve and sealed yourselves away before he could do any more damage. 

More tame now, sea storm orbs surveyed you in a quick but covert once over, then he spun on his heel, searching for anything else to focus on.

“Christ, been looking for you all day, woman,” he bit out through clenched teeth. 

The lone wolf prowled the new territory for a threat but was only met with a vacant cave and the empty feeling of shame. Deflecting, he found your luggage, lifting the bags with the practiced ease of carrying buckets of water to and fro. His biceps flexed with the weight of your whole life in one bag, but he nodded at you, matter of fact. 

“C’mon. M’taking you home.”

Home. You could’ve laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. None of these places had ever been home.

“I ain’t going nowhere with you,” you fired back, grabbing for the suitcase in his hand. A brief game of tug-of-war ensued, your grip relentless, Arthur’s unwavering, until he finally let you pull one of the bags free. He dropped the other and exhaled with the sharpness of a saber but stayed silent at the conclusion of your weaponless duel. He’d fallen in love with that gnawing defiance, but now it was tearing him to pieces, bit by bit until it exposed the marrow of pure anger.

“Runnin’ off is one thing.” His nostrils flared, and the timbre of his voice deepened as he carried on, “But running off t’here–– selling yourself?” He shook his head and blew air through his teeth, “Yer crazier than I thought.”

You whirled away from him, swatting your hand like he was as insignificant as a fly.

“And you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. Ain’t selling myself, you damn fool! And I’ll do whatever the hell I please. Right now, I want to get far away from this shit city and you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, dragging out the words. “I know you just as well as you think you know me. If you wanted away–really wanted away–you wouldn’t’ve left this pretty little letter, and sure as hell wouldn’t’ve told me where to find ya’.” He retrieved the letter from his satchel, held it up just long enough for you to see, and crushed it in his fist before discarding it on the floor.

“That’s what I think of your pretty little letter.” 

You had started a slow involuntary backtrack during his monologue, the flight response pushing back against the fight. He followed, sandwiching you between himself and the door.

“Screw you.” Scorn was hot on your breath.   

Just as you thought to turn the knob, to free yourself from the prison of flesh and wood, the iron teeth of a bear trap, his fingers, clamped around your wrist, bringing your hand to eye level. 

“And you still got something of mine.”

Both pairs of eyes landed on a small round sparkling opal set in a gold band on your left ring finger.

You’d never forget finding it on your pillow along with a letter from Arthur that just said, “One day…”

He had made promises he didn’t keep. First, you just had to wait for the Ferry Job. Next, you needed to survive Colter. Then you had to get far away from the Pinkertons, and most recently, all you needed to do was help case the Lemoyne National Bank. One last job, he’d told you. It was the same thing he said before leaving for that boat in Blackwater.

Contempt flowed through your veins as you tried to wrench free. God, you hated him right now, but you hated yourself more for letting him fool you.

“Let go.” You hissed, seething. 

Your hand throbbed as he gave your wrist another squeeze.

“You first.” Then he nodded towards the stone on your finger. “My ring,” he demanded.

Your knuckles collided with the wood of the door with a hard knock as you freed your hand. You flattened your palm against the wood behind your back, guarding the ring from the career thief’s piercing gaze.

“No,” you shot back, sinking into yourself. “It’s mine.” 

Your finger throbbed around the ring you’d seldom taken off. It had become part of you, melded to your skin like a vine coiled around a tree in a beautiful and deadly embrace. 

“Yours?” he huffed incredulously, shaking his head, trying to form your words into something he could understand. For a short beat, the heavy huff and puff of his breath was the only thing you could register. 

You had mined forever to find something other than cold coals of anger within him. You thought you’d found it—thought you’d finally struck gold when he confessed his feelings for you somewhere out west all that time ago. Now, you were left wondering if it was only fool’s gold you had stumbled upon. The cowardly knight was far too proud and far too afraid of getting stabbed to lay down his armor. But you were having a silent conversation with those sad eyes, reading words he’d never speak or ask aloud. What does that make me, then? 

“Yours.” He answered his inner thoughts without hesitation.

Mine. You thought back but only stared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of cracking under his scrutiny. 

“Yours.” He repeated assuredly, final. 

It was your turn to shake your head now; you could hear his vocal cords vibrating, generating sounds you were supposed to understand, but he may as well have been speaking another language because what the hell did he know about being anybody else’s? You repeated your thoughts bluntly.

For a moment, he looked stunned, but then his hand shot out, cupping your jaw and tilting your face toward his. He was so close, you could smell him now. The scents of liquor on his breath and leather in his hat permeated your whole being.

“You don’t think–” His voice was low and trembling with fury. “I been yours since the goddamn day I laid eyes on you, and you know it.”

Fight, flight, freeze, and now fawn all warred for dominance. Twin mirrors of blue cosmos peered into your soul, but you didn’t look back, knowing that black holes of destruction ruled in the center and could swallow you in the blink of an eye.

“You have to go, Arthur.”

You tried to reach for the knob again, but Arthur imposed on you further, his chest brushing against yours. 

“No,” he said. “I ain’t going nowhere without you, and you ain’t going nowhere without me. M’done talking about it.”

It’s like he couldn’t listen, couldn’t hear you, couldn’t respect what you wanted. He only ever responded to shouting and violence. So you dipped down to his level, anything to get him to understand. Your open hand pushed full force against his chest, knocking the wind from him and making him stumble backward.

“You don’t own me, Arthur Morgan!”  

But the shouting was no use. He closed in on you again, and you reached out, clenching your fists in his shirt to stop his advance. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, talking with a tight jaw.

“No, dammit, cause you own me.” 

You balled your fists around cotton fabric and pulled him down into you, inhaling like you were bracing for the worst. This game, Predator and Prey, had become second nature to you. You would always be his fawn, thrashing and wailing, yet never escaping the salivating jaws of the coyote. And it always ended the same: a clash of heavy breathing and snarls before you surrendered.

Tobacco and whiskey never tasted so good, and they were just as addictive as him. Your teeth clashed together, and his left hand fell to your hip while his right twisted the lock on the knob. 

He was never gentle, but now, he was almost crazed. Rough hands that were trembling only an hour ago were all over you, gripping your jaw, sliding under your blouse, pushing and pulling you to his whim.

“Falling in love with you was the dumbest thing I ever did,” you confessed as he removed his hat and set it aside; he had better access to you without it. Heat surged through you as his hands bit into your hips, pinning you in place against the locked door. 

You mumble under your breath, “Bastard.”  

So far, he was ignoring your attempts to rouse him; you were his pretty little doe, caught in his chops, and a few barbs wouldn’t keep him from utterly devouring you. Dipping his head into your neck, he fixated on that pulsing artery, taking no time to roll the flesh between his teeth.

“Goddamn asshole,” you huffed but cradled his head as he claimed you.

He brushed over the ruptured blood vessels with his knuckles, and the bastard was smiling, eyes glazed over with lust and self-indulgence. Electricity sparked down your legs as he looped his fingers in the waistband of your skirt. 

You swore to yourself two nights ago that it was all over, that you wouldn’t let him slither back, yet here you were, Eve, being tempted by the serpent. Teeth sank into the forbidden fruit with the lift of your hips off the door, giving him permission to snatch both your skirt and bloomers down in a swift pull. Arthur didn’t need much persuasion to eat from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil; a man like him could have never lived for eternity in The Garden of Eden. 

The pair of you wore pride like heraldry, but neither of you was as honorable as you’d led the other to believe. You, provoking him with the threat of leaving, knowing you’d let this happen as you always did, and him never changing and never stopping the cycle of broken promises. 

Your scent was intoxicating, but he held off from relishing it, studying your face like he’d done many times before. Something was different this time, though. Only for a heartbeat, you saw something in his eye, a minuscule hint of vulnerability. You blinked, and it was gone like it was never there, replaced by an unabashed smirk. You kept the insults flying. 

“Jerk.”

Hearing the laugh rumble in his chest made your skin prick up the same way it did when a thunderstorm was brewing on the horizon. The cowboy braced his hands against your thighs and peeked up at you, his lips still curved in the corners.

He lifted his eyebrow in question, “You done?”

“Shut up,” you responded, tangling your fingers in his hair and guiding him, not so gracefully, to the heat between your legs. 

Obeying, he flicked his tongue out to lap at you, drawing you closer in a hug, his palms resting on the curve of your ass cheeks. Steadying yourself against the door, you tugged on his hair like reins, but fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. You grunted and cursed under your breath as that gluttonous, greedy grifter feasted on you. 

Blasphemous sounds rose up from your chest as you rocked your hips feverishly with every swipe of his warm wet tongue against your clit. Every tug of his locs and bump of your mound into his nose sent blood pulsing full speed to the bulge in his pants. He knew you were dancing dangerously close to the cliff’s overhang by the way you were keeping him in place, right where you wanted him. But the brute stopped and locked eyes with you, lips curved downward. That slight glimpse of vulnerability you thought you’d seen earlier was now on full display.

“Say you won’t go,” he choked out. 

Down on his knees, looking up at you with genuine sincerity was the closest he’d ever get to prayer or penance. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat but didn’t answer him.

Instead, you ushered him back to his feet and crashed your lips into his again, tangling your tongue with his.

In a swift motion, you popped his suspenders loose while you walked him backward. The backs of his knees hit the bed, and he shimmied off his multiple layers just as quick as you unfastened the buttons on your blouse. You stood before him, a goddess, determining his eternal fate. And he waited, fixated on you, languidly stroking his engorged cock while you decided.

You replaced his fisted grip with yours, bending to meet his eye. The almost frown on his face made you wonder what he was seeing staring back at him. You imagined your pupils blown out, your lips swollen, and your hair disheveled. Arthur was the only man in the world who could turn you into a vixen. 

“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.” Your noses were almost touching as you tightened your grip and stroked him painfully slowly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded, his face downright solemn. 

“Mhm,” you went on, rubbing circles atop his hot, leaking pink tip. Your pace quickened as your cheek grazed his. A shiver ran through him as the vibrations of your voice tickled his ear.

“No good, thieving, murderous bastard.” 

“I know.” He drew out, tightly clutching the sheets. With a firm nudge, you urged him onto his back. 

“You don’t deserve me. Never did,” you continued. His hips jutted in time with your wrist, his climax sitting low in his balls.  

“I–dammit–I–kn–know.”

The muscles of his stomach constricted as he fought for breath, damn near suffocating under your touch. 

“I’ll change.” He gasped, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “I’ll change. But–ahh–I ain’t ever gonna be good enough for you, woman–nghh–no matter how much changin’ I do.”

Air finally flowed back through with the halt of your pumping. The mattress sunk with your added weight as you slung your legs on either side of him. Neither party stalled. You gave him a quick nod before he could even ask, and he sank his length into your warm, wet pussy. There were no hushing kisses, no waiting for you to adjust, no cajoling, just the smacking of skin and the aroma of sex in the room as he molded you to his girth. Bashfulness had never even crossed your mind. You rode him tirelessly, whimpering, gasping, and filling the air with his name. 

The roles reversed; you were the animal now, a lioness pursuing a buck. Chasing the high, you galloped hard and fast and grinding your hips against his to relieve the throbbing ache in your clit. You massaged the sensitive nub between your thighs, indulging in the pleasure you were giving yourself and receiving from him. The tip of his cock bumped that sweet spot inside of you, the one that made you tense and cry out over and over again. 

You didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want him to know what he was doing to you or how he was making you feel–how he always made you feel when he was burrowed deep inside of you. You couldn’t hide from him, though. He knew you–knew the faces and sounds you made, knew the way you tightened around him, knew how you stiffened, knew how your breathing shallowed when you were on the edge. He knew the control he’d have over you forever.

“You ain’t going nowhere.” He grunted as he pounded up into you, the knot in his stomach tightening with his own upcoming release. 

“Fucker,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and you love it.” 

You couldn’t deny it.

He took your hand in his and felt for the ring on your finger, stroking it, all while keeping eye contact and hammering relentlessly into your velvety walls. Four more thrusts and your eyes rolled back as the lightbulb of tension burst.

“That’s right, let it go, there it is.” Muttering, his upward ruts got sloppier as you rode out your body-spasming orgasm. Then he started babbling, lost in your sweet heat,

“Shit, I’m–bout t–m’close.”

The cowboy tried to lift you up, tried not to spill inside of you, but you buried your head in the crook of his neck and lowered yourself back down, taking him balls deep.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, hugging you to his chest, “the hell you doing, t’me, woman?” He panted and stared up at the ceiling like a man condemned. 

“Ain’t going nowhere,” you echoed breathlessly, still bouncing, before adding, “Yours.” 

In a few more strokes, he filled you up, grunting through his teeth and cursing up a storm that’d make even the most seasoned sailors look on timidly.

Outside noises of the establishment and the streets of Saint Denis droned back in as both of you came back to your senses. An ocean of things was left unsaid as you redressed and let Arthur lead you out of the room and to a proper hotel for the night. The next morning, you took Arthur up on his offer to get away for a few days. As the train you had boarded for your trip chugged on, something in the distance piqued your interest, a small homestead. You could vaguely make out a woman sitting on the porch and a man, presumably her husband, tending to a horse nearby. Of course, you didn’t know their life or their struggles, but if you could write your own happily ever after, it would be that. Arthur nudged you with his elbow, interrupting your daydream.  

“M’sorry...about everything,” he said, low, barely audible. The perpetual ache in your chest had almost gone numb after so long. Almost. 

“I know.” You replied and turned back to the window. The house was out of sight now, and you had a feeling your fairy tale ending had vanished with it.

[glorifiedagents]

Paid to be Ruined — agatha harkness

"YOU LISTENED." Agatha’s voice was velvet and steel, laced with amusement and unmistakable hunger. Her gaze dragged over you — slow, knowing, lingering on the bare skin of your thighs peeking from beneath your coat. She took a step closer, fingers brushing the belt at your waist, her smirk deepening as she tugged — just enough to loosen it. "Good girl."

SUMMARY: agatha hires you for the night again - and you know for a fact that she's gonna ruin you PAIRING: g!p agatha harkness & escort!fem!reader CAUTION: swallowing cum, creampie, deepthroat, size kink, stomach bulge, spit, dom!sub!dynamics, overstimulation, escort!reader, g!p agatha, degradation and slight aftercare from agatha WORD COUNT: 5.1K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read, let me know if i made mistakes! currently going through my agatha phase - literally need fucking help

You weren’t new to this.

The job, the money, the whole give them what they want, take what you need, and walk away thing. You had it down to a science. You knew how to read people, how to figure out exactly what they were looking for and play the part they wanted. It was easy. Simple. No emotions, no attachments, no mess.

But then there was her.

Agatha Harkness had been different from the start. The first time she hired you, you had expected the usual, maybe a drink, some small talk, a client who wanted to pretend there was more to this than just an exchange. But Agatha? She didn’t do small talk. She didn’t waste time.

She had taken one look at you, studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes, and smirked like she already knew exactly how the night would go. Like she had already decided how far she was going to push you. And the worst part?

She was right.

That night, she had left you wrecked. Not just satisfied — ruined.

You had walked away with sore thighs, a raw throat, and a pay-check big enough to make your head spin. You should have left it at that. Should have chalked it up to just one really good night with a really dangerous woman.

But then she called again. No discussion. No questions. Just a time, a room number, and the unspoken expectation that you would show up.

And against your better judgment, you did.

Only this time, you weren’t just going to show up. This time, you wanted to see just how much further she could break you.

You remembered something she had said the first time around, almost offhand but still deliberate in that way she did everything.

"Red suits you."

So you wore red.

Your best set — delicate lace, thin straps, garters and thigh-high stockings that made you feel like sin itself. And as the elevator carried you up to the top floor, heart pounding, pulse racing, you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t just getting paid tonight.

You were getting owned.

The black car idled outside the grand hotel, its sleek design gleaming beneath the golden glow of the streetlights. You sat in the back seat, smoothing your hands over your thighs, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. The fabric of your long coat was soft, but it did nothing to still the pounding of your heart.

The driver hadn’t spoken much since picking you up from your apartment — just a clipped greeting and a quiet confirmation of the address before pulling away from the curb. You were grateful. Any attempt at conversation would have been wasted on you. Your mind was too preoccupied, too restless, too consumed by what awaited you on the top floor of this building.

Your breath hitched as you stepped out of the car, heels clicking softly against the pavement. The grand entrance of the hotel loomed ahead, its revolving doors ushering guests in and out with quiet efficiency. The warm air inside wrapped around you as you stepped through, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.

The lobby was a sight of wealth — high ceilings, polished marble floors, chandeliers dripping with crystal. The hum of quiet conversation surrounded you, but none of it registered. You walked with purpose, straight to the bank of elevators tucked near the back of the lobby.

Agatha’s message had been simple. A room number. A time. Nothing else.

Your fingers toyed with the belt of your coat as you waited for the elevator, a mix of nerves and anticipation coiling low in your stomach. You had dressed for her. The finest red lace and silk clung to your curves beneath your coat, the bra delicate yet daring, framing your breasts perfectly. The matching panties sat low on your hips, sheer enough to leave little to the imagination. Garters held up sheer thigh-high stockings, adding an extra layer of tease.

She would appreciate the effort. And then she would ruin it.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the top floor. The space was empty save for you, the only sound the soft hum of the elevator rising.

Your pulse quickened. You could already imagine the way she would look at you. The weight of her gaze, dark and knowing, as she took in every inch of you. The way she liked to test your limits, the way she devoured, possessed. She was dangerous in the most intoxicating way, and you had walked straight into her grasp.

Another chime. The doors opened.

The hallway was quiet, lined with plush carpeting that softened the sound of your steps. Each step forward sent another jolt of anticipation through you, every breath felt heavier. The door number burned in your mind.

And then, you were there.

Before you could knock, the door swung open.

Agatha stood in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of the suite’s lighting. Her dark button-up was partially undone, sleeves rolled up to her forearms, revealing toned, elegant wrists. She looked effortless, but you knew better. Everything about her was intentional.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, Agatha wasted no time. She had you pinned before you could take another breath, her strong hands pressing you back against the door, her body a solid wall of heat against yours. Her mouth crashed onto yours—hungry, claiming, her teeth scraping against your lower lip before she bit down just hard enough to make you gasp. She swallowed the sound with a satisfied hum, her tongue slipping past your lips as she deepened the kiss, rough yet tantalizingly slow, like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

Her fingers trailed from your wrists, still trapped against the wood, down the length of your arms, her touch featherlight—teasing. By the time she reached your shoulders, she slid her fingers beneath the delicate straps of your red lace bra, pulling them down achingly slow, her mouth never leaving yours until she finally ripped herself away.

"Look at you," she murmured, stepping back just enough to take in the sight of you, her dark eyes raking over your body like she was devouring you whole. "Dressed up like a good little whore, just for me."

Heat flared through your body at the way she said it, dripping with amusement but edged with something dangerous, something that made your pulse stutter in your throat.

You barely had a second to react before she was on you again—her mouth hot against the curve of your jaw, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. Her hands were everywhere at once—sliding down your arms, gripping your hips, owning every inch of you as she backed you up toward the bed. You whimpered when she took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking hard, her tongue circling the sensitive peak before her teeth grazed it just enough to make you jerk in her grasp.

"Mm, so fucking sensitive," she mused against your skin before switching to the other, her free hand rolling the abandoned nipple between her fingers. Your hips bucked reflexively against her, needing more, desperate for friction.

And fuck, you felt it. The thick, hard length of her cock pressing against your stomach through her slacks, the outline making your mouth water as you squirmed beneath her.

"Pathetic," Agatha laughed, the sound low and mocking, her fingers trailing down your stomach, stopping just at the waistband of your panties. She could feel how wet they were, her smirk widening as she pressed her fingers against the soaked lace, applying just enough pressure to make you moan. "This soaked already? And I haven't even touched you properly. Such a desperate little thing."

"Agatha, please—"

A sharp slap to your thigh cut you off, the sting making you whimper as your skin burned beneath her palm.

"Did I say you could fucking beg?" she growled, her tone dark, commanding. "You're so needy it’s pathetic. You don’t deserve my cock yet."

You let out a choked sound of frustration, your body aching for more, but she just smirked, dragging her fingers up the inside of your thigh, making you tremble.

Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees.

You gasped at the sudden shift, your breath hitching as she pressed a kiss to your hip, her mouth lingering over the thin straps of your panties. She breathed you in, her nose nudging against the damp lace before she let out a low, satisfied hum.

"Fucking filthy," she murmured, dragging her tongue over the wet fabric, slow and deliberate, tasting you through it. The friction was exquisite—a teasing, maddening pressure that made your thighs shake. She licked a second time, the heat of her mouth soaking through, her fingers digging into your hips as she held you still.

You whimpered, your hands gripping the sheets behind you as your hips jerked up, chasing her mouth. But she pulled away just enough to deny you.

"Patience," she scolded, voice thick with amusement, before reaching up and undoing the garter straps excruciatingly slow, watching your face the entire time.

And then—fuck.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled your panties down, dragging them down your legs inch by inch, her lips brushing along your thighs as she went. And then, instead of tossing them aside—

She brought them to her mouth.

Your breath caught as she slid the drenched fabric between her teeth, her dark eyes locked onto yours as she pulled them taut, letting them drag over her tongue. She moaned like she was savoring the taste, her smirk never fading as she finally removed them—only to shove them into your mouth.

"Since you can't seem to stop moaning like a desperate slut," she taunted, her fingers trailing down your exposed cunt. "Now you can keep quiet."

You whimpered against the soaked lace in your mouth as she finally pressed two fingers between your folds, spreading you open. She groaned at how wet you were, her thumb finding your clit and rubbing in slow, devastating circles.

"Fuck, look at this mess," she muttered, her fingers teasing your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling away. "So fucking needy for me. Do you even have a single ounce of dignity left?"

You tried to respond, but your voice was muffled by the panties in your mouth.

Agatha laughed. "That’s what I thought."

And then, without warning, she thrust two fingers inside of you.

Your entire body arched off the bed, a muffled scream escaping past the gag as she filled you all at once, stretching you open with zero hesitation. She set a relentless pace immediately, her fingers driving into you with obscene, wet sounds that only seemed to fuel her amusement.

"Listen to you," she groaned, her free hand palming her cock through her slacks. "Taking my fingers so fucking well. You were made to be used like this."

Her thumb pressed against your clit, circling in time with the thrusts, sending sharp jolts of pleasure racing through your core. The pressure was unbearable, the pleasure so intense that your legs started shaking.

"You're gonna come already, aren’t you?" she mocked, watching you struggle. "Go on. Make a mess."

And then—fuck, fuck, fuck.

She angled her fingers just right, curling them against that perfect spot inside of you while pressing harder against your clit. Your entire body locked up before pleasure exploded through you, a sharp, overwhelming rush that had you squirting all over her fingers, your release dripping down your thighs as you writhed beneath her.

Agatha groaned as she watched you come undone, fucking you through it, her pace unrelenting as she worked you through every wave. "That's it. So fucking messy for me."

When she finally pulled her fingers out, they were dripping. She brought them to her lips, eyes locked onto yours as she sucked them clean, humming at the taste.

Then she stood, undoing her slacks, letting them pool at her feet.

Your breath caught at the sight of her thick, hard cock springing free, the tip glistening. You reached for it immediately, but she caught your wrist, pinning it back against the mattress with a warning glare.

"You don’t get to touch until I say so," she growled, leaning over you, pressing the heavy length against your overstimulated clit, making you whimper. "And you will take every fucking inch."

And fuck, you knew she meant it.

Every single word.

Agatha’s cock drags against your slick folds, teasing, the head catching on your clit with every slow, deliberate stroke. The obscene, wet sounds fill the room, mixing with your breathy whimpers and the low, guttural hum of amusement from her lips. She’s playing with you, watching the way you tremble beneath her, the way your thighs try to clamp together, only to be forced apart by her strong grip.

"Spit." The command is sharp, leaving no room for hesitation.

Your lips part instantly, tongue pushing forward as a warm strand of saliva drips onto her waiting fingers. She smears it over her cock, mixing it with the slick beads of pre-cum already glistening at the tip. A slow, shuddering breath leaves her as she fists herself, pumping with languid strokes, eyes heavy-lidded as she watches you. A few stray drops spill onto your stomach, smearing across your skin, and marking you.

She lines herself up again, pressing the swollen tip against your entrance but not pushing in. Instead, she leans in close, mouth ghosting over yours, her breath hot and teasing.

"You want it?" she murmurs, smirking as she rubs herself against you, teasing, taunting. "Say it. Beg for it."

"Please," you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets. "Please, Agatha, I need—"

The words cut off in a sharp cry as she thrusts into you in one smooth motion, burying herself to the hilt. The stretch is instant, overwhelming — your walls clenching desperately around her thick cock as she fills you completely.

But she doesn’t give you time to adjust.

She sets a ruthless pace from the start, each powerful thrust driving deep, punching the air from your lungs as she claims you. The slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, the mattress creaking beneath the force of her movements. Your back arches, head falling back against the pillows as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you.

"Feel that?" she growls, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand down to your stomach. She presses your palm flat against your lower abdomen, right where she’s buried so deep inside you. "Feel me stretching you out? Fucking you open?"

The sensation is dizzying — you can feel the thick, hard outline of her cock through your own skin, feel the way she moves inside you, relentless and unyielding. Your body is burning, electric, the pressure coiling tight in your core with every brutal thrust.

"You’re squeezing me so fucking tight," Agatha groans, her fingers bruising against your hips as she fucks into you harder, deeper. "Like your body's desperate to milk me dry."

The words send a violent shudder through you, the pleasure teetering on the edge of something devastating.

"That’s it," she pants, her grip tightening as she slams into you harder. "Come for me, you filthy little thing — fucking soak me."

It’s too much. The overwhelming fullness, the sharp slap of her hips against yours, the way her cock presses against that perfect spot inside you — it sends you spiralling. Your body seizes, the orgasm ripping through you like a lightning strike, white-hot and all-consuming.

Fuck.

A strangled cry breaks from your lips as the pleasure turns into something explosive — your walls clenching down in rhythmic, desperate spasms, forcing liquid heat to gush from you, soaking Agatha’s cock, your thighs, and the sheets beneath you. The release is violent, messy, your body shuddering uncontrollably as the pleasure crashes over you in waves, each one dragging you under deeper.

Agatha curses under her breath, watching as you fall apart, watching the way you soak her cock, your slick dripping down onto her thighs. Her movements grow erratic, her breath ragged as she slams into you one final time, burying herself to the hilt as her own pleasure overtakes her.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from her chest as she comes, filling you with heat. You can feel it — the thick warmth spilling deep inside, coating your insides. As if it was seeping into every inch of you. She doesn’t pull out, just grinds against you, making sure every drop stays buried within you.

Your body is still trembling, aftershocks pulsing through your core, your skin flushed and feverish. Agatha finally collapses against you, her cock still inside, pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, her breath still ragged as she murmurs against your ear:

"Mine."

Agatha pulls out slowly, deliberately, watching with dark, predatory eyes as your walls clench around nothing, your body still trembling from the force of your release. A satisfied smirk curls at the corner of her lips as she watches the thick spill of her cum start to leak out of you, glistening as it drips onto your thighs.

"Messy little thing," she muses, voice dripping with amusement and something darker, something possessive. Her fingers trail down your stomach, teasing over the sensitive, overstimulated skin before she presses two fingers against your entrance, spreading you open just enough to watch more of her cum seep out.

"Don’t waste it," she commands, and when you hesitate, she grabs your wrist, guiding your hand down. "Use your fingers. Push it back in."

Your breath stutters, but you do as you're told, your own fingers gathering the warmth of her release, feeling it slick and sticky against your skin before pressing it back inside, your walls fluttering around the intrusion. The act is filthy and it makes you burn with humiliation and arousal all at once.

Agatha hums approvingly, dragging her thumb over your bottom lip, her smirk widening. "That’s a good girl."

But she isn’t done with you.

"On your knees."

Your body obeys before your mind fully catches up, slipping off the bed and sinking onto the floor. The shift makes more of her spend trickle down your thighs, and Agatha notices; her gaze flicking down, her smirk deepening.

"Open your mouth," she orders, tilting your chin up with two fingers.

The second your lips part, she grips the base of her cock and taps the heavy length against your tongue. She’s still hard, impossibly thick, coated in a mix of your slick and her own release. The taste is intoxicating — salty and musky. The scent clings to her skin, warm and heady, something rich and masculine with the faintest hint of sweat.

You could get used to this.

Agatha doesn’t ease you into it. She grips the back of your head and pushes forward, the thick head stretching your lips wide as she sinks deep, pressing against your tongue. The intrusion makes your throat tighten, and she groans at the feeling, her other hand coming to rest heavy on the back of your neck.

"That’s it. Take it," she growls, rolling her hips forward, pushing deeper until your nose nearly brushes the coarse, dark hair at the base of her cock. There’s just enough of it for you to feel against your skin, soft yet undeniably masculine, a reminder of how utterly she’s claiming you.

Your fingers twitch at your sides before you reach up, cupping her balls — heavy, full, sensitive under your touch. You can feel the heat of them against your palm, the weight of them tightening slightly as she thrusts into your mouth.

"Look at you," Agatha sneers, pulling back just enough to let you gasp for air before she thrusts forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. "Nothing but a desperate little cock-sleeve for me, aren’t you? So fucking needy, drooling all over yourself just to have me in your mouth."

Your throat constricts around her, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, saliva pooling and spilling from the corners of your lips. Your body shudders, caught between humiliation and arousal, between submission and the raw pleasure of being used like this.

"Messy, pathetic thing," she continues, her voice sharper now, laced with satisfaction. "You love this, don’t you? Love being on your knees for me, choking on my cock like the filthy little slut you are."

Her words send a fresh pulse of heat between your thighs, and she notices the slight tremor in your body, the way your nails dig into her thighs as if trying to ground yourself.

"You’re getting off on this," she chuckles darkly, shoving deeper, holding you there for a moment as your throat spasms around her. "Of course you are. You’d let me ruin you, wouldn’t you?"

She groans as she pulls back, letting you breathe just for a second before thrusting forward again, deeper, harder, until you’re gasping around her, tears streaking down your cheeks. And still, you don’t pull away. You take it.

Just like she knew you would.

Agatha’s grip tightens at the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair as she thrusts deeper, groaning low and guttural as she feels herself teetering on the edge. You can feel the way her cock pulses on your tongue, the way her breath stutters, her rhythm faltering just slightly as she chases that final burst of pleasure.

"Fuck—" she growls, her hips snapping forward one last time, holding you down as her release spills down your throat. The taste is thick, warm, — salty and rich, coating your tongue in waves. She doesn’t let you pull away, making sure you take as much as you can, but it’s too much — some of it dribbles from the corners of your lips, spilling down your chin in hot, sticky trails.

She watches with dark, satisfied eyes as you gasp for breath when she finally pulls back, her cock glistening with spit and the remnants of her orgasm.

"Messy little thing," she murmurs again, thumb swiping at the cum dripping from your chin before pressing it against your lips. "Swallow every last drop."

Your throat bobs as you obey, the act making her smirk in satisfaction.

Then, without warning, she grabs you and pulls you up onto shaky legs, her lips crashing onto yours in a bruising kiss. The taste of her own release lingers between you, and she doesn’t shy away from it —if anything, she deepens the kiss, claiming your mouth with a dominance that makes your knees weak.

She moves you easily, pushing you back onto the bed, her body covering yours, heavy with heat and lingering hunger. Her cock, still hard, presses against your stomach, smearing the last of her release against your skin. You’re panting, dazed, body still trembling from the relentless pleasure she’s wrung from you, but when she starts to pull away, you catch her wrist, eyes glassy with need.

"I wanna ride you," you gasp, the words tumbling out breathlessly, your body aching but desperate for more.

Agatha chuckles, low and smug, dragging her fingers down your chest, teasing over your already-sensitive skin. "You think you can handle that?" she taunts, tracing slow circles over your overstimulated clit, making your thighs twitch. "You’re still shaking, baby. After everything I’ve done to you, you really think you can take control?"

The challenge sends another shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as you push up onto shaky arms. "Let me try," you whisper, lips brushing against hers, your voice filled with determination despite the exhaustion in your limbs.

Agatha leans back against the pillows, her body stretched out beneath you, radiating heat and authority even in repose. Her cock, still thick and glistening with a mix of your slick and her own release, stands hard between her legs, a silent challenge. The way she watches you; head tilted, lips curled in a knowing smirk; makes your pulse spike, a flush crawling up your chest.

"Go on then," she murmurs, voice laced with amusement, fingers idly trailing up her stomach. "Show me what you can do, baby."

Your thighs tremble as you shift forward, crawling into position, your body still aching from the relentless way she’s used you but the hunger still simmers beneath the exhaustion, pulsing low in your belly. You want this. Need this. Need to take her in deep, to feel every inch stretch you open again.

You straddle her lap, your hands braced against her stomach, feeling the taut muscles flex beneath your palms as you hover just above her length. The heat of her cock brushes against your swollen folds, sending a fresh shudder through you. She feels like fire against your skin. Thick and rigid, pulsing with need, the tip teasing against your entrance as you roll your hips ever so slightly, coating her in your arousal.

Agatha hums in approval, her hands gliding up your thighs, slow and possessive. "Look at you," she murmurs, her thumbs pressing into the sensitive skin where your legs meet your hips. "So desperate to have me inside you again. Can’t get enough, can you?"

You bite your lip, but she catches your chin between her fingers, forcing your gaze to meet hers. "Say it."

Your breath stutters, your body burning from the inside out as you whisper, "I can’t get enough of you."

Her smirk deepens. "Good girl."

She releases you just as you sink down, your breath catching in your throat as the thick head of her cock pushes past your entrance, stretching you inch by inch. The burn is instant—blissful, overwhelming, your walls struggling to take her all at once.

Agatha groans beneath you, her fingers digging into your thighs. "Fuck, you’re tight," she rasps, watching with hooded eyes as you slowly lower yourself onto her, taking her deeper, letting the length of her disappear inside you.

Your head falls back as you bottom out, her cock nestled impossibly deep, pressing against every nerve inside you. The sensation is devastating, a perfect mix of pleasure and pressure, and you tremble above her, nails scraping against her abdomen as you struggle to catch your breath.

"Feel that?" Agatha murmurs, her voice smug as she presses a hand against your lower stomach, right where she’s buried to the hilt. "So deep I can feel myself inside you again. Fuck baby."

You whimper, rolling your hips experimentally, the movement sending sharp waves of pleasure through you. The drag of her cock against your walls is slow and torturous, every inch brushing against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

Agatha watches you struggle to find a rhythm, her grip tightening. "Come on, baby," she taunts, giving your thigh a sharp slap that makes you jolt. "You wanted to ride me. Show me how much you need it."

A determined fire flares in your chest, and you plant your hands against her shoulders, lifting yourself just enough before sinking back down, harder this time. The impact sends a delicious jolt through you, pleasure sparking at the base of your spine.

Agatha groans, her hands sliding up to your chest, palms covering your breasts, squeezing as she rolls your sensitive nipples between her fingers. The sensation makes you gasp, the mix of pleasure and pain sending a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs.

"That’s it," she murmurs, her grip firm but teasing, playing with your body as she lets you work yourself on her cock. "Such pretty tits, bouncing every time you take me. Keep going, baby. Make yourself cum on me."

The words send a rush of heat through you, your movements growing desperate, erratic, your nails digging into her skin as you chase the high she’s leading you toward. The pleasure coils deep in your belly, unbearably tight, and when Agatha tweaks your nipple just right, rolling it between her fingers, it snaps.

A strangled cry rips from your throat as your climax crashes over you, your entire body shaking as pleasure consumes you. Your walls clench down around her, pulsing, milking her cock with every wave of your release.

Agatha groans, her thrusts turning erratic as she follows, burying herself deep inside you with one final snap of her hips. The warmth of her release floods your core, thick and hot, filling you completely as her grip tightens around you.

Then, with a smirk, Agatha leans in, nipping at your jaw but this time, her touch is softer. As you collapse onto her chest, spent and trembling, she strokes a hand down your back, her other hand massaging the sore muscles of your thighs.

"You did so well for me," she murmurs, pressing lazy kisses against your shoulder. "My good girl."

You hum, barely able to keep your eyes open as her hands knead away the ache, working out the tension she put into you. The warmth of her touch soothes the lingering sting of overstimulation, and for a moment, you think about letting yourself drift off.

But you don’t. You can’t.

The rules are the rules. Your rules.

With effort, you shift, slipping from her grasp, your limbs still shaky as you slide out of bed. Agatha watches as you stand, stretching despite the soreness in your legs, and move toward where your clothes are strewn across the floor.

"You’re not gonna shower?" she asks, her tone casual but curious as she props herself up on an elbow, watching you with sharp eyes.

You shake your head, pulling your clothes back on with practiced efficiency. "I’ll do it at home."

Agatha doesn’t say anything for a moment, just studies you as you gather your things. Then, without breaking eye contact, she reaches for the bedside table, grabs the check she had prepared, and hands it to you.

"You know…" she starts, voice slower now, something unreadable beneath the surface. "You can stay the night."

The offer lingers in the air between you, heavier than it should be.

But the rules are the rules.

You take the check, meeting her gaze one last time before slipping out the door.

And Agatha watches you go.

[thetxtdevil]

Thinking about less experienced Kai and his sexual journey with you...

MDNI / SMUT: cunnilingus, begging, and praise

The first time you two had sex you surprised him with the best suck of his life (his first) and proceeded to fuck him dry (out of very few). You worship his body, making blush tint his cheeks every time you touch him innocently or not. All he can think about is returning the favor. ♥️

One night, there he was holding onto you like you were a life-size teddy bear, snuggled under the blankets, and out of nowhere he blurts out, “I want to eat your pussy out.”

Heavy eyes, now popping out of your head, “So you can’t say one curse word during sex but you can say ‘pussy’ out of nowhere?”

“Please, you’re so good to me, I want to make you feel good.” He says in a whine, lifting his head out of your pillowy breasts to look at you. You pout not wanting to admit you were seconds away from falling asleep.

“Please” he pecks your nose.

“Please” pecks your cheek.

His lips trail kisses from your lips to your neck, leading up to your ear to say again, “Please.”

He hovers over you, chasing your diverted glance until you finally give in making eye contact. Kai's beautiful brown eyes sparkle with love and a little bit of determination. He gives a small smile before scrunching his nose as a cute gesture.

Smirking as you lift your hips taking your shorts and panties off, “Do what you want.”

Kai sighs out of relief, kissing your lips deeply. His big hands graze your body, putting them under your shirt, playing with your nipples, massaging your tit while doing so. The stimulation already had you riled up, naked thighs squeezing together. Kai slowly trails his kisses down your body. Shivering, feeling the tip of his nose brush against your skin.

Finally, he was underneath the blankets, head just a few inches from your cunt. "You're so beautiful." Long fingers barely brushing against you. Cool breaths puffs against your warm folds causing your back to arch. He places light kisses on your inner thighs passing the spot you really wanted.

After minutes of torturous teasing, you were beginning to suspect something. "Do you know what you're doing?" Kai's cute little pecks stop and his grip on you loosens. You roll the blankets off the man to see his bashful face. Now his eyes diverted from yours, "I-i uh don't know where to start." So you tell him.

Letting him take his time, sinking his fingers deep within your cunt. Lining every little crevice, exploring you up close. Telling him to give small kitten licks that he had just touched with his fingers. Your commands quiver when Kai tries a flicking motion of his tongue. Finding your clit, softly sucking then flicking the nib had your thighs shaking.

Brain going mush, you had so much to tell him, but his experimenting was just enough for tonight. Kai's tongue drags from your lips into your pussy, then focuses on your clit as his fingers enter your hole. He hums in response to your moans. Pleasure filling up your body thoroughly. Your back arches, grabbing your tits, getting lost in the spark building up in between your legs. Breathless huffs flow down your pussy, Kai's nose squishing into you.

With a drag of his fingers, pushing into a sweet spot in your gummy walls, "Shit right there!" Kai pauses for a millisecond figuring out what he had just done. He felt so hot listening to you, turned on by the fact that he was doing this to you. Long fingers thrusting into you, tongue lapping up all your juices. "I'm cumming" you scream as your grip on his hair tightens. Your pussy pulsates against the man's tongue having him smile against it.

Kai slowly backs away from your spent cunt, sitting on his heels watching your folds clench. Your chest bounces with each big breath, getting yourself back to reality. Blinking at the ceiling, you look back at your handsome boyfriend. His sweet bashful gaze wasn't there anymore, instead, his eyes were dark and predatory. "That was a good trial run, can I try again?"

"Please"

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

PS. Happy Valentine’s Day ♥️

taglist: @naoristerling, @inkigayocamman, @incogrio, @blue-moon-514, @izzyy-stuff, @biteyoubiteme

[fayelero]

ⓘ 01. MY KIND OF WOMAN !

⤷ FLUFF ﹫ kirishima eijiro x fem!reader ﹫ oneshot

⚠︎ pure fluff, friends to lovers, clumsy kirishima .ᐟ.ᐟ

kirishima paced back and forth in bakugo’s dorm room, running a hand through his already messy red hair. his mind was racing, his heart pounding like he had just finished an intense sparring session, but for once, it wasn’t because of training. it was because of you.

and now, here he was, seeking advice from bakugo, of all people—who currently sat slouched in his desk chair, arms crossed, an unimpressed scowl on his face.

“oi, quit pacing, shitty hair, you’re giving me a headache.” bakugo grumbled, kicking at kirishima’s leg as he passed by for the fifth time.

kirishima stopped in his tracks, rubbing the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. “ah, sorry, man. i just—this is kinda important, y’know?”

bakugo raised a brow, clearly not convinced. “tch. if it’s so important, why the hell are you asking me?”

kirishima took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of bakugo’s bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “because, dude, you’re… brutally honest. and i need that right now.”

bakugo scoffed. “damn right.”

kirishima exhaled heavily. “okay, so, it’s about her—”

bakugo groaned loudly. “of course it is.”

“—and i think i’m in love with her, man.”

that caught bakugo’s attention, if only slightly. his red eyes flicked to kirishima’s face, scanning for any sign of hesitation. there was none.

“yeah? no shit. took you long enough to figure that out.”

kirishima blinked. “wait, you knew?”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “dumbass. it’s obvious. you follow her around like a lost puppy, always hypin’ her up, always lookin’ at her like she’s the damn sun or somethin’. it’s pathetic.”

kirishima let out a defeated groan, flopping backward onto bakugo’s bed. “ugh, i knew it. i knew i was bein’ obvious. no wonder she doesn’t see me that way.”

bakugo made a face. “or maybe she’s just as dumb as you are.”

kirishima sat up again, eyes wide with hope. “wait—you think she might like me back?”

bakugo shrugged. “dunno. don’t care. that’s your problem.”

kirishima sighed, rubbing his temples. “alright, well… that’s not even the main thing. the real problem is—how the hell do i tell her? how do i tell her that she’s the most badass, kind, and incredible person i’ve ever met without soundin’ like a total idiot?”

bakugo narrowed his eyes. “…that’s what you’re stuck on?”

kirishima blinked. “huh?”

“you’re actin’ like confessin’ is some kinda battle strategy. just spit it out.”

kirishima exhaled sharply. “i can’t! she’s my kind of woman, y’know? she’s strong, she’s passionate, she never backs down from a fight. she’s got this fire in her that makes me wanna be better. and she’s gorgeous, dude, like—way outta my league. and somehow, she still treats me like i’m someone worth standing next to.”

bakugo stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “god, you’re such a sap.”

kirishima groaned. “i know! that’s the problem!”

bakugo pinched the bridge of his nose. “then stop overthinkin’ it. you already know what to do.”

kirishima furrowed his brows. “i do?”

“tch. you don’t gotta be some smooth-talking dumbass. just be you. tell her what you just told me—minus the whining.”

kirishima hesitated, then slowly grinned. “…y’know what? you’re right. i do know what to do.”

bakugo rolled his eyes. “obviously. now get the hell out of my room.”

kirishima laughed as he stood up. “alright, alright. thanks, man. you’re a way better listener than you let on.”

“shut up before i kill you.”

kirishima grinned as he left, heart racing—but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. it was from excitement. because now?

now he was really gonna tell you.

kirishima had faced a lot of scary things in his life. villains. grueling training sessions. bakugo in a bad mood. but somehow, none of those compared to the sheer terror he felt as he made his way through the dorms, heart hammering in his chest like it was trying to break free.

he was really gonna do it. he was gonna confess.

at least, that was the plan.

unfortunately, nervous energy had turned him into a full-blown disaster.

his first mistake was misjudging the distance between the common room couch and the coffee table. he tried to casually step over it, but his foot caught on the edge, and he nearly face-planted.

“shit—”

“dude, you good?” kaminari blinked from his spot on the couch, holding a controller mid-game.

“yeah! yeah, totally good!” kirishima laughed awkwardly, straightening up as if that hadn’t just happened. his cheeks burned as he quickly power-walked toward the exit before he embarrassed himself even more.

his second mistake? the door.

it was a push door. he pulled.

it didn’t budge. he frowned, yanked again. nothing.

“uh…”

sero, who had just entered the common room, raised an eyebrow. “you good, man?”

“i—yeah, i—” kirishima realized his mistake mid-sentence, quickly pushing it open instead. “see? totally fine.”

sero didn’t look convinced. “riiight…”

kirishima groaned under his breath as he finally made it outside, inhaling the crisp evening air. okay. deep breaths. he could do this.

then he saw you.

sitting on a bench near the garden, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, you were completely absorbed in your book. the wind played with your hair, making it dance around your face, but you hardly noticed, eyes scanning the pages with quiet focus. your fingers gently turned the page, movements delicate and unhurried, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

and just like that, kirishima’s brain short-circuited.

how the hell am i supposed to just walk up to her and drop a confession like that?!

his palms were sweating. his heart was racing. his legs? not cooperating at all.

but he had already come this far—backing out now would make him a coward.

so he forced himself to move, trying to act normal.

which, apparently, was not in the cards for him today.

the first thing he did was stub his toe on the edge of the pavement. he stumbled forward, barely catching himself before eating dirt.

then, as he tried to casually walk it off, he overcompensated, swinging his arms too much, like some weird overenthusiastic jogger.

you looked up just in time to see him approaching. his usually confident stride was replaced with something stiff and unnatural, like he was trying way too hard to look casual. you blinked at him, confused for a moment—then, a small, amused smile tugged at your lips.

“eijirou?” you called softly, tilting your head.

kirishima froze.

oh god, even just hearing you say his name in that soft, gentle tone made his heart do an entire gymnastics routine.

“uh—hey! hi! h-hey there!” he winced immediately. hey there?! who even says that?!

you chuckled, closing your book. “you okay?”

“me? totally fine! just… out here! enjoying the fresh air! like you! haha… yeah.”

he was dying.

you smiled again, patient as ever. “it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“yeah! nice! super nice. like… really, really nice.”

kirishima, for the love of god, shut up.

you hummed softly, shifting on the bench to make room beside you. “do you want to sit?”

oh. oh, that was dangerous.

but there was no way he could refuse, so he quickly nodded, plopping down next to you—too quickly. the force of it made the bench shake slightly, and he almost lost his balance again.

you let out another soft giggle. “you seem kinda jumpy today.”

“i—I do?”

you nodded, eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “mhm.”

kirishima swallowed hard, gripping his knees to stop his hands from shaking. this is it. just say it. just tell her.

he looked at you, really looked at you—the way your eyes softened when you smiled, the way you always seemed so patient with him, the way your presence alone made him feel like he was home.

his throat tightened.

“i, uh—”

your gaze remained gentle, waiting.

kirishima’s heart was pounding. he could feel the words right there on the tip of his tongue—i like you. no, i love you. you’re my kind of woman. you always have been.

but suddenly, his fear kicked in full force.

what if you didn’t feel the same? what if he ruined this? what if this easy, natural friendship between you shattered because he couldn’t keep his damn feelings to himself?

so instead of saying what he wanted to say, he panicked.

“—i, uh, i was just wondering what book you’re reading!”

a pause.

you blinked.

then, you smiled. “oh, it’s just a romance novel.”

kirishima laughed, but it was a little too loud, a little too forced. “aha—yeah, romance, that’s cool! that’s, uh, really cool.”

you gave him a knowing look, but you didn’t push. instead, you simply opened the book and started talking about the story, your voice calm and soothing.

kirishima barely heard a word. his own thoughts were too loud.

damn it. i chickened out.

but as you kept talking, smiling so softly, so effortlessly, kirishima felt some of his tension ease. maybe he hadn’t confessed tonight.

but at least he was here, with you.

and maybe, just maybe, he’d find the courage next time.

kirishima barely processed a word you were saying.

he was nodding along, making the occasional hum of agreement, but in reality? his brain was still spiraling from the fact that he had completely chickened out. again.

you had given him the perfect chance, sitting beside him, smiling at him, soft and patient as ever. and what had he done? asked about your book. like an idiot.

but even now, as the two of you fell into easy conversation about other things—the day’s training session, how kaminari had nearly set off the fire alarm again, how aizawa looked two seconds away from quitting—kirishima still felt like his chest was too tight.

because you were right there.

the sun had nearly set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, and the soft glow of the dorm lights made your features even gentler. your voice, your laughter, the way you turned to look at him with that natural warmth—it was killing him.

and the longer he sat there, the worse it got.

his heart felt too full, his hands clenched into fists on his lap. the words were bubbling up again, just like before, but he was determined not to let them slip out.

so, of course, they did.

“man, i love you.”

the words left his lips so naturally, so effortlessly, that for a split second, he didn’t even realize what he had said.

then, he did.

and his whole world stopped.

you stopped talking mid-sentence. your eyes went wide, lips slightly parted in surprise.

kirishima’s heart nearly gave out.

“—wait, no—” he shot up from the bench so fast that he nearly tripped over his own feet. his arms flailed, his hands waving in a panicked frenzy. “i-i mean—not like that! i mean—I do! but not—I mean, yes, but—oh god, i wasn’t supposed to say that!”

you just stared at him, stunned.

kirishima’s face was on fire.

his words kept tumbling out in a messy, frantic rush. “i—I didn’t mean to say it like that! i was gonna say it eventually—no, wait, i mean—I wasn’t not gonna say it, but not right now! i had a plan! a good one! and now i ruined it—”

you blinked. then, slowly, your lips curved into a soft, amused smile.

kirishima’s heart stuttered.

“i’m an idiot,” he groaned, running both hands down his face. “i—I swear, i was gonna do this properly, not just—blurt it out like that—”

you let out a quiet laugh.

kirishima froze.

he peeked at you through his fingers, confused. “w-what?”

you didn’t answer right away. instead, you stood up, stepping closer, until you were right in front of him. the sudden lack of space made his breath hitch, but before he could freak out further—

you leaned up on your toes, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.

kirishima went completely still.

every thought in his brain short-circuited.

then, just as he felt his soul leave his body, you pulled back, still smiling that gentle, beautiful smile of yours.

“i love you too, eijirou.”

kirishima forgot how to function.

“you—you what—” his voice cracked mid-sentence.

you laughed, reaching out to take one of his hands in yours. your fingers were warm, soft, delicate against his own calloused ones, and it made his entire body light up.

“i love you,” you repeated, softer this time, looking up at him with eyes full of warmth. “i have for a while.”

kirishima genuinely thought he might pass out.

his mouth opened. then closed. then opened again. his brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, desperately trying to process what was happening.

you… loved him?

him?

his face was burning, his heart was pounding, his entire body felt like it was buzzing. he was so sure that he’d ruined everything. that you’d look at him with pity or let him down gently.

but instead, you had kissed his cheek. held his hand. told him you loved him.

and suddenly, every single ounce of nervousness and panic melted away.

because this was you.

the girl who always cheered for him. the girl who always listened to him ramble. the girl who had been by his side through everything.

the girl he had loved for so damn long.

a slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face.

“holy shit,” he breathed. “you—you love me?”

you giggled. “yes, eiji.”

a breathless laugh escaped him, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with himself. he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head, his heart soaring. “oh my god—I—wow—I cannot believe i just accidentally confessed—”

“would you have ever done it on purpose?” you teased lightly.

kirishima let out a sheepish chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “…probably not.”

you squeezed his hand. “then i’m glad you did.”

his stomach flipped.

for a moment, he just looked at you, the realization settling in fully.

you loved him back.

you had always been his kind of woman. and now? now you were his.

he exhaled deeply, then, without thinking, squeezed your hand and tugged you just a little closer.

“so, uh… does this mean i get to kiss you now?” he asked, grinning despite the heat still burning his cheeks.

you laughed, rolling your eyes fondly. “yes, you dork.”

and with that, kirishima finally—finally—closed the distance.

the end.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

focus and study - viktor

summary; in which viktor gives you a proper incentive to study hard and even helps you relieve some stress

genre/extra tags; small one shot, modern college au, smut, fluff, half baked smut, established relationship, this could be considered a prequel to my jayvik reader smut, viktor and reader were together first and jayce joined in not long after, OR jayce thought they were dating already and viktor reader thought too hard about the relationship, silly shit at the end, jayvik freak agenda, OOC viktor????, open ended

word count; 1.1k

[nsfw] [gender neutral reader]

[warnings; sex toys, dom! vik my beloved, written by a sex neutral asexual, orgasm denial/edging, overstimulation?, voyeurism?, implied dacryphyilia, degradation???, vik call you a slut, whore, dumbification?? idk how to spell that one how fitting, riding, slight oral, a small step up from mean viktor compared to my other fic]

a/n; umm... no notes. written in January, finished for valentines. this world will never give me viktor league for valentines. this is so half baked. im so sorry viktor nation.

studying was the worst. at least for you. you, who usually had a good sense of confidence when it came to your classes, felt like screaming into the void with every curse you knew.

nothing just seemed to be clicking in your mind. no matter how many times you went over it yourself, how you asked the teacher, how you asked some classmates. nothing worked.

but then viktor had this genius idea.

"hah... viktor.. i don't- i don't kn-know.." you gasped between words as you feel how sticky your lower half has become as you sat at your desk. you've never been more thankful to only afford a cheap chair because you just know that any leather seat would have you riding on it like it's viktor's own dick. "i don't know- the- the answer-! ngh!" your body trembles as the stupid hot red dildo stuck in you vibrated gently. it was enough to feel but not enough to satisfy. it wasn't even big enough to hit any good spots, too.

"dear.. you can do better than this. i don't date a dumb whore.. do i?" he said sitting on your bed as he fiddled and twisted with the setting on your vibrator. his smirk is subtle every time he gains a whine out of you when he turns the settings higher or lower.

you shook your head, intensely disagreeing with him as you try to hold back from touching yourself. "n-no.. i'm not dumb.." you whined into your hand that did nothing to cover your moans.

"we have 5 more questions, pretty. can you do them for me?" he asked. you can hear him stand up, and you see his figure at your vanity mirror as he approaches you. you can see how hard he is with his pants tightening by his dick. "i'd be very happy if i could give you a reward."

you look at your written notes, but everything seems to blur and mesh together. you shift in your seat, and the vibrator just grazes your sweet spot. you crumble and whine loudly at the absolute lack of satisfaction you just felt. so close but so far. you don't even realize you're crying.

"is my poor love too much of a dumb slut to handle some math assignments? you can't even think, right? you can't even answer my questions anymore.." he said, his hand resting on your cheek as he turns you to face him. "what will i ever do with you?" he turns the settings higher, leaving your legs twitching and shaking for more.

"v-viktor.. please.." you cried out. "i want- want you so b-badly.." you can't help your hand traveling down to your heated area to start touching yourself for any sense of satisfaction. but viktor stops you from doing too much.

"now, now, what did i say about touching yourself? i should teach you how to behave properly. i'd say i could fuck you stupid but that wouldn't be so right for this scenario, would it?"

you start getting desperate, your hands grip at his pants tugging at them and looking up at him with glazed eyes for a chance to have him in you. "v-vik- ah.. please.." your body is only turned to him now, your face covered in tears as the vibrator is only grazing and brushing at your sweet spot.

"my pretty dumb slut, is that what you are now?" he asked, holding your face by your chin. his thumb rubs at your tears. "you listen to me so well, and yet you can't even finish reviewing your notes as i told you to." he shook his head in feign disappointment before moving back to the bed. you follow him, your bodily fluids drip down your legs in a way that makes you feel so pathetic, but you don't even care at this point. you need him so bad.

"please- viktor- i want to- i want-" you can't even speak right. not when he's unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. you almost drool at the sight of him.

"you should be good enough to not cum until i tell you, yes?" you nodded eagerly at his words. "look at you, you're drooling over me." he commented, but most of your sense is thrown out the window as you start licking at his dick. your warm mouth starts to suck and hollow your cheeks as you blow him. you can see how much he enjoys it, but he stops you from doing too much. he grabs a condom to put on, and your body shivers in excitement.

you both move to a more comfortable position, resting fully on the bed rather than on the edge of it. he takes the vibrator out of you, leaving you whining from the emptiness. "no whining, dear." he said as he sat on the bed, pants tossed to the side, boxers somewhere on the floor, and his white button-up open and loose. "ride." he gives the one command, and you go for it. you keep it careful so as not to disturb his hurt leg too much.

you line yourself with his cock and slowly sink, moaning at him filling you so well. you start riding not long after once you get used to the feeling of him. but you're so close to cumming due to the vibrator simply torturing you earlier that your body shivers and shakes from you holding back. "let- let me cum, v-viktor!" you gasp between pumps. his hands on your hips guide the pace.

"you couldn't even answer 5 questions for your notes. are you sure you're not my dumb slut? you can't even think about anything but my cock, right now? nothing but my pretty whore."

"please, please, please!" you repeated, your eyes unfocused and blown out as your mind draws blanks. "wanna cum! please!"

"you're asking so nicely. perhaps you're not that dumb." he hummed. "you can cum now, dear." he purred before holding your face to his, to kiss you stupid. you instinctively respond to his kisses and the last thrust that hits your sweet spot, leaving you to moan his name out. "that wasn't a great plan, but we learned a lot, didn't we?" you would be mad at him for being so composed and calm this whole time if you weren't so fuzzy brained right now. he slowly guides you to pull out and tosses the condom in the nearby trash bin. you move slowly and lean down to finish him off.

"you don't have to do that, dear."

your response is muffled, and you don't even pull away. you refuse to leave your man unsatisfied, but his next words have you pausing, "jayce can do that for you. isn't that right, jayce?" you pause to look over at the door and see a heaving jayce with a hard rock cock stuffed in his pants and a guilty puppy look on his warm face.

[ecstxsyy]

HOW YOU DOIN’? | D. GRAYSON ❦

Dick can’t control his jealousy.

based on this ask.

18+ mdni!

frat boy!dick grayson x fem!reader

warnings: oral (m!receiving), face-fucking, dick is jelly af.

requests for v-day event are closed!!

cupid’s candy hearts masterlist

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DICK GRAYSON couldn’t help but be possessive over you, you were his pretty girl. Every single one of his frat brothers drooled over you, their eyes lingering longer than they should when you were in their vicinity. It made Dick go blind with rage, he wanted to smash their faces in but he couldn't risk getting kicked out of his fraternity or out of school.

The two of you weren’t technically together, but everyone knew you were his. The two of you have been fucking for months, it started as a casual hookup here and there. But then, you both decided you didn’t want to stop. You decided friends with benefits was your best course of action, both of you not wanting to label anything.

Tonight was his fraternity, Alpha Phi Alpha’s Valentine’s Day party; everyone was going to be there. Dick had texted you a few hours ago to invite you, but he got no response. He figured you probably had plans with your friends and left it alone, he didn't want to seem clingy. But, what he didn't know was that you had already been invited. His frat brother, Alex had invited you.

When the time came for the party, people began filing in and filling the house up. In no less than an hour, it was packed body to body with sweaty drunk people. Dick found himself scanning the crowd every few minutes to see if you were going to show, he felt embarrassed that he was upset that you weren’t there.

That’s when you walked in, you looked so beautiful it nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. You were wearing a cute pink crop top with a small leather skirt that fits the curve of your ass just right, you knew Dick loved that skirt and he knew that you knew that. His happy look was quickly wiped off of his face when Alex approached you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

It took all of Dick's willpower to not go and wring Alex’s neck, his anger bubbling hot throughout his entire body. He approached the two of you quickly to gauge the situation and see what was going on.

“Hey, you didn't respond to my text. What are you doing?” Dick asked, his eyes gesturing between you and Alex.

“Hey, Dick. Alex here asked me to come to the party with him and I said yes,” you smiled, acting like you had done nothing wrong.

Dick nodded and stormed off, going to find the closest bottle of liquor he could find. He entered the kitchen and found exactly what he was looking for, popping the cap off to take a long swig. Dick sipped the bottle for a while until he got an idea.

“Hey! Everyone! Let’s all play a game of Too Hot,” Dick shouted out with his hands cupped around his mouth, getting the attention of everyone in the living room and kitchen.

Dick got a group of people to play, conveniently including you and sat everyone in a circle in the living room.

“Alright, rules are the brother's spin to pick who they go with and you guys already know, the winner takes the loser to the bedroom to do whatever they want,” Dick announced to the group, locking eyes with you at the end.

“I’ll go first,” Dick said, grabbing the nearest empty beer bottle to spin on the table. Dick somehow managed to spin the bottle perfectly, watching as it came to a halt pointing at you.

Dick used his fingers to make a ‘come here’ motion, smirking at the disdain on Alex’s face. You knew Dick was just being territorial, but you loved to rile him up.

Once you got close enough, Dick grabbed you by your hips and yanked you into him roughly. The both of you put your hands behind your back and leaned in, catching each other in a passionate kiss. Dick wanted to feel you up but he refused to let you win, you needed to be punished for what you did.

Your lips moved in sync, your tongue sliding into his mouth to wrestle with his. While the two of you kissed, you decided you couldn't care less about winning or losing, you just wanted Dick. You let your hands run up his arms, feeling the muscley plains of his biceps. Dick pulled away with a smirk, hoisting you over his shoulder with ease to take you to his room.

Dick shot a cocky look at Alex, smacking your ass roughly letting the sound reverberate through the room while the rest of the brothers cheered him on. Alex visibly deflated in his seat watching the two of you walking away, seeing your giggle as Dick said something to you that he was too far away to hear.

When you reached Dick’s room, he tossed you on the bed and began unbuttoning his khakis. You started to follow his lead and undress when he stopped you with a confused look on his face.

“Why are you getting undressed?” He asked, moving your hands away from the zipper of your skirt.

“Aren’t we going to fuck?” you answered his question with a question, the confusion evident in your expression.

“No, you’re gonna suck my dick and then we're gonna go back to the party,” Dick said bluntly, pulling down his boxers. You frowned and nodded, getting on the floor to get on your knees.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so surprised, after the shit you pulled I should be getting my dick sucked by Jessica,” Dick said while wrapping your hair around his fist.

Jessica was your sorority sister who was so clearly obsessed with Dick, you never paid much attention to her but recently she’s been getting under your skin with her flirting and Dick knew that.

You pouted and opened your mouth, letting Dick insert himself. He used your hair as a guide to move you up and down on his cock, thrusting his hips to meet your mouth halfway. Your gags were muffled by his length while he face-fucked you, tears beginning to spill down your face. Dick moaned out at the feeling, you always took him so well.

Dick was loud during sex, he could care less who heard him or what they thought about him. He let every moan and whine slip past his lips without a fight and you loved it.

Dick’s hips quickened their pace he began to hold your head in place for a moment once your mouth was wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, your head starting to go dizzy from the lack of oxygen. You tapped Dick’s thigh twice, the signal that you needed a moment, and Dick let you off of him. He smiled at the way you gasped for air, giving him a lazy grin while your tears and spit rolled down your cheeks and chin.

“You’re such a whore for me,” he chuckled and slapped his cock against your face and you sat in place and took it, you loved every second of it.

Dick used your hair to guide you back to your place on his cock, returning to his previous brutal speed in your throat. Your tongue began to lick at his tip every time he pulled his hips back, making sure to swipe over his tip to collect all of his pre-cum.

“I’m gonna cum,” Dick moaned out, somehow managing to pick up his speed even more. You were practically sobbing by now, your makeup leaked down your face and your lipstick was smeared across your chin along with the base of Dick’s cock.

His load shot down your throat in thick spurts causing you to gag around him one last time, his hands holding you all the way down on his length to make sure you swallow all of his cum. You swallowed his load once Dick let you off of him, sticking your tongue out to show him you swallowed it all.

“Good girl,” Dick smiled at you, patting your cheek and helping you up. “What do you say we just stay in here and go to sleep?”

You nodded and padded over to Dick’s closet for an oversized tee, grabbing one and stripping out of your clothes to change. You and Dick crawled into bed together once you were changed and snuggled into each other.

“I’m sorry I came with Alex, I didn't think you’d care,” you said with a sheepish smile.

“It’s okay, but can you just be my girlfriend so those assholes can finally know you’re really mine?” Dick asked, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

“Fine, fine,” you giggled and pushed his face away from yours.

Boy did you love this jealous side of Dick.

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[prettytoxicrevolver]

Protector | Matt Rempe

wc. 2.1k

You decide to go on a first date on Valentine's Day but what happens when the date goes beyond horrible? You call your best friend to help save you from it.

warnings: really really mean date, mentions a concern for being drugged but nothing actually happens

So maybe going on a first date with a guy you’ve never met before on Valentine’s Day was not your best idea. 

The fomo of Valentine's day has been weighing on you ever since you were a teenager. You were far from the most popular kid in school and had little luck in the love department as you worked through college. Now freshly out of college, living in Manhattan and kicking off your career, you figured now was the time to start getting out there and going on dates. 

To say you have hated online dating ever since trying it would be an extreme understatement. It felt like you had been on hundreds of dates with zero success and tonight was no exception. 

Your date Paul was a bit older than you, unemployed at the moment and looking for a new relationship after just leaving his ex. He met up with you at this fancy restaurant you have never been to and has so far criticized everything about you. 

“Why would you order seafood?” Paul sneers, looking down at your dish. “It’s gonna make your breath smell and I don’t want to have to deal with that later.” 

You’re shocked at how you’re able to keep your face neutral, at least long enough to cough out some excuse that you needed to use the restroom. You grab your purse and your phone, excusing yourself before speed walking over to the bathroom. Once safely inside, you open your phone but pause directly afterwards. 

Who were you supposed to call? 

You were still fairly new to the city, your best friend still lives back home, college friends were either out with their partners or out at a bar, there didn’t seem like anyone could come to your rescue. You started to think through excuses to make to Paul but fall flat. 

Then, you do something you shouldn’t. You call him. 

Matt was just settling into his short break from the NHL. Granted he hasn’t played a ton of games, he still reveled in a break from the grueling schedule of hockey life in general. He knew he was due back to the rangers in less than a week but for now he was content in catching up on some reading and relaxing. 

Just as he’s settled into his couch, fantasy novel in hand, his phone goes off. He looks down, spotting your contact flashing on his screen and he sighs quietly. He remembers you mentioning a date for today but he can’t remember much past that. 

You and Matt have been friends for about a year now and Matt has had a crush on you for even longer than that. Damn near since he got drafted to the Rangers back in 2020. You had done some on and off work for the Rangers for a while now, a side hustle job that Matt wished was your full time one so he could see you more often. 

You were there the day he was drafted, stepping in for media/photos for the day and he had beat himself up for years following for not getting your number that day. When he saw you during his NHL debut it felt like fate was on his side and he made sure to introduce himself better this time. 

You’ve been close friends ever since but that only made Matt’s crush on you grow stronger. He always tried to play it off but time and time again of saving you, protecting you, was hurting his heart more and more. He promised he’d always be there for you but at what cost? His heart? 

Still, he picks up anyway. 

“Hello?” 

Your heart floods in relief at Matt’s familiar voice, a jump of butterflies adding to the mixture as well. 

“Oh thank god,” you release in a breath. “I really need your help.” 

Matt’s heart clenches at your words and he can’t help the way he’s already standing from his seat, walking over to where he keeps his keys. 

“This guy I’m on a date with is a total creep and now that I think about it I left my drink uncovered just now and I’m scared and he keeps making weird comments and-” 

“I’m on my way,” Matt interjects, anger flaring his words and you visibly relax at his response. 

You hang up the phone, shooting Matt a text with the address you were at and he tells you he’ll only be five minutes. You make your way back to the table where Paul is clearly unamused. 

“What? You have an emergency? You suddenly need to leave right this minute?” he asks sarcastically and you shake your head. 

“No I just-” you start but he’s quick to cut you off. 

“You know, a decent person would just tell someone that the date isn’t going well instead of making excuses. This is the worst date I’ve ever been on.” 

“Excuse me?” you snap, anger rising in your chest. You had been nothing but kind and polite this entire time and all he’s done is rip into you and you were done playing the sweet and demure girl. 

“Firstly, you pick this horrible restaurant. Then, you catfish me, lying about your weight and showing up looking like you just rolled out of bed. God and your personality! You-” 

His rant sends you into a spiral that causes you to freeze, unable to react in any way. Your brain blocks out his next words, not sure what to do next when the decision is taken out of your hands. You watch as someone steps up, grabbing Paul by the shirt and hauling him up from his chair. 

The minute Matt steps into the restaurant he spots you, your posture stiff and unwelcoming, something that sets him on edge instantly. He starts to walk over, his long strides making short work of the distance but when he hears your date's words it takes all of him not to start sprinting at him. 

“You are such an obnoxious little-“ Paul continues but Matt has him by the collar of his shirt and is pulling him out of his seat before he can finish the words. 

“Don’t you ever,” Matt’s voice snaps you out of your state and you stare as he pushes Paul backwards, effectively blocking him from you. “Speak to her or fuck even look at her again, or it will be the last thing you do.” 

Matt is breathing heavily like he just completed a 3 minute shift on the ice and is still staring down his opponent. He’s trying to tamp down his anger but he never realized what people meant about seeing red until this moment. This rat faced looking dick was saying these things to you? Oh Matt was gonna kill him. 

The restaurant is deafeningly silent after Matt’s words and you watch as Paul analyzes the situation before holding his hands up in surrender. Matt stares him down for another moment or two before turning towards you. 

Matt wants nothing more than to turn and lunge at Paul and beat him senseless but he knows you and your safety are the priority. He grabs your purse and jacket before taking your hand in his other free one and pulling you out of the restaurant. 

Matt drags you down the block before you finally pull him to a stop, the intensity of the moment still thrumming in your veins. Matt turns to face you, waiting for you to do or say something and you take a deep breath, running a hand through your hair. His heart leaps looking at you, wanting to pull you into his chest and hold you close so you know you’re safe but wanting to give you space to process what just happened. 

“Fuck darling you’re shaking,” Matt says finally and when you look at him you realize the adrenaline mixed with the cold February weather has you shaking like a leaf. He steps forward, wrapping you up in your jacket and his proximity makes you finally take a breath of relief. 

“Thank you for helping me,” you murmur quietly. Matt’s heart pounds at the words, a mix of anger, jealousy, and sadness rushing around inside of him. 

Matt lets out a heavy sigh and steps back with a curt nod of his head. His warmth leaves and you’re shivering again causing you to frown. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, “Let’s get you home.” 

It’s the only thing he can say at the moment, his heart and mind in turmoil. He would do anything to protect you, he knew that truth for the rest of his life. But he hates that that’s all he is to you. A protector. He needed it to stop before his heart gave out. He turns away from you and you can’t help but step back up next to him, wrapping your hands around his arm as he starts to walk. 

Matt wants to shake you off but the feeling of you next to him settles his heart in an instant and he steps closer to you as you make your way back to your apartment. The journey is short and your heart seems to have settled almost to a normal rhythm now that you’re home safe with Matt next to you. 

When you get to your door you unlock it and let Matt in without a word. He follows you slowly into the kitchen where you pour yourself a glass of water and just as you’re about to offer something to Matt as well, he starts to speak. 

“I should go,” he mutters awkwardly and you frown at his words. 

Matt knew that if he stayed here, comforted you, went as far as staying the night, the pattern would continue and his heart would stay stuck in this endless loop of hope and heartbreak. He had to get out now for the best. Even when everything else in him was screaming at him to stay. 

“Please stay?” 

“Why?” he cuts you off, stepping closer with an intensity that wasn’t there before. 

“Why?” you repeat, confused by his question. 

“I promised to keep you safe, and I kept my promise,” he snaps and your face twists to confusion. “I’m done here.”

Your heart splinters at each word, falling apart at the seams as he talks. Tears threaten to spill over, you watch as Matt takes in your expression, something unfamiliar flickering over his features before he turns away. 

Matt can feel that each movement in his body is beyond forced. He has to tell himself to turn, to take a step, take another step, not look back at you and so on. He can’t handle it. 

“Excuse me?” you snap and he pauses. “I’m not done with you.” 

You march over to him, grabbing his arm and pulling him to face you. He towers over you, his six foot nine inch frame should be intimidating but right now it’s just frustrating. He stands in front of you, motionless, his eyes finding purchase on something behind you. 

“Look at me,” you demand and his eyes flicker for a moment and you repeat yourself. Finally his chocolate brown eyes land on you and you instinctively take a breath. 

“You may think you’re keeping me safe and that you’ve done your job as my protector or whatever so now you get to leave,” you start and Matt stares at you with a blank expression. “But I only ever feel safe when you’re around.” 

“What?” he asks, shell shocked by your words. 

“I need you Matt,” you tell him quietly. “I need you here. I need you to keep me safe. I need you to help me I just, I fucking need you.” 

The look in your eyes is so vulnerable, so intense Matt can’t look away. He knows the underlying meaning to your words but he’s too scared to take the leap. He doesn’t want to be wrong. He can’t ruin this. 

“Matt,” you say, breaking his train of thought. “My love, you’re all I want.” 

That’s all Matt needs to hear before he’s finally stepping up to you, wrapping you up in his arms and hauling you to him so you’re face to face. His lips meet yours in a desperate kiss that has warmth spilling throughout you. 

Matt felt like he was flying. He knew he was always going to protect you, take care of you, keep you safe, love you. He never realized you depended on that truth as much as he depended on living it out. He was nothing if you weren’t safe. 

“I love you,” you whimper out quietly when you break apart. 

“I love you,” he responds, pressing his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His promise is everything to the two of you and your heart settles gently in his hands, him handing over his as well.