#but i have to be awake to turn it back on is the catch here

[nakylvr]

— DESCENDING

sophia laforteza x fem!reader

summary: after your first mission together and sophia staying the night in your apartment, you don't hear from her again. until one night you're awaken by knocking on your door, revealing the girl.

warnings/tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, mild language, marvel!kats au, kate bishop!sophia, yelena belova!reader

hell yeah we back on our marvel!kats agenda 🙂‍↕️ deadpool!dani next? let me know 😋

you fucked up.

after the first mission with sophia became a mess with her getting shot and ultimately ruining what was the original plan, you were put "on hold" for missions for some time. you assumed she told the director what happened, and to say you were irritated would be an understatement. you were pissed off. this was your job, you lived off this. for days you had been sitting in your apartment doing nothing, letting time flow by as you drank more beer than you knew you could.

it was another normal night. you were on your couch, legs propped up on the coffee table with a beer in your hand and a few scattered on the table around your feet. you were half-awake watching the television and what it was playing.

and then the knocking came. hard and fast.

you jolted up, grabbing your knife from your table and slowly heading to your front door. you peer through the peephole and your gaze falters, putting your knife down and opening the door, revealing sophia.

she's a mess. hair tousled, scratches across her face and her glasses cracked in the center of the left lens, her shoulders slouched like she's about to pass out.

"sophia?" you let out. "what are you–"

"i didn't know where to go," she wheezes in response, her voice raspy.

the words stick with you for a moment before you shake it off and grab her arm to pull her inside. closing the door behind you, you turn and really look at her. she looks like shit. but you know better than to question what happened, for now, at least.

"come with me," you say, grabbing her arm and gently pulling her with you to the couch. "ignore the mess, i wasn't really expecting anyone." you add before going off into your kitchen.

sophia didn't even notice the beer bottles scattered around, her head pounding too much to even hear your words as she practically collapsed onto the couch. when you come back, her eyes are nearly closed.

"hey," you say softly, making her look up at you. "here's this." you hand her a ice pack wrapped in a towel.

"thank you," she manages to get out, taking the ice pack and holding it against her shoulder.

you stand there silently for a moment, debating what to do. and just as you open your mouth to speak, she beats you to it.

"i'm sorry for showing up like this," she murmurs, her eyes barely open.

"it's alright," you reply. "what happened?"

"nothing," she says quickly, shaking her head.

"okay." you nod, sitting down beside her. "do you need anything?"

"i don't know," her voice is barely above a whisper. "i just...needed someone."

you're taken aback by her response, but try not to show it, putting the cocky smirk on your face like you always do. "someone that tried to kill you?"

"someone that saved me," she says after a moment, making your breath catch in your throat. she looks over at you then, her eyes glossy with tears that she's trying to hold in. "i think i really messed up, yn." her voice cracks softly.

your smirk immediately disappears from your face the second she looks at you. "why?" you ask softly.

and the dam inside sophia breaks. she's bursting into tears the moment after you ask her why, and you instantly panic, not knowing what to do. "i-i thought i could do it on my own, b-but they followed me a-and i didn't have my equipment a-and–"

you're wrapping your arms around her shaking frame before she can finish, pulling her close to you as she buries her head in your shoulder. she's sobbing now, fully crying in your arms. "it's okay," you say quietly. "it's okay, you're safe here, i promise. i promise."

sophia holds onto your shirt in a tight bundle in her hands while she cries, barely hearing what you're saying over her sobbing. but she hears it. and it just makes her grab you tighter, the words hitting her like a truck despite only a few being spoken. your hand runs through her hair in slow, soft movements, bringing her closer to you when her cries amplify.

you don't know what to do. never once in your life did you think that she could be like this. she was always so strong, and didn't take anyone's shit. but here she was, breaking down in your arms like she was an entirely different person.

before you can even begin to think of something to say, sophia's crying slowly quiets. she doesn't move, a few sniffles coming from her, but she doesn't move or say anything. her arms remain wrapped around your torso, gripping your shirt tightly as if you were going to disappear. you glance down at her, not knowing if you should pull away first or if you should stay.

"are you okay?" you ask quietly.

"yeah," she replies in the same voice. "can we stay like this for a minute?" she hesitantly asks.

"we can stay like this for as long as you want," your response is immediate, your voice still being soft.

she doesn't say anything after that.

you're not sure how long you stayed in that position. and you honestly thought she might've fallen asleep sitting up with how quiet she was. until she finally unravels her arms from you and removes her face from your neck. her eyes don't meet yours for a minute, as if she's trying to think of what to say.

"i'm sorry about that." is what she ends up with.

you shake your head. "it's nothing, i don't mind," you reply. a moment of silence passes between you two before you speak again. "are you gonna leave now?"

another moment passes.

"do you want me to?" sophia asks.

"no." you shake your head.

"okay." she nods.

"okay," you say. "so what now?"

sophia takes a second to respond, not knowing either. "you got anything to eat?" she eventually responds.

"yeah." you nod. "i can make you–"

she suddenly stands, making you stop. "no offense, but i doubt you can cook something when the last time i saw you eat something it was mac and cheese out of the pot. i'm sure i can make something," she says bluntly, back to her normal self.

"i–uh–okay," you stammer over your words.

and for the first time, a smile curls on her lips. and then she's turning around and heading towards your kitchen, leaving you sitting there dumbfounded.

you sit there for a few minutes, hearing the clanking noise of pots and pans hitting each other before getting up and walking over to the kitchen. standing in the doorway, you watch as sophia appears to perfectly move around your kitchen like she had been there before. her hair swayed as she walked around to find the items she needed. her shoulders weren't scrunched up anymore, now relaxed and not tense. and despite the crack in her glasses, she looked peaceful as could be.

you felt a tug on your heart watching. for so long, you had been alone. you lived the same day every day. wake up, go to work, come home to no one, drink until you passed out, and repeat it. you had lived this way for so long now, that just seeing someone else in your home had you feeling things you weren't familiar with. and it scared you. you couldn't even remember the last time you were genuinely happy. you couldn't remember the last time you laughed. you couldn't even remember the last time you smiled genuinely. every day the darkness grew bigger, the void becoming more appealing to jump into and never come back. but at this moment, you wanted to stay.

"yn?"

you're shaken out of your thoughts when you hear your name, blinking a few times and seeing sophia looking at you.

"are you okay?" she asks.

"huh?" you let out. "i'm fine," you answer.

she studies you for a moment, clearly seeing past your lie but deciding to not say anything about it. "then help me with this," she tells you before looking back at what she was cooking.

"yeah, yeah. okay." you regain your composure and start helping her.

but that feeling doesn't entirely leave you throughout the night. you're not sure entirely what it means, and it terrifies you. you don't know what's going on in your head anymore or what to do. you're stuck. but so is sophia. and maybe that means something.

[tobesolnelyx]

i just saw ur post that frat boy! jackie is next, but also…. frat boy nat <3 always standing outside the frat house door smoking cigs, checking girls out, telling guys they can’t come in if they look sleazy <33

— a little bit harder now || fratboy and g!p natalie scatorccio headcanons 🕸️

a/n: ahh i have too many headcanons for her. i could make whole ass playlist for her.

summary: people are annoying but turns out you’re the exepction. college modern au. girlfriend!nat.

warnings: NSFW - content - MDNI

★ — the weird part about her is that she knows absolutely everyone around the campus. like, everyone. that’s why frats tell her to stand in front of the house and check who’s coming in. like some stoned bodyguard. not like she’s complaining. she can smoke as much as she can. and there’s pretty girls! coming in and going out, giggling at her, in shorts skirts with messed up make up…she gives them crooked smile, leaning against the cold wall.

★ — it’s her way to choose with who she wants to hook up tonight. if some girl is particularly pretty, she starts flirting and before anyone notice, she drags her to her room for a quickie.

★ — that’s how she met you! she was already a little bit high by that time. she looked at ,you and thought that you’re gorgeous. like, real fucking pretty. and okay, maybe she wasn’t very sober but when she woke up next to you in the morning after heated sex, she was certain it weren’t only drugs. you were still unfairly beautiful.

she didn’t know what to do, obviously. it’s not like nat ever had one meaningful relationship in her entire life. she froze in place when you stirred awake.

“hey” you mumbled. voice thick with sleep, deeper after whole night.

something in her chest fluttered. fucking hell.

“hey” she breathed out, starring at you, ghost of smile played on her lips. a moment of silence passed, and she closed the distance between the two of you again. and you both melted into the kiss.

★ — you learned that she knows everyone cause she’s a campus dealer. it’s not like she’s a druggie. maybe a little bit. but at least she has money, right? and she’s not constantly drugged!

★ — she owns old motorcycle! goes everywhere by it. she even bought you a helmet so you can ride with her without getting hurt. always making sure you’re holding on to her tight. never driving too fast when you’re with her.

★ — and okay, maybe she has idiotic reputation, maybe she’s blunt and doesn’t really likes anyone (maybe besides other frats). she just has trust issues. but for you? oh hell, she’s a softie. not exactly the clingy and sappy type, but always near you. you learned that her small gestures speaks louder than any words.

★ — she ties you shoes, soothes your clothes and gently fixes your make up whenever it gets messed up. always here when you pick up an outfit before going out together.

★ — and once you’re done? she fingers you in front of the mirror. she can watch you squirm in your pretty clothes, riding her long fingers. you have to change your panties after that. they’re completely soaked after all. she discreetly snitch the ones that are dripping with your cum to probably jerk off later. while pressing dirty fabric to her face. freak.

★ — she’s possessive and she’s sure as hell gonna manifest this by grabbing your thighs or ass in public. especially when someone’s trying to hit on you. doesn’t say much about it, but it’s obvious, she will show you later in her bedroom.

★ — natalie is audible. she can get really loud when she’s fucking you really good. not a big fan of smashing cock into your cunt when someone might catch you tho. you’re hers. only she can hear your moans and watch how her dick disappears in your hole.

★ — going back to — she loves to praise you in bed. always telling you how good you are for her. how beautiful you are. and she loves to massage your scalp while you’re sucking her off.

★ — usually so closed off and cold, but once when she’s in the mood and there’s only the two of you, she makes the dumbest jokes on earth. having much more fun with that than you do. i mean, you laugh too, from how stupid she is.

★ — everyone says she’s an asshole. she kinda is. very bold, not scared to tell people what she really thinks about them. she might not getting into fights for you, but sure as hell she’ll be arguing until she win. she makes people feel like idiots for even starting stupid conversations with you. her mouth is really something. really something.

★ — she’s not a cheater but she might be a little too friendly with other girls. she knows many of them. half because of her multiple hook ups, half because of dealing. you get jealous easily because of that. unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to see the problems.

“really? what was that bitch name?” you huff while she’s trying to put on you your motorcycle helmet.

“who?” she asks furrowing her brows. she’s oblivious to that. it’s normal for her to talks with girls on parties like that. besides, she genuinely doesn’t understand. she loves just you, so where’s problem? “oh, c’mon, pretty girl” she says pressing kiss to your nose. “im yours, get over it”

she gently puts helmet on your head. “i love you, stop that.” she murmurs. and god help her, she never loved anyone like that.

★ — when you argue, she’s mad or frustrated, she starts yelling in italian, gesturing so much that her rings are clinking against each other.

★ — right, her hands! always cold, covered in jewellery, fingers tangled with yours. seriously, she always holds your hand. actually she might have a thing for your hands. kissing your knuckles, sucking on your fingers…

★ — tank tops. loose tank tops with band logos and tight jeans. the bulge is extremely visible in them tho. this might be a bad thing, too. her cock is aching inside when she gets hard. (and she gets hard often. girl definitely has massive libido.)

★ — weirdly good at cooking and baking. makes you dinners and breakfasts, saying that going out is too expensive. and she’s better at this anyway. you’re pretty sure it has something to do with her italian roots.

“we could just order food from that—“ you start but she’s already in the kitchen. doing things pretty aggressively. very italian of her.

“no” she says with an accent. and there’s no further discussion. it’s tempting to continue anyway. she likes to shutting your mouth with kisses. or…other things.

★ — shitty at comforting but she always tries to make you laugh! she’s good at that. even if she’s just being silly.

★ — she’s not really good at expressing feelings verbally but sometimes when she’s high she starts making love confessions.

★ — family issues. to this point that when she broke a glass, she was prepared you’re going to tell her how much of a failure she is. poor baby. but she has you, and you’re doing everything to show her how healthy relationship looks like

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | T H R E E

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Wrenley finds herself on the outside of everything, realizing she’s actively losing the man she loves and starts to lose hope.

Notes: This one kinda feels all over the place but I had to get to this specific ending

Warnings: cheating (on both sides), attempted murder, 

Word Count: 6.3k

previous part

“Fuck! She’s awake!” The panic in the air is palpable as a blade glints ominously under the dim light. The cadet rolls, instinct kicking in, but she’s not quick enough. A sword arcs dangerously close to her back, the momentum sending a chill down my spine as her knees hit the hardwood floor. 

As the dust settles, I finally recognize the cascade of silver-tipped hair framing a face filled with fierce determination. It’s Violet. 

Seven cadets crowd into her small room, an unsettling mix of four unbonded men and three unbonded women, all eyes filled with an intensity that teeters on the brink of chaos. But then, a shiver creeps up my spine—the dark-haired figure standing at the threshold, blocking Violet’s only escape, is a face I never expected to see here. 

No. She wouldn’t dare.

“Guess it won’t do me much good to ask you to leave nicely?” Violet taunts, her voice dripping with malice.

“Damn it! I told you her armor was impenetrable!” One of the boys hisses from the door, frustration radiating off him in waves. 

“I should have killed you during Threshing,” Violet growls, her voice low yet filled with a simmering rage. The tension snaps as one of the girls lunges at her, and Violet darts across the bed, her movements a blur as she makes a beeline for the window, desperate for freedom. A knife whizzes through the air, its aim true, catching the sleeve of Violet’s delicate nightgown—a mere thread of fabric against the brutal reality of their confrontation.

But Violet retaliates with ferocity, her blade finding its mark in the girl’s shoulder, a cruel twist of fate. Yet there’s no time to savor victory; another assailant is already charging at her, and she swiftly turns, slicing at the new threat with a precision that speaks of countless hours of training.

“You have to go for her throat!” I hear Oren’s voice rise above the fray as he closes the distance to Violet, desperation clear in his eyes. “I’ll do it myself.” 

In an instant, the scene escalates further—Violet is lifted off the ground, Oren’s hands tightening around her neck, the chaos spiraling deeper into darkness…

“Wren?” My gaze snaps up to meet Ridoc’s, his brow furrowed in concern as he sits across from me at the long, scarred table of the dining hall. The chatter of fellow cadets buzzes around us, a backdrop of laughter and the clatter of trays, but I feel disconnected still. “You okay? You’ve been staring at your tray for like ten minutes.”

“Fine. Just not super hungry.” I reply, pushing my tray away with a sigh that carries more weight than I intend. My stomach churns with anxiety, the unease bubbling just beneath the surface. “Hey, have you seen Xaden?”

“No, I saw him and Bodhi go somewhere just before dinner.” Ridoc shrugs, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the growing knot of worry twisting in my gut. 

“Oh.” A flicker of disappointment washes over me; they never mentioned anything to me. What could they possibly be up to? The thought gnaws at me, a small worry worming its way into my mind.

“Hey, a group of us are going to be studying in the commons tonight. You’re welcome to join us.” Ridoc's smile is bright, a genuine warmth radiating from him that feels like a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. It’s probably the most sincere expression I’ve seen from him—no flirting, just a simple invitation to be part of the group. “Most of us aren’t making heads or tails of our history class, and Dain said you were probably the best to help besides Violet.”

“Sure, I’ll meet you guys down there.” I smile back, relief washing over me as I nod to Ridoc, watching him leave to join his friends. 

“Warn Tairn, Violet might be in danger.” I murmur to Desa as I lift my tray to dispose of it.

“Already done. You should eat something, Youngling.” Her tone is firm, laced with the gentle authority she usually has. 

“I’m fine, Desa.” I grumble, and she huffs through our bond, a soft echo of her exasperation that makes me sigh. “I’ll eat in the morning.”

“The Shadow Wielder will not be pleased when he returns.” 

My steps falter in the hall outside the Gathering Hall, the weight of her words sinking in. “Do you know where he is?” I ask, a flicker of hope igniting within me, praying for some kind of answer.

“I do, and you do not need to concern yourself with this.” 

So much for that. With a resigned breath, I move up to my room, gathering my bag before heading down to the commons to wait for the first-years. The familiar tension settles into my shoulders as the shadows lengthen around me.

“Wake, Youngling.” 

The low, urgent voice cuts through the remnants of my nightmare, dragging me into the cold, harsh reality of the present. My heart races, a wild drumbeat echoing in my ears as I jolt upright in bed, sweat clinging to my skin. “What’s wrong, Desa?” My voice trembles, still heavy with the shadows of my dream.

“Tairn’s rider is under attack.” 

The words hit me like a bucket of icy water. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floorboards cold against my feet as I scramble to slip into my unlaced boots. My dagger sheaths draw my attention, and I snatch them from where they hang on the bed frame, the metal cool and reassuring in my grip. I bolt down the hall, adrenaline surging through my veins, each heartbeat urging me to move faster.

As I rush toward the first-year dorms, the once-familiar corridors feel foreign, shadows creeping along the walls as panic nips at my heels. I come to a sudden halt outside Violet’s room, the sight that greets me sending a chill down my spine. Five lifeless bodies lie sprawled across the floor, their stillness a stark reminder of my own attack first year. A shiver runs through me, the memory of that night clawing at my resolve.

“Wren?” The voice cuts through my daze; it’s Bodhi, appearing behind me, concern etched on his features. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, Desa warned me. Had to make sure Violet was okay.” My voice falters slightly, the lie hanging in the air like smoke. I turn back to the room, where Xaden is already at Violet’s side, his expression a mask of concentration.

“I know how to handle a corset,” he states, reaching for her vest. 

“Let me.” I step forward, urgency thrumming through me. 

“You knew?” he asks, the question loaded, a sharp edge in his tone. 

I nod, my fingers brushing against the laces, determination igniting within me. “Desa woke me; I got here as quick as I could.” Gently, I tug at the laces, loosening them just enough to reveal the bruising marring her side, dark and angry against her skin. 

“How do you get yourself into this every morning?” Xaden's voice is low as he inspects the bruising.

“I’m freakishly flexible. It’s part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing.” 

“You have one hell of a bruise, but I don’t think they’re broken.” Xaden’s voice, steady and clinical, brings a flicker of relief. I resume lacing her back up, a rhythmic tugging grounding me amidst the chaos.

The air in the room is thick with tension, a palpable force that presses against my chest as I stand there, the remnants of adrenaline still coursing through my veins. 

I watch as Xaden kneels beside Violet, his hands deftly maneuvering the laces of her boots with an urgency that belies his calm demeanor. His brow furrows in concentration, and for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of the fierce protector he is beneath the surface. 

“Come on, Violet,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, coaxing her through the pain as she winces with each movement. “You’re going to have to walk through the pain, and we have to do it fast.” He taps her foot gently, an almost instinctual cue, and she lifts it obediently, allowing him to lace her final boot. 

As he stands, an imposing figure cloaked in resolve, he grabs Violet’s cloak and it billows slightly as he drapes it over her shoulders like a protective shroud. 

“Wren, go back to your room. I’ll come find you,” Xaden commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. A flicker of something ignites within me—a mixture of anger and disappointment, a rising tide of emotions that threaten to spill over.

“Are you going to actually do that or disappear again before we can talk?” I challenge, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest. I refuse to be dismissed so easily, not when the air crackles with unspoken words and buried truths.

“Wrenley.” His warning is low, almost a growl, but I scoff, refusing to let his authority silence me. The heat of my frustration pushes me closer to the edge, the sharpness of my words cutting through the tension in the air.

“Fine, I’ll play along.” I roll my eyes, the sarcasm dripping from my voice as I turn on my heel and make my way back upstairs. Each step feels heavy, the weight of his unvoiced secrets trailing behind me like a shadow I cannot shake off. 

As the door clicks shut, the muted echoes of the corridor fade, leaving only the charged atmosphere of my room. Xaden's piercing gaze meets mine with a tension that feels like a coiled spring, ready to snap. “You saw her attack?” he asks, his voice low and urgent, cutting through the thick silence that lingers between us.

“Hi darling, how are you? Did you have a nice trip wherever the fuck you went?” I retort, each word a careful jab, the remnants of my anger weaving into the fabric of our conversation. I rise from the edge of my bed, arms crossed defiantly, a barrier against the whirlwind of emotions he brings with him.

“Wrenley—” 

“No, you don’t get to come in here and interrogate me when you’ve been hiding things from me.” My voice snaps like a taut string, reverberating in the small space of my room. The look in his eyes—those deep, stormy depths—tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Isn’t it? Ever since Threshing, you’ve been distant, hiding.” I push, determination fueling each word. “You promised we’d talk over a week ago, and I haven’t seen you since.” 

“I haven’t had the chance—”

“You’ve made that choice, Xaden.” I cut him off, stepping back as if to distance myself from the heat radiating from his presence, a heat that threatens to thaw my simmering anger. “You chose not to talk to me. You chose to disappear.”

“I’m protecting you.”

The words slice through the air, and I let out a sharp, humorless laugh that echoes off the walls. “From what? The truth? Or you?” 

He falls silent, the tension in his jaw tightening, his arms crossing defensively, a silent admission of the turmoil within.

“You don’t get to do that,” I whisper, my voice trembling despite my resolve. “You don’t get to push me away, then pretend it’s noble. I’m not a casualty you can shield.”

“I know that.” His voice softens, yet remains firm. “You’re not. You’re… the only part of my life that still feels like mine.”

My breath catches in my throat, but I refuse to let his words weaken my stance. “Then stop treating me like the enemy.” 

The room falls into a heavy silence, a charged moment where unspoken truths hang thick between us. Finally, he steps closer, the fire in his eyes dimming but still flickering with an intensity I can't ignore. 

“I’m sorry. For disappearing. For not coming to you. But I had to... things are happening.” 

“What things?” I ask, my curiosity laced with caution.

He hesitates, the weight of unshared knowledge pressing down upon him. “I can’t tell you right now.”

“Why?” I whisper, the hurt threading through my voice. “You know I’d help.”

“I know,” he breathes, regret tingeing his words. “And I hate it, but I need you to trust me now.” 

My silence lingers, heavy and uncertain, before I finally murmur, “I don’t know if I can.”

Xaden strides toward my squad at formation the next morning, each step echoing like a drumbeat of authority, his presence commanding the attention of everyone nearby.

“There’s a change to your squad roll,” he announces, his voice cutting through the chatter like a knife. 

“Wingleader?” I feel Dain tense beside me, his posture straightening instinctively as he snaps to attention. In contrast, I cross my arms defiantly, unwilling to give in to the gravity of his words. My gaze remains stubbornly averted, a silent protest against the shift looming over us. “We just absorbed four from the dissolution of the third squad.”

“Yes,” Xaden continues, and I sense the weight of his scrutiny pressing upon me, as if he can see beneath my facade. “Beldon, we’re making a roll change.” 

The squad leader from Second Squad, Tail Section, nods sharply, the formality of the moment underscoring the seriousness of our circumstances. I can almost feel the shifting alliances, the unspoken rivalries threading through the air like an invisible web. 

“Aetos, Vaughn Penley will be leaving your command, and you’ll be gaining Liam Mairi from Tail Section.” 

The name hangs in the air, and Liam’s warm smile greets me as he approaches. 

“I do not need a bodyguard.” Her voice is a whip-crack of defiance, an echo of the protective instincts that always seem to surge within her.

“Liam is statistically the strongest first-year in the quadrant,” Xaden doesn’t acknowledge Violet, still speaking to Dain. “He has the fastest time up the Gauntlet, hasn’t lost a single challenge, and is bonded to an exceptionally strong Red Daggertail. Any squad would be lucky to have him, and he’s all yours, Aetos. You can thank me when you win the Squad Battle in the spring.”

The tension thickens as Violet repeats her protest, a stubborn flicker in her eyes. Xaden steps closer, invading her space with an unyielding presence, the weight of his authority palpable. 

“You do, though, as we both learned last night,” he says, his voice dipping low, conveying an intensity that silences any further objection. “And I can’t be everywhere you are. But Liam here, he’s a first-year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail.”

“You’re overstepping,” she retorts, the challenge sparking between them like dry kindling. 

“You haven’t begun to see overstepping,” he warns, the promise of his words hanging heavy in the air. “Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we’ve already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor.”

“He is not sleeping in my room,” Viole asserted, her voice sharp as she crossed her arms defiantly.

“Of course not. I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn’t want to overstep.” Xaden's tone is laced with casual authority as he turns on his heel, the crisp fabric of his uniform snapping against the air as he strides away, heading back to reclaim his place at the front of the formation. I watch him go, a mixture of frustration and curiosity swirling in my chest.

“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes beside me, his eyes focused straight ahead, jaw clenched tight enough to shatter glass. The tension radiating from him is palpable, an electric charge that resonates within the ranks of cadets around us.

“Tell me about it,” I mutter, my gaze shifting to the podium where Commandant Panchek is now stepping up, the weight of authority settling on his shoulders like a heavy mantle. The murmurs of my fellow cadets begin to fade as he clears his throat, a signal that commands silence and attention.

Dain and Violet have begun to argue again, the sharpness of their words cutting through the stillness that surrounds us. I can sense the undertow of their conversation is about last night’s chaotic events, an undercurrent of tension that seems to coil tighter with each passing moment.

“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” Panchek calls out, his voice resonating across the courtyard like the tolling of a bell. “As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated. This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward?”

A ripple of anticipation flows through the assembled cadets as Xaden climbs the stairs to the dais. I hear Violet’s whisper behind me, laced with dread, “This is about me.” 

No shit. My heart races, the gravity of her words sinking in like a stone.

“Early this morning,” Xaden begins, his deep voice commanding and steady, “A rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds.” 

The courtyard erupts in a collection of shocked murmurs and gasps, and I feel Dain tense beside me, the muscles in his shoulders tightening in response to Xaden’s declaration. 

“As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense…” He continues, but the words fade into a dull thrum as I glare at him, irritation bubbling beneath the surface when he sites me as a witness along with Bodhi and Garrick. Why am I being dragged into this?

I follow my cousin and friend up the dais, the weight of the moment pressing against my chest as I take my place behind Xaden, a sentinel amidst the rising tension. His silhouette looms large, commanding, and I can feel the ripple of energy that surrounds him—a mix of authority and the palpable desire for justice. 

“But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled before I arrived,” he continues, his voice rising like a tempest brewing on the horizon. “A rider who had access to the map of where all first-years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice. I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail.” His piercing gaze sweeps across the formation, landing with deliberate weight on one individual. “Wingleader Amber Mavis.”

A jolt of disbelief runs through me, a visceral reaction to the name that slips from his lips. Amber was not just any wingleader; she was a friend, someone I’ve trusted. The thought that she could let her anger lead her to such reckless betrayal churns a knot of confusion in my stomach. It wasn’t like her to break rules, not with the same ferocity as Dain, whose strict adherence to protocol was as unyielding as granite.

“I have committed no such crime!” Amber counters, her voice defiant yet tinged with an undercurrent of hurt. 

In the corner of my vision, I catch Dain and Violet embroiled in yet another heated exchange, their argument a tempestuous swirl of emotions. Suddenly, Dain reaches for Violet, and a surge of protective instinct wells within me. Without thinking, I leap off the dais, my feet striking the ground with determination as I sprint to his side, snatching his wrist in a grip that’s both firm and unyielding. “Don’t even think about it,” I admonish, the words barely leaving my lips before I feel the tension rising.

Xaden had confided in me about Dain’s signet not long after my promotion to Executive Officer, and the unsettling thought that Dain might use it on Violet gnaws at my resolve. What other secrets was he harboring?

“She was with them in my room,” Violet interjects, her voice steady yet strained, as Dain pulls his wrist free from my grip.

“That’s impossible. Let me see,” Dain insists, the edge of desperation creeping into his tone.

“Touch me without permission, and you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it,” Violet threatens, her defiance a fierce flame against the chill of accusation.

“And missing a few fingers,” I promise, stepping between them, my stance firm as Xaden calls for the other wingleaders to gather, the air thick with the impending verdict. Dain looks at me in shock at my threat. 

A sudden tremor of wings catches my attention, and I turn to see Desa and six other dragons land on the citadel walls,including Tairn and Sgaeyl. 

“You’re using this to get your revenge on my family!” Amber shouts, her voice rising above the murmurs, storming toward the dais with fire in her eyes. Her accusation pierces the atmosphere, an arrow aimed directly at Xaden. When Violet nods, signaling she can handle Dain, I move for Amber, ready to stop her if she lashes out. 

“For not supporting your father’s rebellion,” Amber continues, her voice trembling with emotion, as I find myself back on the dais, standing with Garrick and Bodhi, the weight of the moment settling heavy on our shoulders. 

“The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement,” Xaden announces, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife, flanked by Nyra and Septon, while the commandant hovers in the background. “We find you guilty, Amber Mavis.”

I sat perched on the edge of the training mat, my eyes flitting between the first-years as they engaged in their rigorous drills. The clang of metal against metal resonated in the air, punctuated by shouts of encouragement and the occasional grunt of exertion. Dain had tasked me with taking notes for the upcoming squad games, his expectation hanging over me like a persistent shadow. 

Rhiannon and Violet had paired up, their movements fluid and calculated, each strike and parry a testament to their growing camaraderie. Nearby, Liam dominated the practice area, his fierce energy palpable as he effortlessly dispatched one cadet after another except for Dain.

“Come on, Wrennie,” Liam called out, his voice laced with playful challenge. “Come spar with me.” 

I couldn’t suppress a roll of my eyes at the nickname he had taken to using. “Do you like looking pretty, Liam? Because I can promise you won't be after our match.” 

“Chicken,” he muttered, retreating to the center of the mat, a smirk dancing on his lips. The playful banter ignited a spark of competition within me, and before I knew it, I was on my feet, adrenaline surging. 

“Alright, asshole,” I laughed, letting my sheaths drop to the edge of the mat with a thud. “Hit me.” 

“Now come on, Wrennie,” he chuckled, shedding his own weapons with a flourish. I lunged first, my fist swinging through the air, barely missing his head as he ducked beneath my strike. 

“That’s not fair,” he protested, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

I shrugged, a smile playing on my lips before I aimed a swift kick at his side, retracting my ankle just in time to evade his grasp. “Come on, Li. Show me why you’re on bodyguard duty.” 

Our exchanges turned into a lively dance, kicks and punches flying back and forth, a rhythm of playfulness and skill. But my concentration faltered when I caught a glimpse of Xaden moving nearby, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. 

“You could just talk to him,” Liam remarked, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. 

“Not happening,” I retorted, my gaze drifting past him to where Violet was watching a shirtless Xaden spar with Garrick, her eyes alight with focus. A sigh escaped my lips, and I began to gather my things. “I’m done for the night.” 

“Wren, did you get those notes I asked for?” Dain inquired as he approached, his expression expectant. I pushed the notebook into his hands, feeling a sense of release as I walked away from the gym, the weight of the evening’s tension lifting slightly with each step.

I was walking back from the flight field, a late night flight with Desa to clear my head. The halls lay in silence as I stepped through the threshold from the gauntlet field, the weight of my thoughts echoing in the stillness. The air was thick with the remnants of adrenaline and sweat, but as I turned a corner, a familiar scent drifted into my consciousness—churam, the potent drug that lingered like a forbidden whisper. My heart sank; Tairn and Sgaeyl were undoubtedly up to their usual mischief.

I felt a surge of responsibility course through me. Xaden was somewhere nearby, likely navigating the murky waters of his dragon’s behavior, and I was determined to find him. But then, a moan drifted through the corridor, sending chills racing down my spine.

“Violence.” 

My pulse quickened, a dread settling in my stomach. No… gods no…

“Do not go down there.”

“I have to see for myself,” I insisted, my steps quickening despite the sense of foreboding gnawing at my insides.

“Do not, Youngling.” Her voice was urgent but curiosity and fear propelled me forward.

What I stumbled upon made my heart plummet. Xaden had Violet cradled against him, his hands possessively gripping her hips, her fingers tangled in his dark hair as their bodies melded against the cold stone wall. I felt the world close in around me. 

In a moment of shock, my flight goggles slipped from my grasp, crashing to the ground with a crash of glass lenses shattering on concrete. The sound pulled them apart, and for a heartbeat, our eyes locked—my breath still from disbelief.

“Wren—” Xaden began, but I couldn’t bear to hear more. I turned on my heel, my heart racing, and fled down the corridor, each hurried step echoing the chaos whirling in my mind. 

As I dashed into the second-year hall, I nearly collided with Ridoc, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling inside me. 

“Hey, Wrenley. You okay?” he asked, a look of concern etched on his features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Have you been with anyone tonight?” I blurted, urgency leaking into my tone.

“Youngling, this is a terrible idea.”

“So was thinking they could resist the mating bond,” I shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. 

Ridoc shrugged, nonchalant. “No, just going for a walk.” 

“Good.” I wrapped my fingers in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close as I backed myself against the wall. “Kiss me.” 

“Listen, I’ve dreamed about this but Xad—” 

“Xaden’s currently making out with Violet. So you can either kiss me right now or I’ll find someone else who will.” 

His hesitation hung in the air, heavy, before his lips finally met mine. 

Holy shit. Why is this first-year such a good kisser? 

Ridoc’s hands gripped my hips, firm and steady, drawing a quiet moan from deep within me, and in that moment, clarity shattered through the fog of my earlier shock. 

What the fuck am I doing? 

I pushed back against Ridoc’s chest, breaking the kiss with a gasp, but his hands remained anchored at my sides. “Ridoc—”

“Get your hands off her, first-year.” Xaden’s voice echoes down the hall, low and furious, commanding attention.

I could see Ridoc poised at the edge of uncertainty, ready to respond, but I couldn’t let this confrontation escalate. “Walk now,” I urged him, my voice a whisper. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on us, and I didn’t want to drag Ridoc into this. He hesitated, searching my eyes for reassurance, and when I nodded, he stepped back, the spark of confusion still dancing in his gaze.

“Thanks for probably the best kiss of my life,” he said, laughter threading through his words, a stark contrast to the brewing storm behind me. As he turned away, the brightness of his presence faded, leaving me enveloped in the oppressive darkness of my tangled emotions.

“Upstairs,” Xaden growled, his tone brooking no argument as he advanced towards me, each step heavy with unspoken fury. 

“You don’t tell me what to do.” I met his glare with defiance, striding towards the stairs that would lead me away from the chaos of this moment. 

“I can either tell you as your boyfriend or order you as your Wingleader.” The weight of his words hung in the air between us, deliberate and slow, as if he were carefully measuring the distance that had grown in the wake of his betrayal. His hand reached out, capturing my arm with an iron grip that sent a surge of irritation through me.

“Ex.” I corrected him sharply, pulling my arm from his hold as if it burned. “The minute you kissed her, you became my ex-boyfriend.” The finality of my words echoed in the silence, a stark declaration that felt both liberating and suffocating.

“Wrenley—” He started, but I cut him off, the name on my lips sharp and unforgiving.

“Leave me alone, Riorson.” I snapped, the use of his last name a calculated blow. 

With that, I turned on my heel and ascended the stairs, my heart pounding in time with each step. The world around me blurred, the hall fading into a haze of muted colors as I retreated into the sanctuary of my room. 

In the quiet that enveloped me, I sank down onto my bed, the soft comforter a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling within. Each breath I took felt heavy, laced with the remnants of Ridoc’s kiss and the bitter taste of Xaden’s betrayal. I pressed my palms against my temples, willing the confusion to dissipate, but the emotions only twisted tighter, a storm of conflict that refused to settle. 

This was not how it was supposed to be. The hope of what I thought we had was crumbling around me, leaving behind only the shards of memories. 

The air in the Battle Brief room felt electric, a charged undercurrent that echoed the tension swirling in my heart. I sat at the table, tracing the contours of the map with my eyes, my mind a whirlpool of thoughts that refused to settle. The heavy silence around me pulsed with unspoken words, and I could feel the weight of Bodhi’s gaze boring into the side of my head, an anchor to my spiraling emotions.

“Will you talk to him? Please?” Bodhi pleaded, dropping into the seat beside me with a sense of urgency that made me flinch. The way he leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern, only deepened the ache in my chest. I didn't even glance his way, keeping my focus locked on the intricate lines of the map before me.

“Nope,” I replied curtly, my voice devoid of any softness. My eyes remained trained on the colors and symbols, as if they held the answers to a riddle I couldn't decipher. 

“Wren–” Bodhi’s voice broke with a hint of desperation, a tone that felt achingly familiar yet infuriatingly misplaced.

“If you dry humped the girl you swore wouldn’t get between you and your girlfriend, would you expect to be forgiven?” I snapped, my words slipping out sharper than I intended, slicing through the air and drawing the attention of those around us like a flash of lightning. The moment felt like a spotlight illuminating my simmering rage, and I swallowed hard, fighting against the heat rising in my cheeks.

“He did what?” My cousin’s voice rumbled from behind me, a growl of disbelief that cut through the murmur of the room. I could feel his heated gaze, a burning scrutiny that threatened to pierce my defenses, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to see the disappointment etched on his face, the worry that lingered in the air like smoke.

“Are you okay?” Sawyer popped up from the row in front of me, concern etched across his features. His voice was a lifeline, but I refused to grasp it. 

“Fine, ready for class. Drop the topic.” My tone was clipped, a hard shell to protect the tender wound lying beneath the surface. I could feel the shadows curling around my knee, familiar tendrils that sought to draw me into their comforting embrace. But today, their presence felt suffocating, a reminder of Xaden’s betrayal that clung to me like a second skin.

I tried to brush them off, to reclaim my space, but they returned, as relentless as my thoughts. One of them snaked around my wrist, securing itself in a grip that felt both possessive and binding, an echo of what I wanted to escape. With every passing moment, it became harder to ignore the connection that still tethered me to him, no matter how much I wanted to sever it.

As Bodhi leaned closer, the weight of his concern settled on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. “Wren, you can’t ignore this forever. He needs you.”

I clenched my jaw, resisting the urge to scream. Did he really think it was that simple? “I don’t care how he feels,” I said, my voice low but resolute. The truth was that I did care—deeply. But the thought of facing Xaden, of confronting the raw emotions swirling within me, felt insurmountable.

The clock ticked away the seconds, each chime a reminder that time was moving forward, even as I felt stuck in this moment, this suffocating reality. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the rising tide of emotions that threatened to break through when we were dismissed from class. 

The air in my room felt thick when I finally made it upstairs. I leaned heavily against the armoire, its wooden surface cool against my back, and willed myself to breathe through the tumult of emotions that surged within me. 

As if conjured by my thoughts, Xaden’s voice floated over from my desk. “You ready to talk now, Little Bird?”

My heart raced, and I practically jumped out of my boots at the sound of his voice, the term he always used—a nickname wrapped in layers of history, affection, and now, betrayal. “Don’t call me that,” I snapped, the words sharper than intended.

“I’ve always called you that,” he replied, a hint of stubbornness threading through his tone as he lifted his boot-clad feet, resting them on my desk as if claiming territory he no longer had the right to. His casual demeanor belied the tension crackling in the air, but I could feel it, thick like fog, suffocating and inescapable.

“My family and friends call me that,” I retorted, crossing my arms tightly over my chest, a futile attempt to shield my heart from the reality of the situation. “You aren’t either of those things.”

His face softened, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps?—crossing his features. “Tairn and Sgaeyl forgot to shield last night. That’s all it was.” The way he dismissed it, so effortlessly, ignited a fresh wave of anger within me.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes as I recalled the past. “You used to go out, smoke a little, and then come sit in my room while I finished homework.” My arms tightened around myself, an unconscious shield against the vulnerability clawing at my insides. “You weren’t planning to see me last night at all.”

I held my breath, watching him for a reaction. We both knew it was true; the unspoken acknowledgment hung between us like a dark cloud, heavy and oppressive.

“We should just call it now, Xay. We weren’t going to survive after graduation.” The words spilled out of me, bitter and raw, a resignation that echoed in the hollow of my chest.

“I don’t know why you’re suddenly so set on us being done.” He stood, closing the distance between us with a determination that sparked both hope and dread within me. “We survived this long. I’m not giving up on us.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, my resolve wavering as the sting of unshed tears threatened to break free. “You and Violet will always be together, every station, every mission. I’ll get sent somewhere else after I graduate.” My voice cracked, and I hated how weak I sounded, how the reality of our impending separation clawed at my heart with relentless fingers.

“And if I said I’d marry you right after my graduation?” His gaze pierced through the air, searching for something in my eyes, a flicker of hope perhaps.

“You wouldn’t be doing it because you love me.” The words felt like a knife, sharp and painful as I forced them out. “You’d be doing it to prove a point. So please—please—just let this go.”

He nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging under the weight of my refusal, and as he turned toward the door, a heaviness settled in the room, almost tangible. “I already re-did the wards on your room, by the way.” He paused, casting a glance back at me, and in that fleeting moment, I saw a younger version of him—a boy who had once promised me the world, who had held my hand through nightmares. “No one can enter without your permission. Not even me.”

I nodded, my heart aching at the finality of his words, as he opened the door, the wood creaking softly in the quiet. “Xaden,” I called out, desperation lacing my voice.

He glanced back, and for a heartbeat, time hung still. 

“I do still care about you. I just can’t in the way I always have.”

“I understand.” The admission felt like a stone dropped in a still pond, rippling outwards, creating waves of loss and longing. “Good night, Wrenley.”

And then he was gone.

next part

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[andy-15-07]

Teaching You

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count: 1850 requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

You blink awake to the low roar of the river outside his cabin, moonlight spilling through the window. Somewhere in the back of your mind you register that you’re not in your own bed, that Tommy Miller’s bed is wide beneath you, and that his arm is draped across your waist in a way that makes your pulse skip.

“Shit,” you murmur, butt-naked and tangled in covers that smell like him,pine smoke and soap and something more primal you can’t name.

Tommy says nothing, but his chest rumbles under your ear, steady and warm. You turn your head, studying the way his dark hair flops across his forehead, the line of his jaw shadowed against the pillow. God, he’s gorgeous when he sleeps. Fierce and dangerous and… tender.

Your cheeks heat when you remember how you got here. After patrol,you’d been tense all day, hands shaking, teeth set, like you were ready to bite someone. He’d noticed. Of course he noticed. He always notices.

“You okay?” he’d asked, out of nowhere, voice low and rough. You’d shoved him back with your words,light, scornful,but he’d kept at you: “You look like you could use a break.”

You’d’d snapped at him, told him you didn’t need his pity, that you could handle your own demons. Then the next moment, he’d had you pressed against that rough wooden wall in the barn, eyes so dark you thought you’d drown,asking, almost pleading, “Will you let me help you?”

And you’d let him.

Now his arm tightens around you, and you drift back to sleep.

You wake again to the sun painting stripes across your body, heating every inch of you like a furnace. Tommy’s not beside you,just his discarded shirt on the floor and one of his boots by the bedpost. You swing your legs over the edge, heart pounding at the memory of last night: the way he’d guided you with his words, taught you to let go, let him have you.

Your mind replays it in fragments. Him kneeling between your thighs, shirt off, muscles gleaming in the lantern light as he said, “Just rest your weight here,” pointing to his thigh. You followed, finger brushing his skin, breath catching. He’d waited as you studied him, as you adjusted your hips, uncertain.

“Lean into me,” he’d murmured. “Use me.”

And you had.

You stand, pad across the wooden floor,still slightly chilly,and find his shirt. You tug it on, inhale his scent, and head outside. The porch is cold, dew on your feet. He’s there, chopping wood, back lit by the rising sun. Every swing of his axe sends little puffs of sawdust into the air.

He sets the axe aside when he sees you. “Morning.” His voice is gruff but not unkind.

“Morning.” You rub your arm where his fingers left marks. “Breakfast?”

He nods. “Coffee’s on.”

Inside the cabin, he’s pouring beans into the grinder. You lean against the wall, watching his broad shoulders move beneath his T-shirt. You raise an eyebrow. “You’re an early riser.”

“Used to be later,” he says, eyes not leaving the grinder. “Since… everything.”

You step closer, voice soft. “I like this you.”

He looks up, brows knitting. “Don’t make me think you’re softening.”

You grin. “Too late.”

He slides the grinder aside and starts the coffee pot. When he pours you a steaming mug, he lingers, like he wants to study your face. You sip, feeling warmth spread through you.

“So,” you say, setting the mug down. “About last night.”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t regret it.”

“Good,” you murmur. And mean it.

By midday, you’re in the clearing where he brought you to teach you how to handle a rifle. Except instead of rifle, it’s going to be something else. You realize that as soon as he leads you to that big fallen log, sits cross-legged and pats his thigh.

“Practice,” he says. “Come here.”

You swallow, heart banging. Last night felt like a lesson you didn’t expect,your nerves on fire, every inch of skin alive under his touch. Yet the memory of his voice, husky with need as he coached you, makes you ache between your thighs.

You step forward, sit on his thigh, testing your weight. His hand slides to your hip, steadying you. You close your eyes as his fingers press into your flesh.

“Relax,” he says. “Trust me.”

Your pulse hammers. You lean forward, palms on his knees. You feel his length pressing into your backside,covered by his jeans, but still there, hard. You bite your lip, breath coming faster. He’s watching you, that intense look in his eyes as he lets you settle.

“Good,” he says. “Now move.”

You shift your hips, rolling against him. He curls his fingers in your hair. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “You feel so good.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself follow his instructions. His thigh is warm, firm, and you learn to use his leg like he’s a riding horse,slow and steady. You trace small circles, listening to his ragged exhale.

“Harder,” he says, voice low. “Don’t hold back.”

You obey, moving with more determination, and he groans. His hand slides down your back, brushing the small of your spine. You arch into him, hot and wet.

He leans back on his hands, watching. “Yeah,” he says. “Like that. Don’t stop.”

You want to. You want him to push you off and take you, but you trust him. You ride his thigh until your vision clouds, until you think you’ll come there on that log, in the bright afternoon, in the middle of nowhere.

You tilt your head back. “Tommy…”

He crawls forward, shirt off in one smooth motion, chest and arms shining with sweat. He cups your chin, tilts your face toward his. “Yeah?”

You inhale against his mouth. “Make me feel…”

He closes the gap between you, pressing his lips to yours, kissing you deep and hard. His tongue slides between your lips, tasting you, then he pulls away, breath ragged.

“Yeah,” he growls. “I will.”

He pivots, flipping you to lie on your back on the log. You gasp as his hands land on your hips. He kneels between your legs, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other trailing down your side, fingertips grazing your thigh.

He moves closer. The scent of pine and leather and him is intoxicating. You reach for him, hands sliding across his chest. He’s hot, hard, and you feel the confidence radiating off him.

“You’re gonna learn something today,” he murmurs, voice husky.

He props himself on his knees, finger grazing your inner thigh, not quite touching where you ache. You wince, want him there. He smiles, wicked and slow.

“Patience,” he whispers.

Then he leans down, lips brushing your collarbone, flicking his tongue across your skin. You arch into him, eyes closed, breath catching. He kisses across your body in neat, torturous lines,down your belly, across your hip bones, until he finally reaches where you need him.

He parts your legs, groaning at the sight of you, slick and waiting. You’re breathless, heart pounding. He hovers, thumb pressing where you ache most.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispers. “Use your words.”

You swallow hard. “Please,” you pant. “Touch me.”

He chuckles,a low, satisfied sound. “That’s all?”

You nod, words failing. He looks at you, eyes dark. “You’ve got more in you than that. Tell me how you like it.”

You think for a moment. “Harder,” you manage. “Louder.”

He smiles wide, that crooked grin that makes your chest tighten. “Good girl.”

Then his mouth is on you,licking, sucking, teasing. You cry out, hand tangling in his hair. He hums against you, a vibration so deep it goes straight to your core. You thrust your hips up, chasing the pleasure. He groans, grips you by the hips, holding you in place as he devours you.

“Tommy,” you moan. “Please.”

He pulls back, just enough to whisper in your ear: “You asked for it.” Then he plunges a finger inside you,slow, powerful. You gasp, arch your back, and he adds a second. You’re already trembling, on the edge.

He alternates between circling your walls with his fingers and kissing you, whispering filthy words,teaching you what they mean as you feel each tone vibrate against you. “Feel that? That’s what you do,” he murmurs. “That’s how you use me.”

And you do,grinding against his hand, moaning his name, riding the waves he’s teaching you to create.

Your world narrows to the heat of his body, the strength of his hands, the sound of him coaching you through each breath. Each time you think you’ll collapse, he surges harder. Finally, with a growl and a promise,“Come for me”,he tips you over the edge.

You scream, muscles clenching, waves of ecstasy washing through you. He cups your face with one hand, kisses you hard as you shudder, his fingers stroking you through your release.

When you come down, panting and spent, he’s already stripped off his jeans. His length is heavy, slick with pre-cum. You blink up at him, eyes filled with awe.

“Ride me,” he says, voice rough. “Show me what you learned.”

You push up, straddle him, hands on his chest. You lower yourself, taking him in, slow and deliberate. You feel every inch, every ridge. He groans beneath you, hands sliding down your back and settling on your hips.

“Yeah,” he says, “just like that.”

You start moving, slow at first,learning your rhythm, learning how to make him feel good. He coaches you in turn: “Faster. Lean forward. Look at me.”

So you do. His eyes burn into yours as you ride him, and you can hear the pride in his voice when he says, “That’s it. You’re doing amazing.”

His praise fuels you, and you pick up the pace. The log beneath you wobbles; you laugh breathlessly. “Tommy, you’re shaking the whole thing.”

He chuckles against your temple. “Keep going.”

Your hips snap, his hands guide you, and the world narrows to the two of you: skin on skin, breath mingling, hearts pounding. You feel him tense, hear that deep growl escape him when you start to build toward another climax.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “I’m close.”

You meet his eyes, hungry and needy. He nods once. “Come for me again, sweetheart.”

You obey, finding your fastest pace, riding out the ecstasy together as he spills into you. You shudder, tears of pleasure hot on your cheeks, and collapse forward onto him, both of you sticky and trembling.

You lie there for a long moment, arms around each other, breathing in the afterglow. Finally, you whisper, “Thank you.”

He brushes hair from your face. “You did all the work.”

You smile tiredly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I had a good teacher.”

He laughs softly, nuzzles your hair. “Best student I’ve ever had.”

And as the afternoon sun warms you both, you know you’ve learned more than just how to ride his thigh. You’ve learned how to trust, how to let go,and how to be claimed by someone who knows exactly what you need.

[midnight-mourning]

A Short Nap

🐟🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay Day 2🐟🐟

I decided that since many of the requests are cute and fluffy and silly that the little drabbles i'm doing shall get to be evil as a treat :)c

very brief but hope you enjoy!

DCFPU prompt used: Nap

Word Count: 843

Story will be posted to ao3 soon!

CW: blood, injury, and slight depictions of gore if you squint

🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊

You blink, in and out of the edge of consciousness. It's difficult to stay awake, much less stay aware. Your chest heaves as you breathe in, and out. 

In, and out. 

In...

and out.

It's a bit ragged, and internally you still have it in you to wince. 

The sound of waves crashing in the distance is a bit muffled, though you think it's because of how you're partially submerged in the water. It may be from blood loss, that's still a plausible option. The water that laps over your sprawled, bleeding body is soothing in how it ripples. Tickling against your skin like a thin blanket on the bed of rock you're on. Enough to lull you to sleep even, and you just might—

A sudden awareness hits you, shooting a fresh wave of adrenaline into your system. You're much too far from safety to be falling asleep now. You ignore the fact that help for your injuries would be much further off than land. It won't do you much good to think of such. 

A cough racks through you, digging your back into the jagged rock beneath. Discomfort rolls through you, both from your position and the deep gashes trailing from your stomach down your thigh. The stinging has become a background feeling to the deep soreness that resides in your flesh underneath the skin. Muscle aching and burning at even the slightest sign of tension. You almost wonder if you have nerve damage with how little you seem to be able to feel. You genuinely believe this should be more painful than it is. 

Another wave glides over you, and a particularly deep part is filled with salt water for a moment, and the stinging becomes knife-like. Okay, yeah. That's about more what you would expect. 

Tears prick your eyes, both from pain and from reality setting in. The denial you'd been subconsciously fueling has started to slip away, and now you can no longer ignore the fact that lying here like this was utterly and entirely your own fault. 

Too trusting. Too much of your caution long ago melted away. Awareness that you should have had only came to you after the fact. And if not for the swiftest of your own actions, you'd likely never have realized. Maybe that would have been better, dying without knowing. 

Because then you would have just thought it'd been an accident. 

That's how it had seemed, initially. You know how shiny things—especially anything with a glare—would seem to trigger something in him. White pupils becoming slits in red irises, focus changing to a state of mind that was both alert and yet not. Smile falling to a frown and then an outright sneer in a matter of seconds. 

You couldn't feel it initially, too shocked and busy with trying to move back and away to avoid being hurt further. But in doing so, you were able to catch it. The look in his eyes. 

The way total awareness came creeping back, the way the surprise sunk into glee. His snarl turned upward into a sharp grin, and he said something you couldn't quite make out. But if the snicker that followed was any indication of his true intent revealed—well, you took it as such. 

All this time, all the opportunities to kill you, the long afternoons in the water, the conversations, the shared moments of laughter, the soft kisses and murmured nothings. 

And he'd just been biding his time for the right moment. 

Considering the aggressiveness of the injury, you were still able to act quickly, throwing the offending object out into the depths. He dives after it, driven by instinct once again, deep blue tail disappearing into the murky water below. You use the chance to get somewhere he can't reach you. 

Though, if you're being honest it's not as if he couldn't get to you here. You're surprised he hasn't yet, if anything. This rock is at water level even at low tide. The waters around you are oddly empty, not even a shark lurking about with the amount of blood you're freely seeping into the ocean. 

You hardly think it matters at this point. Getting to land is a hopeless and rather pointless endeavor now. You think the best thing you can do now is come to terms with it all. The betrayal, the pain, dying. 

It falls over you like a soft sheet, not smothering, not suffocating. You feel strangely calm, anxiety and fear having left you sometime ago. Who would've thought it would be so... underwhelming. 

The sky is mostly clear up above you, the clouds roll by lazily. The water still laps around and over you. You feel your eyes start to slip shut. 

You try once, twice to open them, then let them fall closed. Sleepiness has begun to take over, dragging you down with it. 

You'll just take a short nap, is all. 

Just a short one. 

You'll wake up again in a little while, and everything will be fine. 

Perfectly... fine.

🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊🎣🌊

I loveeeee being evil with cute prompts, i LOVEEEEEEEEEEEE it, will be trying to catch up now that things are a bit less chaotic in my life, thanks for reading!

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzy-bee @hazelthebat @nightriverart @mr-munchies

[dvrktvnnel]

divinity - k. yeosang

genre - slowburn/mystery

pairing - (?)yeosang x reader

word count - 1.2k (pt. 1)

warnings - blood in the beginning, mentions of injury

summary - in search of a lost castle, you’re found by something you never expected.

(if u see typos, pretend u didn’t)

You had lost track of where you were. Everything covered in a thick sheet of snow, the steady drip of your blood like paint upon a white canvas. Time was as lost as you, the swirling snow obscured your vision as you plowed through. Your limbs were numb, you felt nothing as you bumped into the sturdy trees around you. If you could just find a house, a cabin, a cave even. Anything to get out of this frozen hell.

Your knees finally succumbed to the chilling torture you’ve been through, collapsing to the ground. You laid there for a while as the snow fell gently. You couldnt help but think how strangely beautiful your death would be, as though mother nature were tucking you in for your final slumber beneath a blanket of snow. . The last thing you remember was a pair of black heeled boots, walking effortlessly upon your burial.

꧁ ༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄༆༄ ꧂

You awoke in a chamber, your body was still cold and aching on the soft bed. A bandage was wound around your hand, the compression dulling the pain. You opened your eyes just enough to take in your surroundings. The room was dimly lit by the giant window behind you. You could see the shadow of snowfall on the stone walls. There were no decorations, no other furniture besides the bed you lay in to fill in the hallow space.

You wanted to sit up, but your muscles refused to work properly. You sank back into the velvety blankets and closed your eyes. Just a moment, a moment more of rest. Then you would find out where you were.

It was hours before you woke again, this time the scent of soup wafting in the still air. You sat up, surprised that you were able to move now. Nothing in the room changed, only the addition of a beautifully decorated bowl beside you. In any other event, you wouldnt have eaten it, but your instinct of survival overrode your skepticism.

Lifting the metal spoon to your lips, the savory broth that coated your tongue. Warmth seeped through your body as you hungrily devoured the soup.

Once satisfied, you rose from the bed to explore the sanctuary you were brought to, and hopefully thank the savior who found you. You were surprised to see your clothes had changed, your previously distraught clothes replaced with a dress you felt was too elegant for your taste.

The fabric was silky and white, it smelled like roses and fell around your curves perfectly. It was as if it were tailored to fit you. You pushed the delicate sleeves up to your elbow and opened the door.

“Youre awake,” echoed a deep voice.

You looked around quickly before meeting the piercing gaze of a man too beautiful to be real. You nodded hesitantly.

“Yes, are you the one who-“ you started, but before you could finish he raised his hand.

“Yes I am. you may stay for a few days in order to recover, but I urge you to leave after that. In addition, dont tell anyone that you were here.”

You blinked at him, then you walked to him. He just saved your life, you had to thank him.

He looked almost alarmed at your sudden advances towards him.

“Dont.”

You froze, it felt like every muscle in your body had tensed on its own accord, unwilling to obey your mental commands.

“Ill keep an eye on you for the next few days. Do not leave the grounds.”

Then he turned down the hall. With a sudden burst of energy surging through your veins you broke the invisible binding. You of course ran to stop him, but by time you reached where he once stood, he was gone.

“What the fuck,” you said to yourself.

The man was gone, and judging by the length of the hallway it would take forever to find him. Catching your breath, your attention turned to a great bay window, the glass panes reaching to the cieling and spreading wider than your arms could reach. You stepped up on the cold stone stairs, placing your hand on the glass.

You watched the sun shine on the glossy snow outside. The once roaring storm that nearly took your life lay still on the ground. Ironic how peaceful and calm it looks now.

You tried to think back to where you were when you collapsed, it mustnt have been too far from here. You wondered how long youve been asleep too.

Leaving the grand window, you decided to explore a bit while you were here. The whole reason you came out to this forest was in search of a castle, long forgotten by many and only spoken of by the locals. There was a legend of a monster dwelling in the woods, protecting a hidden treasure or something more.

This had to be it, and you couldnt pass up the opportunity to admire it all. You would figure out who that man was later.

You remembered the boar, how it had charged you and left you weakened by its tusks. You rested your hand on your side, the slight sting still numbing in the cold. You were lucky to get away, but not lucky enough to leave unscathed.

Wandering down the hall, you tried opening a few doors. Every one was locked, the freezing handles clicking but never revealing. You were in awe of the architecture, the ceilings high and sculpted to perfect. You took your time, hoping the man would reappear at some point.

Every window you passed was bright with blinding white snow blanketing the ground. Trees were all around, you couldnt see anything past them. One of the windows overlooked a buried garden, the hedges bare and unkept.

You reached a staircase, the cherrywood stairwell spiraling down below into a dark abyss. With careful steps you descended, but you felt something was off. The hair on the back of your neck stood up and a shiver went down your spine. You spun around expecting to see someone there, but no one was there.

You stayed still, waiting for something. Nothing happened, no sounds no movement.

“Hello?” you called. No answer.

Maybe it was just your savior, but you couldnt shake the feeling that whoever or whatever that was, frightened you to your core.

You trusted your gut and turned away from the staircases allure. A door creaked open, startling you enough to loose your balance. A rogue stone added to your demise as you fell towards the stairs.

In a split second you braced for an impact that didnt come. Instead, something strong and cold held your hand. You were pulled upright by an invisible force.

You looked around frantically, knowing that something grabbed you. You felt it, but there was nothing there.

Every fiber of your being told you to run, but youve never listened to it before. Instead, you focused on the door that had opened. All the other doors were locked, you weren’t passing this opportunity.

an: i already have part two done mwehehehehe HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ONE :3

taglist: @vampzity @scarfac3 @h4untedgrl @losrpark @dollywoo @jjongibears @velvetmoonlght @fixx0nn @astroracha

[swtnjk]

different scenarios about low maintenance bf kageyama

after practice

he’s sweaty and exhausted, slumping down on the bench outside the gym. you plop beside him with his water bottle and a towel.

“i know you said you’re fine, but you need to stretch more,” you say, uncapping the water. kageyama drinks from it without a word, then leans forward so you can dry his hair.

“you push yourself too hard,” you murmur, fussing over his bangs. “i have to.”

“but you have me now.” he pauses. looks up at you like that never occurred to him.

you reach into your bag and pull out a rice ball, “eat.” he takes it. doesn’t even ask what flavor it is.

can’t sleep

it’s late. he’s already curled up in bed, blanket pulled up to his chin, face turned toward your side. you’re still brushing your teeth.

when you come back, the lamp is still on and he’s… awake. barely. “you didn’t knock out?” you ask softly.

kageyama mumbles something you barely catch. “can’t sleep if you’re not here.” you pause, heart stuttering a little. “you fall asleep on the bus all the time without me.”

he’s quiet for a second. then, barely above a whisper, “that’s different.” you slide under the blanket. his arms automatically find you, pulling you close like it’s instinct.

and thirty seconds later, he’s out. breathing even, hand still holding yours under the covers.

stay longer

you’re packing your bag after hanging out at his place, shoes already on. he’s sitting on the floor, back against his bed, quietly watching you.

“you’re leaving?” he asks, voice low.

“i have stuff to do,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder. he nods slowly. doesn’t argue. doesn’t pout. just says, “you can do it here.”

you pause, “i’ll be distracted.” he shrugs. “i’ll be quiet.”

you hesitate for half a second before dropping your bag again. kageyama just shifts slightly and pats the floor beside him.

and you sit, laptop open, him beside you not saying a word. just warm, calm, and steady. the kind of quiet that makes you want to stay forever.

wait for you

you’re late meeting him after practice. kageyama sits by the gym doors, knees up, scrolling through his texts again. you’d said running late, sorry!! fifteen minutes ago.

he doesn’t care. he’s not mad. he just waits. when you finally show up, breathless and apologizing, he stands immediately. “you okay?”

“i tripped over nothing. my shoelace came undone.” he crouches down without a word. you blink.

“yama?” he’s already tying your shoe for you. neatly. double knot.

you say, quieter this time, “you didn’t have to wait.”

“i wanted to.” he stands. “i always will.”

quiet sunday

it’s a sunday. you’re lying on the floor in his hoodie, staring at the ceiling. music playing quietly from your phone.

he’s lying next to you. one sock on. the other got lost in the blanket somewhere. “i feel like i should be doing something,” you mumble.

kageyama doesn’t move. “you are doing something.” you turn your head ,”what?”

he looks at you like it’s obvious. “you’re resting. with me.” Your lips twitch, “you like this?”

he nods once, “you’re here. i like that.”

i love you

you’re brushing your teeth, hair a mess, hoodie halfway on. kageyama walks past, stops in the doorway, and just… stares for a second.

you raise a brow at him, foam in your mouth. “what?”

he shrugs, “nothing.” then, “you look cute.” you squint, “no, i don’t.”

“yeah, you do.” He leans against the doorframe, expression completely neutral like he’s not just casually murdering you. “i love you.”

you freeze, toothbrush still in your mouth. “now?!”

he nods, “i just thought it.”

you spit into the sink and glare at him through the mirror. “you can’t just drop that randomly.”

“why not?” he asks, eyes soft. “it’s true all the time.”

[humanjarvis]

caught in a lie

synopsis: when you ignore caleb’s calls, he catches you trying to run from the consequences. you make a false promise to appease his anger, not expecting your lie to unravel. but almost immediately, it does.  

tags: based loosely on caleb's "hidden waves" memory, porn with plot, manipulative!caleb x manipulative!reader, brat!reader, mean(ish) dom!caleb, caleb makes out with your cunt for an hour, reader cries, belly bulge, 3 brother mentions but they’re done ironically/out of spite, humiliation, semi-public sex (caleb makes you call and cancel plans with that friend while he fucks you), lines lifted directly from hidden waves in bold pairing: caleb x fem!reader  word count: 3.9k

a/n: love the scene this is based on bc it reminds me of my favorite book from the wattpad era in 300 BC. also this is my first time writing full-on smut and omfg i don't know how people write like 10k of it u guys are wizards. but the response to this will determine how explicitly i write going forward, no pressure

As the Skyhaven nightscape twinkles around you, you can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting something. 

You’d had a great night: Simone had invited you to a cute café, the owners had given you a free muffin, and the raging storm from this afternoon had dwindled into a drizzle. But still, a sense of foreboding loomed over you, threatening to taint the precious memories you’d made tonight.

“...And next week we can go to this new bar downtown! I heard they have the best drinks, and there’s even a puppy mascot they let walk around and play with guests. Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree absently, Simone’s words going in one ear and out the other. “I’ll be there.”

As you walk farther down the sidewalk, the vibrant city atmosphere melts away your worries. People of all ages were out splashing in leftover puddles, trying new food stalls, and window shopping in the strip of stores that lit your path. Gradually, you give up on trying to place your unease, surrendering fully to the comfort of the cool night air.

“Hey!” you exclaim, an idea popping into your head. “Do you want to find a photobooth and take some pictures? I want something to remember tonight by.”

“Oh my gosh, absolutely,” Simone responds. “There should be one not too far from here. I went with my brother a few months back! It was really fun.”

At her words, you stop in your tracks. Her enthusiasm is no match for the dread building in your chest. 

Caleb.

Caleb who’d told you to text him when you got to the café, when you were about to leave, and when you were almost home. 

Caleb was what—or who—you were forgetting.

Slowly, you reach your hand into your purse until you feel your phone, digging it out and staring as if it were a venomous animal. Taking a deep breath, you tap the screen awake and immediately lose the air you’d just inhaled. 

7 Unread messages

4 Missed calls

3 New voicemails

Fuck.

“Uh, actually,” you start, chucking the device back into your bag, “I just realized I didn’t bring a brush! There’s no way I can take pictures without fixing my hair—it’s like a bird’s nest up there,” you ramble, giggling nervously. “Can we end the night here?”

“O…kay?” Simone says, clearly confused by the sudden shift in your mood. “Yeah, we can go back now. Your hair looks fine, though.”

Thanking the universe for giving you such an agreeable friend, you walk back to her car, the quickness of your usually unhurried steps betraying your agitation.

He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, you think. 

As the familiar outline of Simone’s car comes into view, she turns to face you. “Do you want a ride to the train station? I told my girlfriend I’d be home at 1:30—I have another hour.”

“Wait!” you cry, throwing your hands out in front of you. She looks at you as if the intensity in your voice is unnecessary. Which is true, because she’s standing a foot away. Quieter this time, you ask, “Would it be okay if I spent the night at your place? Just this once, I promise.” 

“...If you really need to,” she agrees warily. “As long as you don’t mind cat hair.”

When you reach her car, Simone gestures for you to wait as she walks around to the passenger’s side. “I just need to clean up real quick. The granola bar wrappers build up when you’re constantly called in early for emergencies.” 

But when Simone pulls on the door handle, it doesn’t open. “Weird,” she mutters, wiping raindrops onto her jeans. “I swear I unlocked it.” 

She clicks a button on her keys and tries again. Inexplicably, the door still doesn’t budge. “It’s like some force is holding it shut or something,” she says. At that, an alarm sounds in the back of your mind. But before it can reach your consciousness, she continues. “Well, I have a locksmith on speed dial anyway—I’m always losing my keys. But before I call, seriously, are you ok? The way you asked me to stay over….Is there something scary waiting for you at home? Why do you look so worried?”

"It’s probably because I’m home,” the all-too-familiar voice rings out behind you. 

In an instant, your entire body goes rigid. Your now-pounding heart screams at you to run, but you can’t obey without making a scene in front of your friend. 

Plastering a smile on your face, you turn around slowly, as if the longer you took to face him, the more likely he’d be to disappear.  

You had no such luck. Towering over you, umbrella in hand, was Caleb, his normally expressive face a wall of stone. 

Despite his obvious anger, he steps forward to shield you from the downpour and you refrain from taking a step back—against your better judgment.

“Caleb!” you remark, your voice shrill with unease. “What a surprise!”

Ignoring your greeting, Caleb turns his attention to Simone. “Skyhaven isn’t very safe tonight,” he says coolly. “You’d better get home.”

The finality in his words makes it clear: you won’t be joining her. 

“Um, sure,” Simone trails off, wary eyes searching yours. “Will you be alright?”

“...Yes, it’s okay.”

Though your words don’t seem to convince her, Caleb’s penetrating glare does. She quickly walks to the driver’s side and effortlessly pops the door open—surprise, surprise—before jumping in. Giving you one last look, your only chance at salvation drives into the night.

The ride back to Caleb’s house is silent. You scoot as close as you can to the window beside you, paying no mind to the intensifying patter of rain against the glass. All that you notice is how he grips the steering wheel tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. 

When you pull into his driveway and exit the car, he walks closely behind you, preventing any more last-minute escape attempts. His imposing presence follows you inside and all the way to his bedroom. 

When you both cross the threshold, the air thickens with tension as you stand in silence, unmoving. 

“Well, goodnight!” you call when you can’t take it anymore. But before you can take one step, Caleb swings the door shut with his Evol. Huh, you think. Doors must be his speciality tonight.

“Where do you think you could possibly be going after the night you gave me?” he asks, steely voice cutting through your thoughts.

“Listen—” you start, but he cuts you off. 

“You ordered coffee three times. Burst out into laughter I could hear from outside six times. And yet, you somehow managed to check your phone zero times.”

“If you’d just given me more time, I was going to—”

“You were going to what? Because here’s what I think would have happened: If I hadn’t picked you up, you would’ve gone to your friend’s place, right? Then, you’d message me with an apology. Oh, throw in a cute emoji as the cherry on top,” he snorts. 

“With that done, you’d put your phone away and curl up into a ball to sleep. You wouldn’t even dare to check my response. You’d wait it out and believe I wouldn’t be upset. And once I’m away on a mission or somethin’...you would sneak back into the house and pretend nothing happened. Tell me,” he challenges you. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t wrong. He was never wrong—not about your habits, at least. 

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you snap. “I thought you said you were ‘done playing games’? You don't have to act so big brother-y all the time.”

Clearly, that was the wrong thing to say. Caleb’s head rears back, his eyes going wide in incredulity before he scoffs. 

Alright, you sigh, time to turn on the waterworks. 

Taking a deep breath, you force tears into your eyes. “Caleb,” you begin, “I really didn’t mean to ignore you. I was just having so much fun. S-someone brought their puppy to the café and I got distracted.” The café hadn’t allowed pets, but you needed all the sympathy you could get. You’d have to thank Simone for telling you about that new bar later. “I won’t do it again. I won’t even go out at night anymore—promise.”

As he takes in your pitiful expression, you see Caleb’s resolve start to crack, the twitch in his right eye giving away how much he wants to console you. Maintaining your pout, you internally grin like a Cheshire cat. He could never say no to you. He could never le—

Your phone rings.

You thought you’d turned it off in the car, but your fucking phone rings. Right when you have him where you want him. 

The shrill tone sucks the air out of the room, and with it, any hope for your escape.

“Answer it. Speaker.” His voice leaves no room for argument.

Visibly shaken, you fish your phone out of your bag and accept the call. “H-hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Simone. I’m calling to check on you—that guy who took you home was kinda scary. I just wanted to make sure he didn’t do anything. Are you okay?”

At the insinuation that he’d ever harm you, Caleb’s face turns thunderous, his jaw clenching so hard you’re afraid it’ll snap. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” you reassure her. “Thanks for worrying though, that’s really sweet,” you add, your eyes darting up and immediately back down after meeting Caleb’s glower. 

“That’s great, I really was worried,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “Well, before you hang up, are we still on for same time next week at the bar I mentio—”

You hang up as soon as she reveals your plans, throwing your phone so abruptly it bounces off the chair where your purse sits and onto the carpet. But it was too late. There was no sweet-talking the irate scowl off of Caleb’s face. You’d lied. 

Like a deer in headlights, you stand frozen and helpless as Caleb stalks toward you. 

“You almost had me,” he chuckles darkly, squishing your cheeks between one hand. “And I bet you knew it, too. Remind me to thank Simone for being such a good friend later.”

His grip tightens when you try to respond, and he pulls your face closer to his instead. “I think I’ve had enough of you talking for now. No point in hearing it if you’re just gonna lie to me again.”

With uncanny speed, he lifts you by your legs and tosses you onto the mattress. When you attempt to sit up, hoping to crawl away, he captures both of your wrists in his hand and claims your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Don’t talk.” A kiss. “Don’t move.” Another. “Don’t do anything I don’t tell you to do, and I might not chain you to this bed.” You’re so distracted by his final kiss—the exclamation point—that you barely register when he yanks your loose pants down, baring your cotton panties to him. 

When he spots the wet patch spreading through the middle, he moans, shifting to push his nose into your center. The deep inhales he takes seem to calm him down, and his voice loses some of its earlier edge when he murmurs, “Can’t believe you were keepin’ her from me tonight. Look at how much she missed me.”

He demonstrates by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your panties, tasting you as you leak harder under his tongue. The whimper you let out falls on deaf ears as you remember his command: Don’t talk. 

Licking a stripe up your clothed folds, Caleb sighs into you in contentment. “Gonna see her in a second,” he breathes. “Just can’t give her too much at once, or she’ll get greedy.” 

He’s too far gone, you think, closing your eyes in preparation of what’s to come. But nothing prepares you for the way the seemingly sedated Caleb rips your panties open at the seam, exposing your hot skin to the cool air. 

With no hesitation, he plants a long kiss onto your core, his lips smacking against the fat of your outer folds. Covering your skin with a flurry of pecks, he moans into you, his intermittent licks becoming sloppy, appreciative kisses. 

Caleb was making out with your cunt like your brain wasn't in the room, kissing it like he hadn’t seen it in years. The sensations and lewd squelches make your arousal unbearable, but when you try to grind into his mouth—to get him to do something more—he pushes your hips into the mattress. 

“Don’t interrupt us,” he mumbles, lips still latched onto your unspread cunt. Heat rushing to your cheeks, you flop your head back down, defeated as the man ignores you to have his heartfelt reunion with your core. 

An agonizing few minutes later, you feel him press a last hard kiss against your skin before finally spreading your soaked folds. “Can’t believe you ever thought you could hide from me,” he growls, eyes sparkling. “I’ll show you you can’t. Make you never want to again.”

Slowly, he licks up and down your wetness, teasing his tongue around your entrance. You try to relax during his ministrations, knowing he won’t give you what you want this early, but he catches you off guard when he buries his tongue into your weeping, sputtering hole. 

A strangled moan escapes you as he fucks you with his tongue, twisting, turning, and circling himself inside you. 

One pulse has your walls flexing with desperation, and Caleb pulls back slightly when he feels you tighten around him. “Look at that, I think she’s kissin’ me back,” he coos, a string of his saliva refusing to part from your quivering cunt. 

Spurred on by the whine you give him, he flashes you a wicked grin before diving back in, plunging his tongue in and out at a punishing pace. 

All the while, he studiously avoids where you need him most, licking and kissing everywhere but your twitching clit—neglecting it like you did him earlier in the night.

Suddenly, he lifts his head up, flashing you a quick smirk. “You know,” he starts, licking his glistening lips. “When you were givin’ me all those crocodile tears and cryin’ about puppies earlier, you never did say sorry for trying to run. How about now, hmm?” he asks, pressing a wet kiss to your center. “You sorry?”

You pant out an incoherent moan, and he nips at your clit—the first time he’s touched it all night. Ignoring your squeal, he gives you another kiss. “I don’t know what that means. Try again.” 

You go to speak again, but Caleb suddenly rubs his nose against your clit, your resulting gasp sending your back shooting off the bed. He swiftly slams you back down with his Evol, giving you another nip. “Just two words, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Two words, loud and clear. Want to know you mean it.”

You don’t know what it is—the last strands of your pride clinging on for dear life, your stupor after being toyed with for almost an hour, or pure stubbornness—but you can’t bring yourself to say it. With a whimper, you clamp your mouth shut, staring at the ceiling in rebellion. 

“Hmmm,” he hums, looking up at you briefly. Before you can even process it, Caleb covers your clit with his mouth and sucks, simultaneously groaning into you. The combined sensations set your nerves on fire, and you come in his mouth with a prolonged cry. 

“I’m sorry!” you wail, the tears in your eyes genuine this time. As Caleb laps up your release, chants of “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—oh—I’m sorry,” fall through your lips, your earlier defiance reduced to blubbering submission. “Should’ve checked my phone and called you back, I’m so sorry.” 

You’ve apologized ten times over, it feels, but he won’t let up. He suckles you until it aches, and there’s nothing you can do but lie there and sob as his Evol keeps you pinned down. When he’s finally had his fill, he presses a reverent thank-you kiss to your cunt before crawling up your body, nestling in between your thighs. 

“Aw, none of that, now,” he coos, wiping under your eyes. “I forgive you, alright? I forgive you for getting distracted, baby.” Still crying, you nod frantically, leaning into his gentle touch. “But if you ever run from me again, whoever you’re with won’t like what happens when I catch you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your lips and then your forehead before plunging into you. 

Though his pace is relentless, your walls draw him in, his earlier date with your cunt letting you take his thick length with ease. 

When the pressure builds and you shy away from his brutal thrusts, he turns your chin toward him, pressing an ironically chaste kiss to your mouth. “No running, remember?” 

As you hurtle toward your release, he leans close, kissing you briefly before speaking into your lips. “The next time you wanna ignore me—next time you wanna hide from me and lie to me sayin’ you’ll be good from now on—I want you to think of this, to think of me right here,” he murmurs, palming his cock through your belly. You squeal at the foreign feeling, but he only adds more force, and you think you’re about to pass out.   

“My baby,” he chides. “Loves to act out but she can’t handle the consequences.” While he speaks, he folds your left leg up, pushing it to your chest so he can penetrate you deeper.

“Please, Caleb!” you beg, the new angle making stars float across your vision. As your body rocks with the force of his strokes, you cry, “I said I was sorry!” 

“Mm, you did,” he nods, absorbing a tear on your cheek with a kiss. “But I don’t think you really are. Not yet.”

Without warning, he pulls out of you and flips you onto your stomach before sliding back in. Resuming his thrusts, he uses his Evol to pick your forgotten phone up off the floor. “Call her back. Speaker,” he orders. 

At first, you're flustered into hesitation, but as he holds the phone ahead of you and taps through your history to do it himself, you pull yourself together. “Wait,” you wail. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

You do it.

When Simone picks up, Caleb shows you mercy by decreasing his pace so the sound of slick skin colliding doesn’t travel through the phone. 

“Hey Y/N, what’s up? Is it about earlier? …Did something happen?” she asks in concern.

Frantically, you twist your head to look up at Caleb, not knowing what to say. 

Leisurely, he folds forward over you, his chest flush with your spine so he can whisper in your ear. Throughout his dramatics, your time to respond without raising suspicion wanes, and you grow more desperate by the second.

“Hi Simone,” Caleb finally whispers, pressing kisses to your ear in time with his languid strokes.

“H-hi Simone,” you repeat louder, a slight tremble in your voice.

“I just wanted to say thanks again for checking in. That guy, the one from earlier—he can be so mean sometimes,” Caleb murmurs, pouting his lips in ridicule. 

“I just wanted…wanted to say thanks again for checking in. The guy from earlier—hah—can be so mean sometimes,” you echo, breathless from the impact of Caleb’s hips rocking into yours.

“Can we reschedule our plans for next week? My big brother’s,” he emphasizes, mocking your earlier jab with two deep thrusts, “coming home, and he really misses me.” As he feeds you lines, the taunts in his words break through the softness of his whispers. 

As softly as you dare to, you whimper for him, hoping it’s enough for him to end his torture.

But as the phone screen goes black from inactivity, you see his smirking reflection looming over your humiliated one. The only way out is by appeasing him. 

“C-can we reschedule our plans for next week? My…my friend—” 

As soon as the word leaves your mouth, Caleb lifts off of you slightly, landing a harsh smack on your ass.

“Y/N? What was that noise? Are you alright?”

“Yes,” you all but moan as he bites your neck, reprimanding you further for breaking his script. 

“My friend is visiting next week, and he really misses me,” you finish, waiting with bated breath for her—and Caleb’s—reactions. 

“Oh…sure, Y/N. That’s fine with me. That’s a lot better than I was expecting, you sounded like you were in trouble for a second.” Caleb smirks against your ear. “Just let me know when you want to reschedule.”

“Sounds good,” you breathe as Caleb’s thrusts return to a faster pace. “I-I gotta go, I’ll see you later!” you rush, almost squealing as you end the call. 

For the nth time that night, you want to burst into tears. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you whine, your voice mixing with the renewed slaps of skin on skin. 

Chuckling, Caleb lifts off of you, his sudden absence from your cunt making you shudder. In an instant, he flips you over so you’re face-to-face before entering you again. 

“Technically, you just did that,” he smirks, his thrusts now lazy and sporadic. “I don’t remember pressing ‘call.’” His matter-of-fact tone is teasing, but you knew that if you hadn’t canceled on Simone, he’d have made good on his earlier threat. He always does. 

As you open your mouth to retort, Caleb’s face grows serious, and all your neurons responsible for making witty comebacks seem to atrophy at once. 

Caleb leans down, light bites on your throat punctuating his confession. “I can’t stop at wanting you not to run from me anymore. I want you to stay with me. To choose to, for as long as we live, for the next hundred years.” 

“But what if…” you trail off, but he understands what you’d been implying. 

At that, his eyes darken. Rutting into you with renewed fervor, he grasps your chin tightly, holding you captive in his gaze. “You’ll be around for however many years I’m alive and kicking,” he growls. And you believe him. 

Nerves alight, mind numb, and core throbbing from your impending climax, you nod as much as his iron grip allows you to. “I’ll stay,” you whisper, kissing his thumb near your lip. “Wanna stay—with you.” 

Letting out a strangled huff, Caleb surges forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. He bites your bottom lip as he presses down on your stomach once again, and you careen over the edge, feeling the hot spurts of his release intensify the flood inside your cunt. 

With a shuttering groan, Caleb collapses to your left, immediately closing the space between you with a hug. You stay like that for a while, your sore body curled into his arms as you face each other on the bed. 

“You okay?” he asks quietly, rubbing circles into your hip. “I know it was a bit much.”

“Forgive you,” you mumble into his chest. “Felt good.”

He chuckles, tapping your nose twice. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily. Or else I’ll want to keep testing your limits.” 

When you fall asleep in his warm embrace, Caleb looks down at you intently, trying to brand the visual into any part of his commandeered mind that’d take it. Daring to disrupt the image, he gently untangles your bodies, lifting you before laying you back down on top of him. 

At peace for the first time that night, Caleb looks out the window, smiling to himself. The rain has stopped.

[eraserbread]

that first trimester was terrible... but, your husband, nanami, swears the second one is personal

"kento?" you whisper, shaking his wide frame in your arms. he worked all day, so he has every right to his sleep, but you couldn't calm the throbbing between your legs. it's come back with a vengeance after your time in the shower this morning with him, and now you couldn't settle. kento doesn't budge.

"please." you try again, whining in his ear and squeezing the flesh of his chest. "I love you so much... p-please." beads of cold sweat have began to form on your skin, reacting to the throbbing deep inside of you.

where you can't see, kento opens his eyes at once. remaining stoic in your arms. you're humping against his leg, whining sweetly into his back. he lets you, too tired to move.

"can we do it? please?" kissing over his rippling back, the skin blooms red in the darkness of the night bedroom.

if he were a bit more awake, kento would understand and be a bit sweeter, but he was exhausted. "this can't wait until the morning?" he grumbles, still so thoughtful and quiet in his daze.

you won't lie and say his tone didn't strike you, so instead of kissing him again, you press your forehead into his shoulder and pull away.

swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a second to catch your breath, whining softly in your throat as the change of position makes your core tremble and cry out for help. you're crushing your thighs together, head hanging between your shoulders as kento drifts back off.

overcome, horny and emotional, you start crying. sniffling and hiccuping in your fist. It felt like every vein in your body was screaming for release, and it's painful.

of course, kento can't truly fall back asleep when you're crying next to him, pitiful and whiny because you refuse to bother him further. he'd have to bother himself, he comes to terms when he sits up, peeling his eyes open again.

"don't cry, now i feel bad." he's muttering, closing his palm over his face to rub some sense back to his features.

"g-go back to sleep." you whimper, wiping at your tears just for more to fall. "I'm sorry, I hate bothering you."

"come here, it's fine. i know what you need." kento refuses to look at a clock -- he refuses to see how much sleep he's losing. it's a problem he'd face five hours from now, not when you're a sniffling mess at his bedside.

"really?" there's a tinge of hope there, excitement buried under your pitiful tone as you turn over your shoulder. he's shirtless, staring back at you through the dim moonlight. hair ruffled, eyes low, lips pressed together. grumpy and sleepy. but, as your eyes trail down his body, you can see the hardened lump in his underwear, peeking from the blankets.

you crawl to him.

straddling his lap is so familiar, kissing down his neck - letting your sweet skin drag across his shaved stubble feels right. he's genuinely letting you do all the work right now, yawning every few seconds as you attack another area of his skin in kisses.

you're starving -- grinding on his thick erection with a drunken fervor. he thinks your eagerness is cute, endearing in the right situations. not when he's so tired.

and you see that just enough to take advantage of it.

sure, he was dozing off, but the second he feels your teeth latch around his nipple, he's shooting them open.

"now, this is just pointless," he grunts, closing his hands over your hunched shoulders as you're sucking and biting at his reddening nipple. you're moving like you're trying to spout milk from him -- left hand massaging his left pec.

"nooo. i wanna."

kento's pulls a hand back to his face, bunching it in a fist as he lets you have your way. if you weren't five months pregnant, he'd throw you back down on the bed and press you so stupid with his cock that you had no choice but to cum, then fall right back asleep.

so, yes -- this was a sticky situation. he wouldn't manhandle his pregnant wife. not without a dangerously guilty conscience to deal with in the morning.

but once you had your fill, pulsating lips switching from nipple to swollen nipple, laced with a handful of his thick, delicious muscle, you pull away and kiss lower. that little dip in attention has kento wrapping his arms around your waist, digging his fingers into the skin as he grabs and pushes you off of him.

you squeak, not expecting such a drastic change. laying out on your side, arms splayed to catch some footing, he's kneeling over you. a hand shoves into the front of his briefs, swallowing a groan as his suffocated cock springs free.

"would you just behave?" that patience is dwindling now as he crawls in behind you. he's shivering slightly, teasing the bead of pre back against the flushed tip of his cock. you're flicking between the lewdness and the look on his face, heart pummeling when you see him bite over his bottom lip.

"y-yes... please put it in." your voice is wrecked, lips tingly and red. he mounts you, long legs splayed behind as he blindly makes that familiar descent between your thighs, trailing against your ass and dipping into your sopping, messy cunt.

he sighs, neck twitching as you slurp him up like you've never been fed before. pregnancy sex is just so different -- so lewd with you and your crying body. there's so much fluid, a mess of slick coating yours and his thighs.

so, it takes nothing -- i mean, nothing, for him to coax that first messy orgasm out of you, and you're squirting everywhere. screaming his name like you're on the verge of death, and he's the culprit.

his big hand clenches onto one of your thighs, fucking you into the wet sheets like a dog as he eases all that cum out of you.

when you're done and dumb with pliancy, you're rolling back over kento when he settles in his spot. your side of the bed is soaked, so you spend all night sleeping right on top of him, belly smushed into his and legs twisted together.

you would definitely hear about this uncomfortable situation tomorrow before he shrugs off to work. you'll also definitely jump his grumpy, tired bones as soon as he steps foot through the front door that evening. you're smiling at nothing anymore, finally satiated and sleepy enough to drift off to dreams about kento and your baby.

[not-neverland06]

Kid?

Logan Howlett x fem!mutant!reader A/N: I haven’t watched X-Men since I was a child, so I can’t promise this is going to be canon-compliant. I haven’t watched DP & W either, I’ve just been influenced by that one gif where Hugh Jackman shakes his head like a dog. I feel FERAL Also, I am not good at superhero names or coming up with creative powers. So you’re a mutant with matter manipulation and they call you Flux. I mean, superhero names are inherently ridiculous so I think this works. (Don’t judge me, I’m just here for the sexy man) Summary: You walk in on Logan and Jean in a compromising position and feel your heart break. You really thought he loved you, you were so wrong. (Or were you?)

It was your own fault, you should have knocked before you busted through the door. You only have yourself to blame as you struggle to catch your breath and swallow down the lump in your throat. The image of Logan standing between Jean’s bare legs is going to haunt you for a while. Their faces will keep you awake at night, cringing at yourself while you remember the humiliating moment. 

You rush towards the door, a stupidly giddy skip to your step. You were a mutant, a superhuman, and getting a chance to talk to your crush should not have you giggling like a schoolgirl. Still, you’re blind to all logic when it comes to Logan. 

You turn the corner, spotting the medbay and nearly ramming into the door you know he’s lurking behind. Charles had told you where to find him. Of course, you hadn’t paid attention to the odd tone of voice when he had very clearly warned you to knock. All you’d heard was Logan’s name and you’d zoned out for the rest of the conversation. 

And, of course, you don’t knock. You grab the door’s handle and bust in, “Hey!” Your eyes widen and your stomach plummets with a depressing plop to the floor. Your eyes nearly bug out of your head when you see the way Jean and Logan are entangled in each other. He’s leaning over her, the muscles and veins in his neck pulsing with strain. Normally, that sight would have you nearly drooling. 

Instead, all you can see is the flush on Jean’s cheeks and the way her pupils are dilated with want. Her nails are digging into his back, bare legs twined around his waist. There’s no way to misinterpret this. No way for you to later assure yourself that this was all just a misunderstanding. 

The words stumble out of your mouth in a disjointed mess that even you can’t decipher. You stand there, jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water before you finally get it together. “Charles,” you stutter out, his name sounding like a question. You wince and finally tear your gaze away from them. “Sorry,” you chuckle, trying to play off your hurt as humor. “Charles needs us all for a mission.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond, you slam the door closed, ignoring what you think might be someone calling your name. 

You shake off the mortifying memory and groan. Your head falls into your hands and you grip at your face until the pain distracts you from the embarrassment. It’s not too hard to push it all down, to pretend what happened didn’t make your heart crumble away into nothing.

Maybe it’s because you’re a mutant that you’re so used to rejection. You’re used to constantly being disappointed by people around you. Your childhood was nothing but cruelty, your crush not liking you back can’t compare to half of what you went through. 

That’s what you tell yourself, at least, to try and pretend it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. You shove it down until you think you can’t feel that dull ache anymore. And when Jean and Logan walk into the room, looking more put together, you smile at Logan like you always do. It doesn’t turn down at the corners, your eyes don’t water. You take in a deep breath and look utterly unaffected. 

He sits down beside you and leans towards you. “I can explain-”

You cut him off and shake your head. “Forget about it. I should have knocked.” You turn towards Charles who wheels himself to the front of the room. You dismiss Logan and ignore the way his stare burns into the side of your head. 

Charles looks to Jean and Logan, a smile starting. Then his gaze drifts towards you and your chest deflates when you see the look on his face. He knows, the old miser probably coasted over your thoughts and he knows. He sends you a sympathetic look that makes you feel like a little girl who just got told unicorns don’t exist. “Jean, Logan, glad that you’ve finally joined us.”

Logan nods and leans back in his chair. But his eyes remain fixed on you and it makes you wish you could stab a fork into them. You let out a short, irritated huff of air and frown at yourself. Maybe you were a little more angry than you would like to admit. 

You blame Logan for that. You never would have fallen so deep into infatuation if you hadn’t believed there was even a sliver of a chance with him. Always speaking so kindly with you when he would barely spare anyone a second glance. Constantly doing checkups on you after a particularly harsh training session with Charles. 

Your mind runs over all the small things with him, everything you’ve done together. And you’re hit with a sudden nauseating thought. Oh my god, what if he sees me paternally?

You force yourself not to physically react but inside your throwing up and fucking freaking out. You feel a sudden spark of alarm from Charles and quickly do your best to fortify your mind so he doesn’t see your major mental freakout. 

You’re not that much younger than him. Well, it’s not illegal, your crush on Logan. But what if this entire time, when you’ve been falling harder and harder for him, he’s just been platonically taking care of you? You’ve seen him do it plenty of times for the younger kids, as reluctant as he is to admit it. 

You’re spiraling further and further into panic. So much so that you have no idea what’s even being discussed or what’s going on. You get onto the jet and have to ask Storm what you’re doing. She gives you a confused look but tells you nonetheless. Just some recon on a potential mutant trafficking ring. Nothing out of the ordinary, as depressing as that is. There shouldn’t be much violence, which is why your group is particularly small today.

You nod your head, moving like you’re in a daze as you throw yourself onto a seat. Logan sits beside you, an alarmed look on his face. “You alright, kid?”

The nickname, which is used to make your stomach flutter, makes you want to throw up. How have you missed it for this long? It was laid out so plainly before you. Of course, he doesn’t want you. Not when he has perfect Jean. Bile rises in your throat with a vicious ferocity when you glare over at Jean. 

There’s a sudden petty, vindictive rage fueling you. The type you should have abandoned in high school, especially now that you’re grown. Instead, you feel like giving into Logan’s idea of what you are. You feel like reacting to all of this petulantly. 

You ignore Logan and instead catch Jean’s eyes. Slowly, and with as much intention as you can force into your gaze, you look from her to Logan and then Scott. Her eyes widen and Logan scoffs beside you. She shakes her head minutely, silently begging you not to say anything. You smile at her and stand up.

You take a step towards Scott and Logan calls out an irritated, “Kid.” You ignore him and Jean eyes you warily as you approach. She stands like she’s ready to fight you and take the jet down just to keep you quiet. You reach Scott and can hear the way Jean takes in a sharp breath. 

“Scott,” he looks up at you with his brows raised. There's a pause before you speak. Dragged on too long for Scott not to realize you’re planning something. 

Jean takes a step towards you and you grin, “Mind checking my cuffs?” Scott gives you an odd look and his confusion only gets worse as Jean slumps onto the seat beside him. She’s not even trying to hide her relief. Scott shakes his head and holds his hands out, fingers gently probing around the cuffs on your wrists. The ones that keep your powers in check. 

You’re still new to welding them. And they’re too entwined with your emotions for you to just have free range with them. If you hadn’t had the cuffs on this morning, you’re afraid you might have just turned everything around you into nothing but dust.

“They look fine, Flux.” His tone betrays his thoughts. He doesn’t know why you’d come to him for this when it’s Charles who usually deals with it. But this stupid, petty little display wasn’t for poor oblivious Scott. It was for the woman sitting next to him. The redhead whose still drilling holes into your skull. 

You’ve got leverage over her that you’ve never had before. Scott wouldn’t take her little foray with Logan very well. And all it would take is a flick of your wrist to give him a very clear image of exactly what you’d seen. Then, her picture-perfect relationship would be over in a matter of seconds. You’re sure Logan would be more than pleased. But he doesn’t seem to understand that Jean just wants to have fun with him, she’d never choose him over Scott. 

“Thanks,” there’s a bite to your tone that you’re not used to. You usually keep your emotions relatively in control. That way you won’t have to wear these cuffs one day. But you feel volatile today. You’re channeling your hurt and turning it into misguided anger. 

You drop your wrists to your sides and stalk toward the front, hovering behind Charle’s and Storm’s chairs so you don’t have to look at the others. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the floor trembling under heavy booted steps. 

Logan’s arms rest on the headrest of the chairs, bracketing you in between them so you can’t escape. He leans forward until his chest is pushed against yours and you can feel every ridge of his muscled torso pressing into you. You try not to suck in a breath, try not to play into the cliche of instantly forgetting why you’re angry when you’re faced with those muscles of his. It is hard, though, because he’s so handsome and so warm and you just want to melt into him. 

“Wanna explain what the hell that was?” His voice is so low, whispering against the shell of your ear so only you can hear. You feel the vibrations of it against your back, his tone more gravelly than it should be. 

You glance over your shoulder at him, face placid and blank. “What? Just needed some help.” Storm looks over at you both and rolls her eyes. 

Logan opens his mouth to say something but she cuts him off. “Put a pin in the lover’s spat, we’re landing.” Using just a bit of your power, you push Logan off of you and head towards the back of the jet. There’s a slight jolt as you land and then the ramp opens up and you’re practically running into the snowy forest. 

You don’t know where you are, mainly because you weren’t paying attention, you just know it's fucking freezing. The leather of your suit isn’t doing much to help fight against the chill. Charles stays on the jet and reminds you all that this is only meant to be recon. You’re partnered up with Logan, and as much as it irritates you, you’re not stupid enough to argue against it.

You have to put aside your personal grievances for this mission. You can’t risk the safety of mutants because the guy you like likes another girl. Logan seems pleased about it, stubbornly staying by your side even when you make it clear you want space. 

You both linger behind the other’s as Storm leads you through the forest. Jean is being more touchy with Scott than normal. Either to assuage her own guilt or to rub it in Logan’s face, you’re not sure which. You nearly gag as you watch them whisper to one another, you glance over at Logan to see if he notices. 

You’re startled when you see him already staring at you. His lips tick up into something mischievous when he catches your eye. That smug smirk on his face as he leans in towards you. “Wanna tell me what’s got you so pissed off?”

You roll your eyes and tamp down the rising tide of anger. “Nothing,” you bite out, jaw clenching the longer you stare at the back of Jean’s head. You’re surprised you haven’t chipped a tooth with how hard you’re grinding your teeth together. 

He scoffs, not believing you for a second. He doesn’t say anything, just gives you an expectant stare. You can taste the words forming on your tongue, an irritating urge to just spill your guts overcoming you. Before you can stop yourself you blurt out, “I’m a little surprised that’s all.”

“Oh yeah, ‘bout what?” You hate how amused he sounds, the chuckle just lying in wait under his words. Like your anger is funny to him, like he didn’t just break your stupid fucking heart. 

You stop walking, not feeling as intimidating as you want while you shiver and huddle into yourself. He seems perfectly at ease in his leather jacket and beater, still refusing to wear the uniform. He leans back and looks at you with a fondness that you can’t tell if you love or hate. “You and little Miss Perfect.” You spit the nickname with enough venom to make both of your eyes widen. 

Logan rolls his eyes and takes a step towards you, again, Storm interrupts you both. “Guys, really?” Everyone turns around to stare and you will the heat in your face away. “Not the time,” she scolds and you brush past Logan to catch up with the others. 

You come upon a warehouse, it’s nearly camouflaged under all the snow. You see two guards waiting outside the metal doors and you all disperse behind the trees. Storm glances towards Jean who focuses on the guards. They drop to the floor and you wave your hands, their guns melting into puddles of metal. 

Logan and Scott move forward, sliding the large metal doors open. You wince at the loud screeching as the rust flakes off the sides. There’s a collective quiet as you all hold your breath, waiting for them to give the all-clear. Once they run inside and run back out, you and the others quickly get to your feet and rush into the warehouse. Logan closes the doors again as you make it inside. 

“No one here?” Storm checks. Scott shakes his head and you frown. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would there be guards if there was nothing inside?

Your question is, unfortunately, answered a minute later. You find a pile of metal crates stacked on top of each other. A large beige tarp covers them. You tug at the corner, letting the fabric slide off. Your eyes flutter with disappointment, “Guys! Over here,” mutants sit inside the crates. Each of them stares at you with varying degrees of mistrust and fear. 

As awful as it is, you’ve gotten used to these quiet depressing missions. There aren’t usually many mutants in one place. They don’t like to keep the product in one spot for too long. There are only four kids here. The youngest is eleven and the oldest is seventeen. There’s nothing physically telling about their abilities so you assume it must be psychic powers. 

They don’t want to come with you until you all give them a demonstration of your powers. Proving that you’re not just trapping them and taking them somewhere worse. You’re nearly out the door when Charles's voice rings loudly through all of your minds. 

You wince at the volume, hands coming up to grip at your hair as he shouts, “Behind you!” A gunshot rings out, something hot rips across your wrist and you gasp in pain. There’s a clatter of metal as your cuff drops to the ground, the bullet having destroyed it. Without them both, they’re useless. One won’t work without the other. 

You glance up at Logan, a panicked look on your face. You can already feel the tidal wave of power thrashing and building in your chest. It’s been so long with the safety net that you forgot how bad it gets without the cuffs. 

“We need to get you out of here!” He shouts over the gunfire. He herds the group behind a cluster of metal shipment boxes. It provides enough cover for you all to try and figure out an escape plan. 

You listen to the other’s worried voices, each of them trying to console the kids. You don’t know their powers yet. Don’t know what might go wrong if they get too scared and can’t control their abilities. 

You can’t speak, breaths coming short and fast as you clutch your wrist to your chest. You know it’s delusional, hoping that if you keep a tight grip like the cuff you might be able to control yourself. You can already feel the energy leaking out of you, the ends of everyone’s hair stands on end. The wall in front of you warps and cracks like it can’t decide if it’s liquid or solid. 

You grit your teeth and look only at Storm. “You need to get out,” you force the words out. It causes physical pain to try and keep everything at bay. You can feel pressure building in your forehead, pushing out until you think you might explode. 

“We’re not leaving you,” Logan snaps. There’s shouting going on behind you, a pause as they all reload their guns. 

“Wasn’t a question,” you grit out. You look towards Jean and there’s a moment where you both put aside your differences. You both know how stubborn he is, how much he’ll fight against leaving you behind. Regenerative powers or not, it's dangerous to even be close to your gift now. You can see them all straining against the ebbing flow of your powers. Their skin shifts unnaturally like you’re already altering the atoms of their being. 

This is why you’re only allowed to train with Charles and Jean. They can get in your head, shut it down when you can’t. You’re not sure you’re going to survive yourself. Logan glances between the two of you and practically growls at Jean, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare-”

His words trail off into an unintelligible slur as he slumps forward, Jean having knocked him out with her powers. Scott grabs him and grunts under the weight of his body. “I’ll cover you,” you gasp the words out. Anything but focusing on your powers causes physical strain that makes you feel like you’re being tugged in a hundred different directions. “Just get them out,” you nod towards the kids. 

Storm nods and you slip out of cover. It isn’t hard to push your powers in one direction, to solidify the air in front of you so the bullets ricochet harmlessly off. You listen to the whine of the metal door and wait for the others to be gone. 

“They’re in the jet,” Charles's voice rings out. “Don’t do this,” he warns. You can’t think of a response, you’re not even sure what you would say. You never thought you would be able to approach death this calmly, or that this would be how you die. It feels almost pathetic, dying because you lost control on a recon mission. 

At least those kids are safe. It’s not a bad reason to die. Just not great. You glance down at the other cuff on your right hand, the air around it fluctuates until it melts off your wrist like liquid metal. With the last barely there tether off your powers, you close your eyes and release the tidal wave. 

It feels like a dam exploding. It doesn’t leak fluidly from you, it rips through you like a hailstorm of knives. Tears apart anything in its path and rewrites the molecular build of everything in its path. Screams echo through the air as men’s bones turn into brittle dust and their hearts morph into something inorganic. You’re blind to everything around you, vision clouded by the horrific release of energy. 

You can feel warmth leaking down your face. Blood still pours from the wound on your wrist, and fresh blood from other wounds you can’t even feel. You don’t know when the screams stop, or when you’re finally drained. But you feel like an empty husk as you drop to the floor, your head bouncing harshly against the cement as everything goes black. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Logan says with a grin, glaring at Scott even though it’s Charles who is holding him back. He’s got a firm mental grasp on Logan, keeping him locked into place while he focuses on the warehouse. 

They’re waiting for the all-clear. The others know there’s always the possibility that they’re going to be collecting a body. But none of them are willing to say that, not with the look on Logan’s face. His muscles look ready to pop out of his skin with how much he’s fighting against Charles’s hold. 

Scott backs away from Logan with a scoff. He stands near Jean, but she can’t take her eyes off the restrained man. Nothing had happened this morning, Flux had seen to that. Interrupting them just as they’d started. Seeing the way he’s acting now, she’s starting to believe that nothing is ever going to happen. 

He’d looked like he was about to dismiss her when she started making a move. She can see the anger on his face, it seems he’s only ever pissed off. But underneath that, as much as he hides it, she can see the fear. He’s terrified that they're going to walk in there and you’re going to be dead. 

Jean can feel the fear of the others as well. They’ve only seen you lose control once and that had almost leveled the mansion. Charles had stopped you then, but the loss of the cuff had been so sudden Jean just barely had enough strength to keep the others blocked from your powers. She didn’t have enough time to shut you down. 

Jean, as much as she’s tried to deny it and dismiss her suspicions, can’t look Logan in the eye and ignore it anymore. It’s never been her that he’s wanted. The way he trails along beside you, always prodding and poking until you’re pissy and mouthing off. It’s not done because he finds antagonizing people fun, it's because he loves seeing you all worked up and passionate. He doesn’t view you through the same platonic lens he does the others. You’re something else to him, something she doesn’t want to name, afraid of the bitter taste it will leave on her tongue. 

Charles slumps back in his chair and Logan suddenly lunges forward. He looks a little surprised by the sudden freedom of movement, but before any of them can stop him he’s running out of the jet. “Logan,” Jean tries to call after him but he’s already a distant blur. 

Scott sighs and starts down the ramp. “Come on,” he mutters. He’s the last one who should be coming along. If anything is wrong with you, he’ll end up being Logan’s punching bag. Jean follows reluctantly, she’s not sure she wants to see what’s happened. 

Your powers are too similar in their volatile nature. The way they rule you and come so close to destroying you when you use them too much, is too familiar to Jean. She doesn’t want to see you lying dead on the floor and be reminded of her own mortality. But someone needs to make sure Logan is stuck on a leash. 

They reach where the warehouse should be. It’s nothing but a pile of rubble now. Throughout the wreckage, Jean can make out odd pools of liquid, some writhing, others still. She can only assume that these had been the men shooting at them. She doesn’t see your body, none of them do. But Logan isn’t giving up. 

He lifts different pieces of metal and tosses them off into the forest. Jean doesn’t sense your presence anywhere but she doesn’t have the heart to tell Logan to give up. After a few minutes of searching, she almost tells him to quit. But she can’t see him anymore. He’s disappeared somewhere behind a particularly large pile of roofing. A moment later, Logan stands up. His jacket is gone, wrapped around the body in his arms. None of them are close enough to see if you’re breathing. And he doesn’t say a word as he brushes past them, just keeps going back to the jet. Ororo, Scott, and Jean all share a silent look. None of them prepared for the potential fallout that’s going to happen after this. 

The first thing you feel is two familiar bands of metal around your wrists. The comforting feeling of the cuffs is enough to have you sinking further into the pillows surrounding you. Then you hear the beeping in your ear, feel the cool blow of AC, and become startlingly aware of the fact that you’re in a bed you don’t recognize. 

You groan, eyes peeling open painfully as your lashes get stuck on your skin. You reach up to rub at your face but your arms feel too weak to lift. You give up on the thought, instead staring up at the ceiling and waiting for your vision to refocus. 

A throat clears in front of you and you nearly jump out of your skin. Sitting at the end of your bed, arms crossed and a fierce glare on his face is Logan. His feet are propped up on the small table beside you. He quirks a brow and gives you a sardonic grin, “Finally awake, princess?”

Normally the name would have you up and doing somersaults, but there’s something distinctly negative and disappointed lacing his tone. It squashes any and all butterflies in your stomach. You grimace as you try and sit up. Logan is up in an instant, an annoyed look still on his face as he helps you up. 

You can’t help your dopey smile at how gentle his hands are on you. Even pissed off, he treats you so kindly. Maybe it’s the drugs relaxing you, or the fact that you almost died, but you can’t remember whatever made you mad at him. You can only feel the slide of his calloused hands against your arms, the way you shiver under his touch and crave more. 

He pulls the chair closer to you with a loud scratch of metal feet on the linoleum. You groan at the loud sound and he huffs, throwing himself down in the seat. “How do you feel?”

Your head sinks back against the wall and you finally realize you’re in the medbay. It’s why everything smells so sterile. “Like I got hit by a semi.”

He barely lets you finish your thought before he spits out, “What the fuck were you thinking?” He doesn’t ease you into this at all and you frown. You’re not sure why you would expect him to ever beat around the bush. That’s not his style, he’s always been blunt. Even when others wish he wouldn’t be. 

“What else was I supposed to do?” You ask, voice weak. Your throat feels like it’s been ripped apart. Idly, you wonder if you had been screaming in the warehouse or if this was just general strain from the whole ordeal. 

“Not put yourself at risk like that.” He leans forward, voice stern and bordering on shouting. You know he’s holding back. As much as he wants to lay into you right now, he’s stopping himself from going completely out of his mind. You appreciate it, but you almost wish he would just yell at you. You wish you had a reason to resent him, to finally get over him. “Not have Jean knock me out like that. You don’t get to make those decisions for me.”

It’s completely inappropriate and horrible timing, but you can’t help but scoff at the mention of Jean’s name. Can you not have one conversation that’s not tainted by the mention of the redhead?

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he glares at you in disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, not willing to face him as embarrassment washes over you. No wonder he always calls you kid. You’re not exactly acting like an adult. You’re being a brat and for such a stupid reason too. 

Just because you like him doesn’t mean he has to reciprocate. You can’t just force your feelings on someone. “Logan,” you whisper his name, “Sorry. I’m sorry-”

He cuts you off before you can finish. Some of the anger, but not all, has ebbed from his expression. He almost looks like he’s smiling. “Jean? That’s what this is about? Jealous or something, sweetheart?”

You sputter, shocked little noises leaving you but no words. After a solid minute of restarting a sentence you don’t know how to end you finally land on a squeaky, “Who?” If you weren’t so mortified, you might have just thrown yourself out the window. Out of every cop-out you could have gone with you chose to just pretend you didn’t know who she was. Maybe you could make this work, like selective amnesia. 

Your shame only builds as Logan laughs. You cover your face and wish you could bury yourself six feet deep and never come up. You feel two rough hands wrap around your wrists, tugging your own away from your face. You don’t have the energy to fight back, so you keep your eyes on his chin. Too afraid to meet his gaze. 

“Come on,” he mutters, gently nudging your chin up until you’re forced to look at him. You're caught off guard by the look in his eyes. You recognize it, but you’d only ever seen it directed at Jean. It’s the same way you’ve always looked at him. Pure unguarded want and desire. 

The hand on your chin drifts back, fingers tangling in your hair and gently resting on your jaw. He tugs you forward until your lips are nearly touching, breaths mingling with every exhale. “Only ever wanted you, darlin'.’”

The kiss catches you off guard. It shouldn’t, deep down you knew it was coming, but the intensity behind it, the way you can practically taste how bad he wants this, wants you, catches you off guard. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting yourself melt into his hold. 

His free hand drifts to your waist and clutches the flimsy hospital gown until you hear it tear. You part your lips, deepening the kiss so you can finally taste him. It’s cigars and whiskey, something you should hate but is entirely intoxicating when he’s holding you so tightly. Fireworks are going off in your mind, sparks darting between your fingers as the cuffs struggle to contain all the energy suddenly pushing out of you. 

He can feel you holding back, squeezing you like it’s a promise he can take it. Take everything you throw at him. You let go as much as your cuffs will allow you. Let the energy blanket you both so you can’t hear your heart monitor going off like crazy. So you don’t feel anything other than each other. You think you’re going to devour each other like you’ll just keep kissing until neither of you can take it anymore. You don’t want to let go of him, don’t want to lose this moment. 

But you have to breathe. You don’t get to just keep living the way he does. You pull away from him slowly, every part of you dreading separating from him. His forehead drops against your own, his laughter playing along your lips as he finally hears the monitor going haywire. 

You groan, flicking your wrist and shutting it off so it can’t betray how flustered you are anymore. He gently nudges you aside so he can sit beside you on the bed. You don’t waste a second before you’re draping yourself across his chest and siphoning his warmth. He chuckles, arms coming up to wrap around you. 

“Can’t believe you were jealous of Jean.”

“Shut up,” you snipe. You look up at him and glare, “How else do you explain what you two were doing?”

He leans forward and gives you a smug grin. “She came onto me, sweetheart.” Your face screws up in distaste and jealousy. She’s going to need to learn to keep her hands to herself. He seems to feel the way you tense up, he huffs in amusement and rubs your back. “Relax, you’re gonna blow your fuse again.”

You glance down at your wrists and nuzzle further into him. You can’t believe you could have been laying on him this whole time. You never want to use a blanket again, not when you’ve got him. “I’ll be fine now that I’ve got my cuffs.”

His hand stills on your bicep. He squeezes it before his hand drifts up to your chin and he tilts your face up again. “I don’t ever want to see that again.” You’re a little surprised by the sudden shift in tone, but you knew this was coming. 

“I had to, Logan. I either took you all down with me or I went on my own.”

Logan frowns and takes in a deep breath. You place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiles down at you, “Next time, take me with you. I’m not fucking dealing with Summers without you.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Your face grows warm and your chest expands with some odd gleeful feeling as he laces your fingers together. “Deal,” you whisper, still smiling at him. 

A/N: Okay, this might be shit, I’m not sure. I sort of rushed the ending because as I was writing this I had another idea for him. I guess I’m officially off my hiatus. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[yuujispinkhair]

NERD!SUKUNA HEADCANONS - Part 2

You can find Part 1 here

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). College AU. 3.5k words 18+, fluff + smut (sex on the kitchen table, oral (both receiving), cockwarming, cumshot). "Enemies" to friends to fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is shy and struggles with her grades. Sukuna is a genius but bad at feelings ;) Minors don't interact. Divider @/.lacedolliee. Credit for the super sexy fanart of Nerdkuna goes to my sweet friend @winterrbluess. The pic was used with Winn's permission 🖤

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to ignore that nagging feeling in his chest anytime he looks at the empty chair across from him, where you used to sit those last few weeks during your assignment.

Nerd!Sukuna, who lies awake at night, haunted by thoughts of you and the what-ifs, cursing himself because he can solve every academic problem and get top grades in all his classes but has no idea how to deal with his feelings.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't help but stare at you from across the room in the classes you share, feeling a heavy feeling in his chest when he sees you gnaw on your Hello Kitty pen and blink in confusion as you try to make sense of what the professor is explaining.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can feel your eyes on him, too. And he thinks it's fucking cute how you look like the deer in the headlights anytime Sukuna catches you staring. He winks at you and smirks, acting all cool, but there's this suspicious fluttery sensation in his stomach anytime you smile shyly back at him before looking away again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is secretly into poetry, and finally finds an outlet for all those strange feelings he has been experiencing lately when, one sleepless night, his gaze lands on one of the notebooks he always has on his nightstand, and he grabs a pen and starts to write, ending up scribbling poem after poem about a cute girl with bad grades who drives him insane with her messy handwriting, but who somehow managed to bring so much light into Sukuna's life.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows he has to finally face the fact that he misses you and wants you back in his life.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finds the perfect excuse to get you back into his kitchen and into his life when you get a lousy grade in one of your classes, and Sukuna bumps not so accidentally into you after class. "That wouldn't have happened if you let me help you with your studies. Come over this afternoon. Usual spot, usual time. Don't be late, princess. A little dummy like you clearly needs me."

Nerd!Sukuna, who says all that with a lazy drawl and his typical rude smirk on his tattooed face, acting as if he doesn't care whether you take his offer or not. But his heart is beating too fast while he turns around and seemingly casually strolls down the hallway, hoping he will find you at his door this afternoon because he really doesn't know what to do if you don't show up.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has to force himself to slow down and not run to the door and yank it open in under five seconds like a lovesick idiot when you knock on it a few hours later.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks he's really lucky as fuck when you stand there in front of him nervously biting your lower lip and hugging a stack of books to your chest, as you look up at him with big eyes and ask, "Were you serious about helping me? Because I really think I need you."

Nerd!Sukuna, who almost breaks out into a triumphant grin because he could get used to hearing you say you need him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who finally found his inner peace again now that you are back here in his kitchen, studying with him while sucking absentmindedly on your Hello Kitty pen and getting so cutely embarrassed when asking him questions that you think are stupid.

Nerd!Sukuna, who surprises himself with how patient and gentle he is with you, explaining the same topic over and over again until you finally understand it.

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves to teach you about topics he is passionate about, going into an hour-long rant about the smallest details, complete with big hand gestures and an excited sparkle in his maroon eyes behind his big glasses. And to Sukuna's delight, you don't interrupt him or think it's boring, but instead rest your chin on your hand and watch him the whole time with a dreamy little smile on your face, as if you think he hung the moon.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you you will need extra meetings to prepare you for your upcoming exams, even though he can tell he already taught you really well, but he likes the thought of spending more time with his cute little study partner.

Nerd!Sukuna, who joins you on your side of the kitchen table to explain maths to you until late in the night, until your head suddenly lands on his shoulder, and Sukuna hears your soft snores, making him gulp hard even as he murmurs hoarsely, "Did you really fall asleep on me, brat? In the middle of my explanation?", automatically acting annoyed even though he actually likes how warm you feel against him and how sweet and enticing your flowery perfume smells when you are so close to him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who doesn't get an answer because you really are fast asleep on his broad shoulder, and all Sukuna can do is admire your sleeping face, for once not having to pretend he doesn't care and averting his gaze again after a moment, but taking his time to take in your features, which he thinks are really fucking pretty to him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, instead of shaking you awake, carefully lifts you up in his strong arms and carries you to his bed, carefully laying you down and tucking you into his blanket. He has to bite his lip hard because fuck, seeing you in his bed does things to him. To his dick and to his heart.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sleeps on the couch that night, which means he gets about an hour of sleep, and the rest of the night, he is lying awake, almost losing his mind because he knows you are in the next room, in his bed, so cute and sexy and his mind is showing him all the nasty things he would like to do with you. Like having you under him with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, sobbing his name and leaving scratches on his back while begging him to nut in you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't stop thinking about you in his bed after that one night, and only manages to restrain himself from really trying to hit on you by telling himself he wants you to be able to focus completely on your upcoming exam and not get distracted by how good Sukuna's dick is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends a whole Sunday preparing index cards for you with all the important topics you have to remember, all written carefully in his elegant handwriting, making him feel like he is handing you a love letter when he gives you the cards on Monday morning.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels so strangely warm when you run up to him after your exam with a big smile and an excited "Oh my God, Kuna! I passed!" and before he knows what's happening, you jump into his arms, laughing loudly as you hug him tightly, and somehow there's a smile on Sukuna's face and a buzzing in his veins that feels damn nice.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't get the way your smaller body felt pressed against his out of his mind again, but doesn't know how to get you to hug him again, so he just keeps teasing you to at least get you to playfully hit his biceps or push him away by placing your hands on his chest.

Nerd!Sukuna, who grins when you tease him back and lightheartedly make fun of how big of a nerd he is with his color-coded notes and know-it-all attitude and smartass remarks all the time.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tells you you are just jealous because you don't have such a big array of sticky notes and pens like he has, but he will be charitable and donate some to the ones lacking proper academic attire, aka you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for some unfathomable reason, really likes it when he sees you using his sticky notes in class. Maybe because it makes him feel as if you are his.

Nerd!Sukuna, who gets ridiculously pissed off when another guy tries to offer his notes to you. But the problem is solved fast when Sukuna strolls over and puts himself between you and that loser, towering menacingly over him and plucking his stupid notes out of his hands and tearing them into tiny little pieces right in front of him, "She already has me to study with. As if she could learn something useful from you anyway. Get lost before I do the same to you as I did to your sorry-ass notes!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to downplay it when you ask him why he acted that way, not ready to admit how much you mean to him and how possessive he is of you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself grabbing a sticker book for elementary teachers on his next shopping trip to the stationary store and starts gluing motivational stickers on your notes with playful comments from him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who discovers he really enjoys hearing your laugh, especially when you reach out and put your smaller hand on top of his much larger one, your soft fingers shyly playing with his while you smile and giggle about a rude but very fitting remark Sukuna made about one of your professors. And suddenly, Sukuna can't hold back anymore. You look so cute that it makes him drop all his rational thoughts and just act on his desires.

Nerd!Sukuna, who kisses you for the first time right then and there, leaning over the kitchen table to grab your chin with his hand and press his lips against yours.

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels almost high from how eagerly you open your mouth for him and let him lick into your sweet, hot mouth. The noises you make get him feeling dizzy with adrenaline, like he usually only feels when he walks into a challenging exam. A cute, breathless "Sukuna..." sighed against his lips, and Sukuna's dick is so hard he thinks he will go insane.

Nerd!Sukuna, whose big, nerdy glasses get all fogged up from how steamy your kisses become. Deep and hungry and sensual, as if both of you have been craving this for weeks and don't know how to stop now that you finally gave in to your desires.

Nerd!Sukuna, who also fucks you for the first time right there on the kitchen table, on top of all your notes and books, not wasting any time because he can't go one more second without being balls-deep inside you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who doesn't care about ruining his notes because it's more important to fuck more of those cute mewls out of you that you bless him with any time he rolls his hips into yours and his cock caresses that spot deep inside you that makes your pussy clench so sweetly around him as if you never want to let go of him again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks this is absolute perfection, fucking you on his kitchen table with his and your study notes and books scattered all around you while you look up at him with that cute expression on your pretty face. And your little skirt that always drives him crazy, is flipped up to let Sukuna watch his cock slide in and out of your pretty pussy, so wet from your juices that it's dripping down onto your history book.

Nerd!Sukuna, who tries to hold back but can't when you cum on his cock with such sweet moans and loud squeals, making Sukuna barely manage to pull out before he nuts hard all over your swollen pussylips and puffy clit and the notes underneath you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't bring himself to care about the messed up notes and instead leans down to bury his tattooed face between your spread legs and licks his cum off your pussy, until you scream his name and tug on his hair and bless him with another one of your fucking cute orgasms.

Nerd!Sukuna, who asks you afterward if you want to stay the whole night and feels uncharacteristically nervous about it because sex is easy, but actually sleeping in the same bed with someone is a new thing to Sukuna.

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for the first time since he started college, doesn't go through his notes or read a chapter in one of his academic books before falling asleep but instead fucks you with slow, deep strokes on his bed and then holds you and kisses you until you both fall asleep snuggled tightly against each other.

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't stop laughing when he walks into the kitchen the next morning and finds one of the motivational stickers he bought glued to his coffee mug, with a scribbled note in your messy handwriting: "Peak performance last night, not just at academics but also on the kitchen table and in the bedroom. A+ Keep it up!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends the next week not just studying with you but also fucking you thoroughly every chance he gets. He's analyzing every moan, every reaction of your body, learning what you like and committing it to his memory, striving to be the best fuck you ever had because he's ambitious, even when it comes to sex. (Or maybe he is trying to make sure you will never go to someone else to satisfy your needs.)

Nerd!Sukuna, who is super intelligent and always at the top of every class, but knows nothing about love or relationships. But what he knows is that he wants to have you around him as often as possible. And he really really likes spending time with you, studying together and kissing and fucking, and sometimes just talking for hours while holding hands atop your notes.

Nerd!Sukuna, who suspects you kind of like him because you crawl under his kitchen table one evening and give him such a thorough and loving blow job when he complains about being stressed as fuck. You let him cum all over your pretty face while suckling sweetly on his throbbing tip, and Sukuna kind of thinks he can actually see little hearts in your eyes when you look up at him.

Nerd!Sukuna, who loves it when you sit on his lap and keep his cock warm until he is finished with his studies. It gives him even more motivation to hone his reading speed because he only allows himself to move when all his work is done before he grabs your hips and fucks his cock almost desperately into you, fucking you silly, with his glasses hanging askew on his nose from how wild you drive him until you both explode at the same time with loud unrestrained moans.

Nerd!Sukuna, who catches himself wishing your warm naked body was wrapped in his arms on the nights you don't sleep over at his place. And it's certainly not helping that he can smell your flowery perfume on his pillow, and it makes him downright yearn for you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows it's not just sex, but who doesn't know how to deal with all those newly discovered feelings, so he just keeps helping you study and gives you orgasms, and cooks for you and buys you all those pretty study supplies in your favorite color and with Hello Kitty stickers which you love so much. He hopes you know this is his love language.

Nerd!Sukuna, who outright refuses when his professor wants to give him a new partner for the next assignment. Sukuna's glare is poisonous when he uses his "my success reflects really well on your university, so you better not make me leave and sign up somewhere else" card to get paired up with his girl again.

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks this was a pretty good thing to do, judging by the way you cling to him that afternoon and shower him with kisses and smiles, and ride him slowly with your cute little skirt on, mewling his name into his ear and telling him how good he feels inside you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sits at his kitchen table with his chin resting on the back of his hand, watching you thoughtfully while you suck on your Hello Kitty pen and try to answer your history exercise, looking so cute that it's almost unbearable.

Nerd!Sukuna, who wants to tell you he never felt this way about anybody and never even thought he was capable of feeling this way. But this is a thousand times harder than any academic problem Sukuna ever encountered, and so he says nothing, and when you catch him staring and are about to open your mouth, he jerks his head sternly and drawls, "Eyes on your notes! I don't want to hear a single word until you have completed that question!"

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows you have become his weakness, when he can't stay strict with you and ends up shoving his notes across the table, offering to let you copy them. "But promise me you will read the whole thing, so you learn something at least."

Nerd!Sukuna, who regularly cooks dinner when you are over at his place, making sure to only use ingredients you like. Hell, he even puts your rice into a Hello Kitty shape because the way your face lights up with joy when he does that makes his heart feel so full it's almost bursting.

Nerd!Sukuna, who's standing at the stove making dinner, only wearing his grey sweatpants and no shirt, because he likes the way your eyes always stray to his muscles and tattoos. He smirks playfully over his broad shoulder when you comment on his half-naked state. "I'm only doing this for you, princess! Because I want to help you learn how to work in a distracting environment. And nothing is as distracting as my body."

Nerd!Sukuna, who laughs when you abandon your notes and walk up behind him with your Hello Kitty pen and start writing on him, using his broad back as a makeshift whiteboard. He can feel you are writing equations but still asks teasingly, "What is that, princess? Are you leaving little love notes on my back?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who, for the first time in his life, feels something akin to flustered when you giggle and suddenly stop writing equations and instead really start drawing little hearts on his back and placing soft kisses on his skin right next to your drawings and murmur against his skin, "Hmm maybe? Would you mind me writing love notes on you?"

Nerd!Sukuna, who thinks you must feel how fast his heart is beating, when he answers, "I wouldn't mind at all."

Nerd!Sukuna, who feels a big smile spread over his face when he feels you write "I really like you, Kuna."

Nerd!Sukuna, who drops the cooking spoon and turns around and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his naked chest while saying, "I fucking like you too, princess."

Nerd!Sukuna, who finally knows what to do because there is no way you are beating him at being the first to confess. "You know, you should really catch up and be my girl because I've already been your boy for weeks, and this equation only works if you are mine, too."

Nerd!Sukuna, who can't believe how lucky he is when you hug him tightly and tilt your head to smile at him with happy tears in your eyes, telling him that, of course, you are his girl. And you get on your tiptoes and grab Sukuna's tattooed face with both hands, showering his cheeks and nose and lips with kisses until even Sukuna's glasses are smeared with your lipstick, and both of you are laughing breathlessly.

Nerd!Sukuna, who rolls his eyes playfully when you tease him later that evening, "Sooo, this whole talking about your feelings is pretty hard for you, huh? Looks like I finally found something my favorite super nerd doesn't excel in."

Nerd!Sukuna, who won't stand for that (even though you are right) and ends up getting his poetry notebook out of his nightstand and handing it to you with a grin that is a bit less confident and a bit more nervous than usual, "Here, for you, princess. I have to inform you that while I may not be that great at talking about my feelings, I am pretty good at writing about them."

Nerd!Sukuna, who has never felt as nervous in any exam as he feels now while watching you read the poems he wrote about you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who is glad he is so tall and strong, or you would tackle him to the floor with how you throw yourself into his arms and cling to him like a koala with tears streaming down your face and crying about how sweet Sukuna is.

Nerd!Sukuna, who has never been called sweet before but who feels like he could get used to this when it comes from you.

Nerd!Sukuna, who spends the rest of the day in bed with you, getting the best sex of his life and hours of kisses and cuddles, because apparently, yes, he really is very good at expressing his love for you in poetry form.

Nerd!Sukuna, who sits beside you now in every class the two of you share and who starts using your Hello Kitty sticky notes and sends death glares at anyone who dares give him a side-eye for it, asking them snidely, "What? Do you have a problem with Hello Kitty? Or with my girlfriend?", and then laughing softly when you elbow him and tell him to stop scaring people.

Nerd!Sukuna, who knows he has found his perfect study partner. The only one he ever wants.

Nerd!Sukuna, who never had a girlfriend before and never thought he could find someone who interests him as much as his studies do. But now that he has you, Sukuna found his favorite topic to study for the rest of his life.

AAAHHH I FEAR I NEED HIM 💗💗

I was smiling the whole time while writing those headcanons about Nerdkuna, and I hope he could bring you joy, too!! Thank you so much for all the sweet tags and comments on Part 1 💗 I hope you also enjoyed Part 2!

Comments and Reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[reilemon]

𔘓 Let's Break Up, Sylus! 𔘓

⚠ MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY) ⚠

♡︎ Reason for the breakup? You got tired of chasing Sylus’ shadow.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

♡︎ cw: brief mention of blood and wounds

♡︎ tags: angst, fluff, smut, dry humping, oral (female receiving), multiple orgasms

♡︎ word count: 6.5k

♡︎ a/n: idk, i don't like how i wrote the breakup fics, but i'd feel bad if i never posted them. so, if you don't like how i wrote this, especially the breakup part, then pls don't say anything.

♡︎ Thank you to my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎ for helping.

divider by @anitalenia

The faint hum of the car does nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only serves as a reminder of today’s plans, the source of your anxiety. You sit in the driver’s seat, the plane tickets trembling slightly in your hands. You glance toward the house—the lights shining through the bedroom window suggests he woke up. You exhale slowly, staring at the tickets again.

This isn’t how you imagined your vacation. This was supposed to be your time to recharge, to take a step back from the chaos of work, but instead, you’re about to board a plane to a place you hadn’t even known existed. All because you couldn’t stay behind.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Hunters aren’t passive. The words you planned to say to him when he sees you holding up the tickets, rehearsed in your head with all the conviction you could muster. But now, sitting here in the quiet, you can’t help but wonder if bravery is just a mask for recklessness.

Would it really have been so terrible to let him go alone this time?

Your gaze drifts to the empty passenger seat.

Did he expect you to follow him?

You glance at your reflection in the rear-view mirror, the faint circles under your eyes a proof to the sleepless nights that have become all too familiar. Staying behind would’ve meant another string of those nights—lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he was alive, injured, or worse.

But this... this is no better.

The front door of the house creaks open, and you sit up straighter. Sylus steps out, his tall frame moving with its usual confidence, his silver hair catching the early light. He looks like he always does—calm, in control, untouchable. And you’re supposed to be the same.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The room is dimly lit, the single overhead bulb flickering faintly like it might give out at any moment. The walls are bare, the furniture is sparse and the air is heavy. The faint metallic tang of blood lingers, mixing with the sharp bite of antiseptic.

Sylus sits on one of the chairs, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his shirt discarded and tossed over the backrest. Blood-stained rags lie on the table beside him. His torso is marred with fresh cuts and bruises, deep gashes standing out against the taut muscle of his abdomen. You kneel in front of him, wrapping clean bandages around his ribs. Your forearm is already bandaged—a sloppy, hurried job. He’d insisted you patch yourself up first, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The quiet between you is oppressive. The only sound is the rustle of bandages and the faint hum of the overhead light.

Sylus watches you carefully. Usually, by now, you’d be berating him for getting hurt, but he knows that you always mask your worry with irritation. Or you’d be recounting the mission in vivid detail, your energy buzzing with lingering adrenaline. But tonight, you’re silent, your gaze focused on the task at hand, not meeting his.

“You’re quiet tonight.” he says.

You don’t look at him, your fingers securing the bandage. “I’m tired,” you reply curtly, your voice flat.

It’s a half-truth, and you both know it. He stays still, letting you finish your work, though his gaze never wavers.

Your mind won’t stop racing. The mission plays over and over in your head, the close calls, the mistakes, the weight of Sylus’ injuries.

“There.” you say quietly, standing up and turning away to gather the discarded rags and put them into a plastic bag, your back to him as you fight to steady your breathing.

Behind you, Sylus shifts slightly in the chair, his eyes following you.

“You handled everything well.” he says, his tone soft, almost coaxing. “Better than well. You were incredible out there.”

You freeze mid-motion, your fingers still gripping the bag. You swallow hard, trying to stifle the frustration bubbling in your chest, but it’s too late. When you turn to face him, your expression betrays you.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “What’s that look for?” he asks with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

You take a step closer, arms crossing over your chest. “Sylus, we barely made it out. I don’t think anything about this is ‘incredible’.”

His lips quirk in a wry smile. “A few scratches. I’ve had worse.”

That does it. “Wha - Do you even hear yourself? ‘A few scratches’?!”

His smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of confusion, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“You didn’t even want me to know about this mission!” you continue, your voice rising. “I had to dig through your phone, beg my colleague for help, buy plane tickets, and then throw myself into danger just to keep up with you!”

Sylus’ jaw tightens, but his gaze stays fixed on you.

“And now you’re sitting here, acting like this is normal, like this is fine. Like it’s okay that we’re both bandaged up in the middle of nowhere!”

You don’t realize your hands are trembling until you feel the sting of your nails digging into your palms. Sylus stands, almost carefully stepping closer to you.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” he says, his voice low but firm.

“Too late for that,” you snap, your breath coming faster now. “Do you have any idea how exhausting this is? How much I—”

You cut yourself off, your throat too dry to continue. Your chest heaves, your heart pounding as you glare at him.

Sylus stays silent for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then he speaks. “You didn’t have to come with me. You could’ve stayed behind.”

A bitter laugh escapes you. “Stayed behind? And what? Spent another week staring at the ceiling, wondering if you’re dead or alive?” You take in a shaky breath. “I didn’t come because I wanted to, Sylus. I came because the alternative was worse. It’s always worse.”

His expression falters for a split second, a flicker of something—surprise? Hurt?—crossing his face before it hardens again. “I knew you could handle it. I’ve always seen you as capable—more than capable.”

“And that’s part of the problem!” you fire back, your voice trembling now. “You always expect me to be right there, don’t you? Always catching up, always bending my life to fit yours. Do you know how exhausting that is?”

For the first time, Sylus doesn’t have a ready response. The argument stumbles into silence. The adrenaline of your frustration fades, leaving behind an aching exhaustion.

“I can’t keep doing this, Sylus,” you say quietly. “I can’t keep choosing you over everything else. Over my own sanity. Over my own life. I need to be on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change, but your eyes know his too well to be deceived – you know your words hurt him. He doesn’t argue, though. Instead, he steps toward you. You don’t pull away as he stops in front of you, his fingers brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is so tender that it takes everything in you not to lean into it.

“You’ll always have a place with me.” he murmurs.

His words pierce straight through you, and your chest tightens as you see the quiet acceptance in his gaze that makes it so much harder to walk away. Your throat constricts, but you manage a small nod. Stepping back, you feel the loss of his touch immediately, a hollow ache spreading through you as you turn to leave.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Returning to work feels refreshing. That’s what you tell yourself. You smile through the questions about your bandaged forearm - “Just a stupid accident.” you brush them off with a rehearsed laugh and no one presses.

You take every mission they throw your way. You linger in the office long after everyone has left their desks, filing reports and analyzing cases until your eyes burn. When you’re not at work, you’re training. You work your body until your muscles shake, until your lungs burn. Exhaustion becomes your companion, the only thing that lets you collapse into bed.

And when you give your muscles a breather, you throw yourself into social plans. Nights at the bar with friends blur together into a haze of laughter and drinks. You keep the conversation light, deflecting whenever someone asks about your love life.

But you can’t always stop your mind from wandering.

On your walks through the city, where you tell yourself you’re just stretching your legs, just enjoying the scenery, the truth peeks through. You’re looking for him. A glint of silver hair in the crowd, the flutter of dark feathers overhead—anything that might mean Sylus is nearby. But he never is.

The frustration comes in waves, sharp and bitter. Sometimes it’s anger at him—for the secrecy, for the danger he seemed so at ease with. Other times, it’s anger at yourself. For following him. For leaving him. For caring so damn much. And yet, no matter how busy you keep yourself, the memories slip through the cracks. The way he’d call you ‘kitten’ in that smooth tone. The glint in his eyes when he teased you. The softness in them in the quiet moments. How he made you feel like you were the only person who truly mattered to him.

As the days pass, the routine becomes second nature. You throw yourself into missions, into nights out, into silence. The wound on your arm heals, but others linger. And no matter how much you try to move forward, his shadow remains.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

You lie in your bed, staring at the ceiling faintly illuminated by the light of the tablet beside you. It’s paused on some show you weren’t really watching. The air feels heavy tonight. You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, as if it could shield you from the thoughts creeping in, from the memories you’ve spent all day trying to push away.

Your focus is pulled towards your phone lying face down on the nightstand. You tell yourself to ignore it, to roll over and let sleep take you. But before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for it.

The screen lights up, the harsh glow making you squint. Your tired eyes take a moment to adjust, before your finger taps the messaging app. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t look for his name. But tonight, you can’t help it.

Tapping the thread, the messages he sent a week or two ago fill the screen.

“The flower finally bloomed.” [Attached: A photo of a vibrant red flower, its petals unfurling.]

You skim through the words you’d typed in response.

“It’s beautiful.”

Further down, there’s another message—a photo of the same flower, wilted and curling in on itself. “Guess I should’ve expected this.”

You never replied to that one.

You scroll up, searching for happier times. Your thumb slows as you reach an older picture—one of the two of you. Sylus has your cheeks squished in his big hand, your face pouting in mock annoyance. Your eyes linger on his face. You gaze at his soft, genuine smile – an expression only you had the privilege to see.

And then there’s the voice note.

Your finger hovers over the play button, your chest tightening as you debate whether to listen. You remember the moment clearly—Sylus had sent it during one of his missions. You press play - his voice is quieter than usual, but the smile in his tone is obvious:

“I’ll be back soon, kitten. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”

Your vision blurs as tears gather in your eyes, spilling over before you can stop them. Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you press your face into the pillow, letting the tears fall freely.

You lie there in the dim light, the sound of your own breathing filling the room as sleep creeps up on you. The tears dry slowly on your lashes, but the ache in your chest doesn’t fade.

Eventually, exhaustion wins.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Your breath fogs in the chilly air as you step outside a corner store, clutching a pack of noodles like a prize. You glance at the time on your phone and sigh. It’s late. Too late, actually, to be out in the cold hunting down instant noodles. But the craving wouldn’t leave you alone, not after the day you’ve had.

It had started early. You’d dragged yourself out of bed and decided to keep busy— run errands, go to the gym, deep clean the apartment. A pampering routine followed. Scrubbing the grime of the day away in a shower, leaving your skin soft and your mind momentarily calm. Wrapped in your fluffiest robe, smelling like heaven, you’d almost felt good.

Then the craving had started sometime after dinner. A silly little craving for a specific flavor of noodles you thought you had in your kitchen. You opened the cabinet and couldn’t find it, but you were determined, so you threw on a sweater and a pair of leggings and stepped out. The impulse led you further away from you building since your corner store didn’t have them.

Now, here you are.

You pass by the small park near your apartment, and your thoughts are more on getting home than on your surroundings.

But something catches your eye.

A figure with silver strands illuminated under the soft glow of a streetlamp. Your feet falter, your pulse quickening as your gaze zeroes in on him. Sylus.

He’s there, at the park, crouching with his arm extended toward a stray cat that eyes him warily. The sight is so achingly familiar —his careful, as-patient-as-possible approach, the way he stays still, letting the animal come to him. You don’t realize you’re staring, too focused on watching the scene unfold. The cat inches closer, sniffing cautiously at his outstretched hand. He murmurs something low, his voice too soft to hear from this distance. The sight is so disarming, so tender, that your chest tightens.

Slowly, you take a step forward, then another, careful not to startle the skittish animal. You approach from the side, your heart racing faster with each step. He must’ve sensed you before he sees you because his head tilts slightly, his attention shifting from the cat to you. His eyes meet yours, widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The cat darts away, but you barely register it.

Sylus straightens to his full height.

“It’s been a while.” he says softly.

For a moment, you’re lost in his eyes – the tenderness his mesmerizing eyes hold when they’re on you.  You slightly shake your head as you catch yourself staring, your brain scrambling for a teasing remark, “I didn’t think you’d actually get the cat to—”

Your voice falters when you notice the cat again. It’s sitting a few feet away in the shadows, watching you and Sylus with wide eyes.

“Sorry,” you murmur. “I think I scared it off.”

Sylus chuckles. “Don’t worry. I just wanted to feed it anyway.”

True to his words, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small can of tuna. He crouches again, flipping open the lid with ease. His eyes flick to your hands.

“Still on the hunt for those, I see.” he teases, nodding toward the noodles you’d been craving.

You chuckle, about to reply, when the faintest frown crosses his features. Your eyes dart to his hands, and you notice the thin red line on his finger, a bead of blood welling at the tip.

“You cut yourself.” you say with tone sharper than you intended.

“It’s fine.” he replies casually.

Sylus places the can on the ground before stepping back to let the timid cat approach. As expected, the cat approaches, its tiny nose twitching as it investigates the food. You’re about to smile at the sight, but your focus snaps back to him when you catch the bead of blood rolling down his finger. Before you even think about it, you step closer and reach for his hand.

“Let me see.” you say softly, taking his hand in yours.

His fingers are cool, the faint roughness of his skin familiar under your touch. You tilt his hand, inspecting the small cut. Sylus doesn’t say a word, but you feel the weight of his gaze on you, the way his red eyes soften as he watches you carefully inspect the cut.

You clear your throat, letting go of his hand. “It’s not bad.” you murmur. “But it should be cleaned. And you’ll need a band-aid.” You glance around, as if a store might magically stay open just for you, but the quiet streets and locked doors tell you otherwise. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out:

“You should come to my apartment.”

The moment the invitation leaves your lips, you freeze, realizing what you’ve just said. A habit developed of all the times you’ve patched him up before. And it still hasn’t died, no matter how much distance you’ve tried to put between you.

For a second, neither of you says anything. The cat crunches happily on its meal, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air.

Sylus tilts his head, studying you, then shrugs lightly. “If you’re offering.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him, convincing yourself it’s no big deal. He’ll come up, you’ll clean the cut, and he’ll leave. That’s it.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Even though you were in your apartment minutes ago, now it feels completely different with Sylus standing in your entryway. You catch how he glances around, his eyes taking in every detail. Then he notices a particular pair of slippers near the door, and you quietly nudge them toward him with your foot.

“These are yours.” you murmur.

Without a word, he slips off his shoes and slides into the slippers.

You motion for him to sit on the sofa while you retrieve the first aid kit from the bathroom. When you return, Sylus is already seated, relaxed as always, his eyes following your every move. Sitting beside him, you set the kit on the coffee table and take his hand in yours again. You focus intently on cleaning the small cut on his finger, trying to ignore the awkward silence. The alcohol wipe stings, and his hand twitches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. You press the band-aid over the wound carefully, your fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary.

"There," you murmur softly. "All done."

But neither of you moves. His hand lingers in yours, and when you glance up, his gaze is already on you. Sylus shifts slightly, leaning forward just enough to brush his knee against yours. He lifts his free hand, his knuckles grazing your cheek.

His voice, low and soft, breaks the silence. "Can I hug you?"

Your chest tightens, the lump forming in your throat almost unbearable, but you nod, and it’s all the invitation he needs. Sylus shifts closer, his arms wrapping around you carefully, as though you might slip away if he moves too fast. The warmth of him envelops you as you rest your hands on his back, your cheek pressing against the soft fabric of his shirt, taking in his scent. You press your lips tightly, willing yourself to remain calm, but a single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek before soaking into his shirt.  Sylus holds you tighter, his hand moving slowly, soothing you. Neither of you speaks, the silence filled only with the faint sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

When you finally pull back, his hands linger on your waist. His touch is light, uncertain whether you’ll allow him to keep holding you. His eyes trace the faint streak of wetness on your cheek, and with unbearable tenderness, his thumb brushes it away.

Your gaze flickers downward, just for a moment. A fleeting glance at his lips. But it’s long enough for him to notice.

With a quiet inhale, his thumb drifts, trailing from your cheek to your jaw, then lower—grazing your bottom lip. He hesitates there, his fingers barely pressing against your skin.

His eyes search yours before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering in your chest. A quiet sound escapes you—a barely audible hum of approval, “Mhm.”

He exhales, relief flickering in his eyes. The corners of his lips twitch, just slightly, before he slowly, carefully, leans in.

His lips brush softly against yours, your breaths mingling. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. You feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they press into the fabric of your sweater. Without thinking, your hands reach for him—trailing over his shoulders, up the curve of his neck, until your fingers slip into the softness of his hair. A low, faint hum escapes his throat, vibrating against your lips.

When he pulls back, just enough to break the kiss, his forehead rests against yours. His breath fans across your face, warm and uneven.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” he’s whispers, “I thought I could give you space, let you find peace without me, but—” His jaw tightens briefly, the muscles flexing as he searches for the words. “But every day felt wrong. I left a part of myself with you, and I don’t know how to be without it.”

His hands slide down to your waist, “I don’t know if I should ask you this, but - ” his gaze locks onto yours. “Can I stay a little longer?”

The lump in your throat doesn’t let up. You know why you left – how keeping up with his lifestyle has taken a toll on your mind and body. But you also know that the man, whose eyes are filled with adoration and reverence as he waits for your answer, is the sanctuary for your heart.

You nod, “I would like that.” You take in a shaky breath, your hands settling on his neck.

Sylus stills for a second, like he needs to make sure he heard you right. His grip on your waist tightens, and his breath hitches when you’re the one who closes the distance. He angles your face gently in his hands, his palms warm against your skin. His thumbs brush featherlight strokes along your cheekbones as he deepens the kiss. As though memorizing the shape of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the way you melt against him. Then his hands find your waist again, pulling you closer until the hard plane of his chest presses against yours. You feel the faint shudder in his breathing, the tension in his body, like he’s holding himself back despite the way his lips devour yours. You sink into the kiss, your nails lightly grazing the back of his neck, feeling the way his breath hitches at your touch. But the hunger builds—his kisses growing deeper, needier.

His hand slides down, finding your thigh, his palm searing through the thin fabric of your leggings, the touch making your breath stutter as liquid heat pools low in your belly.

Sylus exhales sharply. “Tell me if this is too much.” he murmurs against your lips. His thumb strokes your thigh in small, soothing circles, a contrast to the possessive grip of his other hand still anchored to your waist.

You shake your head, pulling him back in. “It’s not,” you whisper, though deep down, there’s a flicker of hesitation.

Of course, he notices. He always does. He leans back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. Just this.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as they thread into his hair, tugging him back down. You kiss him again—with more urgency, as though trying to chase away your own uncertainty. And then you move without thinking, shifting onto your knees as you swing one leg over his lap, straddling him. Sylus groans softly as you settle onto him, his hands sliding to your hips, holding you there, and you can feel his cock pressing against your clothed core.

His breath is a ragged exhale against your skin, his lips trail down the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing just enough to leave a lingering tingle. His lips settle on the side of your neck, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin. You shudder, fingers tangling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as warmth floods through you.

And then your hips move, feeling the hard press of him against the damp heat between your legs, the delicious friction making Sylus groan in response. His hands slide up, slipping beneath your sweater, palms skimming the heated skin of your back. Then his hips shift beneath you, pressing up to meet you in a deep grind. The motion sends a shock of pleasure straight to your core, your hands holding onto his shoulders as heat coils tighter inside you. His hands go back to your hips, guiding your movements, keeping you anchored to him as you find a rhythm together.

His lips unlatch from your neck, shifting his attention to you, watching every flicker of pleasure on your face. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

The way he’s looking at you, the way his body moves with yours—it’s too much, too good, and the coiling pressure in your core tightens too fast. Your nails dig into the fabric of his shirt, your thighs trembling against his hips. You try to slow down, to savor it, but the pleasure builds too quickly.

The orgasm hits out of nowhere. A soft, breathless cry tumbles from your lips and your body tightens, your hips stuttering against him as the pleasure rolls through you.

Sylus stills beneath you, his grip steadying you, his breathing uneven as he watches you come undone. His expression is both hunger and devotion. The corner of his lips tugs into a small smile.

The heat creeps up your cheeks as the mortification sets in. Your heart still racing, you bury your face against his shoulder. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

His hands are already sliding up, cradling your back. His voice is low, soothing. “Don’t,” he whispers, his lips brushing over your temple. “I’ve missed seeing you like this.”

His hands drift lower again, gripping your waist, pulling you closer. His mouth moves down, lips grazing your ear.

"Can you give me one more?"

Your cheeks flush at the question, the residual buzz of your climax still tingling through your limbs. You answer by shifting your hips, experimentally rolling them forward. The motion pulls a deep, guttural groan from his throat, and the sound alone makes your core tingle.

"That's my girl." Sylus rasps.

He starts a rhythm for you, his grip firm enough to steer you but loose enough for you to take control if you wish. The friction is delicious, his cock pressing against your soaked underwear through the fabric of his pants, creating just enough pressure to. The layers of clothing feel like a tease, amplifying every grind, every roll of your hips.

"You're so sensitive." he murmurs, his gaze never leaving your face.

His words make you shiver, spurring you on to move faster, your hips gaining a mind of their own. You can feel his breath on your neck as he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear.

"I want to hear you again." he whispers, teeth grazing the delicate shell of your ear.

Your body reacts instinctively, your pace faltering as you gasp, the coil of pleasure winding tighter with each roll of his hips. Sylus doesn’t let you lose the rhythm, his hands guiding your hips again.

"Let go for me." he urges, his voice a low rumble.

His words, combined with the perfect grind of his body against yours, tip you over the edge. A broken moan escapes your lips as the pleasure crashes through you once more. Your thighs tremble, your body arching as you cling to him, his name spilling from your lips. He groans as his grip tightens on your hips as he presses you down against him, drawing out every last pulse of your orgasm. His gaze locks onto yours, as he watches you come apart in his arms.

You slump forward, panting against him, your forehead brushing his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. His hands roam your back now, soothing as you catch your breath. You can feel the tension radiating from his body, the rigid line of his cock still pressing against you.

"Better?" he murmurs.

Your body feels like jelly, but you crave more. With a shaky exhale, you nod, nuzzling your face against his neck, the gesture earning a soft chuckle from him. You give yourself a moment to catch your breath before you sit up and move. Sylus doesn’t take his eyes off you as you stand from his lap, following your hands as they grip the hem of your sweater, lifting it over your head to reveal your bare skin. The soft glow from the living room lamp caresses every curve of your body, and his lips part slightly as he drinks in the sight of you. You hesitate briefly, heart pounding, before your fingers hook into the waistband of your leggings, sliding them down with your panties in one smooth motion, and now you stand completely bare before him.

Sylus leans forward, his breath warm as it fans over your skin. His gaze trails up your body, lingering for a moment, before settling on your face.

“You’re breathtaking.” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp.

You don’t have time to respond before his hands settle on your thighs. His lips brush against the curve of your hip, tender and sweet. He shifts forward, kissing the crease of your thigh, then above your pelvis, the attention making your knees weak. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gently urging you closer.

He turns around to push stray pillows off the sofa, before turning back to you, “Come here,” he says. “I want to taste you.”

Your breath hitches at the words, but you follow his lead. Sylus lies back on the sofa, his hands guiding your hips to straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his head. For a moment, you hover above him, your nerves fluttering. But you find reassurance when Sylus looks up at you with a gaze so utterly devoted as he places a kiss on your inner thigh.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, his grip tightening slightly as he guides you down.

A soft gasp leaves your lips at the first stroke of his tongue against you wet folds. You grip the backrest with one hand, while the other one finds purchase in his hair and he pulls you closer, burying himself between your thighs. His tongue moves with expert precision, swirling and dipping, but then his nose presses against your clit, catching it just right, and a shiver bolts through you. The unexpected pressure makes your hips twitch, grinding against him instinctively. His tongue continues to lap at your entrance, tasting your juices, and the wet sounds of his mouth against you filling the room. You let yourself move, rolling your hips, the rhythm dragging your clit against the firm bridge of his nose while his tongue explores deeper, delving into you with an unrelenting hunger. Even lost in the haze of pleasure, you keep some of your weight off him, careful not to press down too hard.

“Sylus…” you whimper, the sound breathless, desperate.

He groans against you, the vibration coursing through your body and making you moan louder. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you steady but letting you control the movement, as though he relishes the way you’re using him to find your pleasure. Each grind sends sparks of ecstasy shooting through you, the friction of his nose against your clit and the way his tongue delves deeper, fucking you in shallow, filthy thrusts. He shifts slightly beneath you, the angle of his face changing just enough to hit a perfect spot, and your legs tremble as you chase another release, rolling your hips harder.

“Fuck - ” you gasp, your hands clutching the sofa like a lifeline.

Sylus hums again, his tongue and nose working in tandem to drive you higher, his hands kneading your thighs, encouraging you to let go completely. And you do.

You come with a shattered cry, hips jerking erratically as he drinks every pulse, every flutter, his grip tightening to keep you from pulling away from the overwhelming high. Your body slumps forward slightly, panting, thighs quivering as you try to gather yourself. But Sylus doesn’t give you time to recover. One moment, you’re perched above him, gasping in the aftershocks of your release, and the next, you’re on your back, the shift leaving you momentarily stunned.

You barely get the words out before his lips crash with yours. The moment your tongue brushes his, the taste of yourself coats your mouth. A shiver rolls through you, your thighs instinctively tightening around his waist. Sylus lets you kiss him like this, lets you taste what he’s done to you, but when your teeth graze his lower lip, teasing, claiming—his control finally breaks. Without breaking eye contact, he sits up just enough to swiftly take off his shirt before his lips are back on yours.

You hear the sound of his zipper, his hips shifting as he frees himself. His cock brushes against your drenched folds, the thick length sliding through your slickness, coating himself in your arousal. A shudder runs through both of you at the contact, the anticipation stretching unbearably between you.

Sylus exhales shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. “Can I finish inside?”

Without hesitation, you nod, your voice trembling as you whisper, “Yes... please.”

Sylus aligns himself, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and he takes his time, pushing in slowly, watching your expression. The stretch is deliciously intense, every inch of him filling you, making your walls clench around him. A strangled groan escapes his throat as he bottoms out, his cock twitching inside you. His forearms cage you in, the heat of his body surrounding you as he rests his forehead against yours.

He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, dragging along every nerve inside you. But even with his languid pace, just the feel of your pussy already has him trembling. You feel him pulse, his hips stuttering as he groans your name, his body shuddering above you. Sylus buries himself as deep as he can, his cock throbbing as his release spills inside you. The warmth spreads, and you can feel every pulse of his cock as he collapses slightly against you, his breathing heavy, his lips brushing your neck.

But he doesn’t stop. Even as his hips jerk with the aftershocks of his first orgasm, he keeps moving, his cock still hard, still sensitive, as he rocks into you with slow thrusts.

“I can’t get enough of you.” he murmurs against your ear.

The sensation of his thick length moving inside you, now slick with his warm release, sends waves of delirious pleasure through you. Your hands cling to his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin as his pace begins to pick up again. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper, and his name tumbles from your lips in breathless gasps. Sylus leans down, capturing your lips in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth as his hips snap against yours. The pressure builds rapidly inside you, your body arching into his as his cock hits every perfect spot, the wet sounds of your connection filling the room.

“I missed you.” you finally confess, your voice trembling as the words spill out between moans.

Sylus freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes searching yours, his thrusts faltering as your words hit him. “Say it again.” he demands softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hips begin to move faster.

“I missed you.” you repeat breathlessly.

His rhythm grows erratic, his breaths ragged as his second orgasm builds rapidly. His hips slam into yours, his cock throbbing inside you as he grips your hips tightly.

“Fuck - I’m gonna—” His words cut off with a strangled groan as he thrusts into you one last time, his release flooding you again. The sensation of him filling you, paired with the grind of his pelvis against your clit, pushes you over the edge, your walls clenching around him as your fourth orgasm tears through you.

Your breaths mingle as both of you come down from your highs. Sylus doesn’t move right away, his cock still buried inside you as you both lie tangled together on the sofa, your limbs wrapped around him tightly. His weight presses into you, grounding, comforting, his body a welcome warmth against yours.

His lips brush against your temple first, then your cheek, and finally your lips. There’s no urgency now, just a gentle savoring. His hand cups your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he pulls back slightly.

"I never want to lose you again," he murmurs, the sincerity in his tone making your chest ache. "I was a fool for not seeing how much you were struggling. I took your strength for granted and thought you didn’t need me to change."

You swallow hard, unshed tears stinging your eyes. Your arms tighten around him instinctively, your fingers threading through the damp strands of his hair. He meets your gaze, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"I’m more than willing to compromise," he continues. "Whatever it takes. I don’t care if it means slowing down, changing plans, or letting you set the pace. Just... please. I need you."

A lump forms in your throat as his words sink in. The dam of emotions you’ve been holding back all night begins to crack, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you can stop it. Sylus notices immediately. His thumb brushes the tear away, his touch featherlight.

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, though there is a small tremble in your voice when you whisper. “I need you too."

Relief washes over his face, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile as he leans down to kiss you again, his hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in his world. The kiss lingers, his lips moving against yours with tenderness that leaves no room for doubt. When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "Thank you."

You smile softly, your heart swelling as you gaze up at him. For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest begins to lift, replaced by the tender hope cradling your heart.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

@totallytaurus4 @ladyparamount @solifloris @withering-dream @yumii-34 @sapphic-daze @feuilledelis @cheesemachine44 @codedove @curiositykilledthecatx3 @sarangdipity @grabby-smitten

[streetlamp-amber]

never ending night

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 1.7k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: pregnancy, pure fluff NOTES: hello hi i’m ailís and i’ve been meaning to start a blog where i can post some one shots that i’ve been thinking of as a way to motivate myself to finally write down my ideas so this is it. i’ll be double posting my stuff on ao3 (which you can find in my bio) and will eventually make a masterlist as well as a navigation post with a list of fandoms/characters i write for. also, english isn’t my first language.

It was close to three in the morning when Bruce finally joined you in bed after a long night of patrolling and fighting bottom of the barrel criminals all night. He showered in the bathroom on the first floor of the manor to avoid making too much noise and waking you up, but when he finally walked in your shared bedroom, you were already awake, sitting up against the headboard.

“Darling, what are you doing still up?” Bruce asked you as he reached his side of the bed.

The room was dark par for the moonlight filtering through the gap between the curtains, meaning your husband had yet to notice the state you were in.

“Dick had a nightmare,” you answered, voice barely above a whisper due to how tired you were. “It took me two hours to get him to fall back asleep and when I finally came back here, this little one started kickboxing me and keeping me awake for another hour,” you continued rubbing your round belly in hopes of soothing your baby to finally catch some sleep.

“I’m sorry I wasn't here to help,” Bruce apologised, planting a kiss on your temple as he held you close to his body.

“It’s alright, Gotham needs you,” you dismissed, not at all angry.

“Still, you’re six months pregnant. You’re growing our child inside your body, you need all the rest you can get,” he softly argued. “I would've come home earlier but all the amateur criminals came out tonight.”

“Bruce, it’s fine,” you brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned his head into your touch. “You’ve already been cutting your patrols shorter since we found out about the baby. As long as you keep coming back home to us, alive, then I’m not mad.”

Not knowing what to say – his gratefulness for having someone so accepting of his duty as Batman was almost overwhelming, even after all those years – Bruce kissed your palm while staring at you with the same look full of love that he has been sporting since the first time he met you six years ago.

“How’d I get so lucky to fall in love with the most understanding and selfless person I know?” He asked while grabbing your hand on his cheek, wrapping his fingers around yours and squeezing them gently.

“Now that’s a lie,” you rebutted, a loving smile on your lips, lowering your joined hands on the bed. “You’re more selfless than I am. You’re the most selfless man in the world.”

“Let’s not start this never ending argument again,” Bruce chuckled, now his turn to hold your face as he brought you in for a kiss.

You happily sighed against his lips, the feeling of home that overtook you every time you tasted them was a nice welcome in this interminable night. But the kiss was cut short as you felt your baby kick again and you let your head fall back as you groaned.

“She’s still kicking?” Bruce asked you, he couldn't see the movements under your skin due to the darkness of the room and your hand on your belly.

“We don't know it's a she,” you reminded him instead of answering. You had both decided to wait until the birth to know the gender.

“And I’m telling you, I know it's a girl,” your husband repeated for what could be the hundredth time.

You also secretly hoped it was a girl, but Dick really wanted a little brother. Bruce and you were still in the process of warming him up to the idea of a little sister and it was slowly starting to work.

“As long as she doesn't come in my room,” your eight year old son had said last week, with his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his lips.

“I doubt she’ll be doing that for the first few years, chum,” Bruce reassured him, fighting off a slightly amused grin.

“And the baby will have its own room with its own toys,” you added.

“Will I still be able to play with the baby?” Dick asked after a moment, uncrossing his arms and a hopeful look filling up his blue eyes.

“Of course you will, bubs,” you said, your fingers threading through his black hair that fell over his forehead.

“But only with her toys at first, some of yours are not suited for a baby,” Bruce pointed out, ever the overprotective father.

Bruce had lowered himself down under the blanket so he could be laying head levelled with your belly, his hand now replacing yours over the bump.

“Hey trouble,” he whispered to your child and the baby kicked again, making him smile lovingly at the movement he felt under his hand. “You shouldn't be awake this late at night, you know.”

“You're one to talk,” you commented, tone almost reprimanding.

“She doesn't know that,” Bruce looked up at you as he defended himself before his gaze fell back on your belly. “Mommy is really tired,” he continued talking to your baby, his hand now rubbing soothingly over your round stomach, “and she needs her rest to do all the work so you can come out all healthy and beautiful. Well, you're definitely gonna be the most beautiful baby if you end up looking like your mother, but that's not the point.”

You smiled at the cheesy comment and your fingers found their place in Bruce’s hair, brushing through it and nails occasionally scratching his scalp.

“Your brother Dick can't wait for you to come around,” he carried on. “Said he will teach you all sorts of acrobatic tricks once you know how to walk. And he asked Alfred if he could help paint the nursery when we finally decide on a colour.”

“And I keep telling you we should do soft green,” you argued.

“I’m not changing my mind from primrose pink,” he told you with a sly grin.

“The room won’t be pink, even if it’s a girl. And that’s final,” you firmly said. Your husband will not be winning this one argument, no sir.

Bruce sighed, rolling his eyes before focusing back on your belly. “I hope you’re not as stubborn as your mother,” he whispered to the baby, as if he was having a private conversation with them and that you weren’t there. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with her, but I won’t be able to say no to you even when I have to, so it would save me a lot of reprimanding from Mommy if you’re not as tenacious as her.”

You smiled to yourself as you continued listening to your husband talk to your unborn child as you threaded your fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness it had after a shower. Bruce usually gelled his hair to appear more professional when he was working in the day, and then it would get all mixed up with his sweat under his cowl when he was working as Batman. When he would come back to you after the day was over, you would refuse to touch his hair until he had showered, the texture of the gel and sweat too gross on your fingers for you to ignore.

As Bruce continued talking to your baby, his voice started lulling the two of you to sleep. The baby hadn’t kicked in over almost ten minutes now, and the peace you had waited for so long to arrive made you aware of how heavy your eyelids were. You slowly lowered yourself down the bed, getting in a comfortable position with Bruce’s help where you could finally lay your head on your pillow and it didn’t take long for sleep to catch up on you.

At the sound of your soft, barely audible snores, Bruce turned his head away from your bump to find you asleep with your free hand raised next to your head on your pillow, the other one still tangled in his hair.

He planted a soft kiss on the exposed skin of your belly, eyes closed as he took a moment to absorb the fact that a baby that was half you and half him would be joining your world in a little more than three months. Bruce wasn't known to cry, the only time you ever saw him cry was as you walked down the aisle at your wedding, but tonight, a lonesome tear rolled down his cheek and fell on your stomach, where your child was growing, because Bruce never believed he would ever get to experience again the amount of love he hadn't felt since he was eight years old.

As he observed you, sleeping soundly with his child coming to life inside you, after you comforted Dick back to sleep, Bruce, for a moment, felt overwhelmed by all the love in his life. When he became Batman, he crossed out the idea of ever having a family (other than Alfred), of settling down with someone he loved and who loved him back.

But somehow, the universe put you on his path, as a miracle or a guardian angel or simply as an anchor to life outside of Batman, he didn't know. You walked into his home, into his life, to remind him that he, Bruce Wayne, was also deserving of love, of family, of happiness. Then Dick came along, rather unexpectedly but still no less welcomed, and Bruce started entertaining the idea of having children with you. He definitely wasn't opposed to it, but it wasn't something he wanted to jump right into, especially with Dick having just entered your lives. You were both young, he in his early thirties and you in your late twenties, you could allow yourselves a couple of years just the three of you (four with Alfred) before expanding the family.

So it was rather shocking when two months after you and Bruce had officially adopted Dick that you found out you were pregnant. It both took you by surprise but after talking through it together, you couldn't be happier. And the two of you haven't stopped being happy about this new little addition ever since.

Bruce rose up from his position next to your belly, your limp hand fell from his head as he did so, and he laid on the bed next to you. He delicately kissed your forehead, then your nose before falling back on his pillow and whispered “I love you” as he curled around your body, his hand resting on your belly as he fell asleep.

[moonstruckme]

Different person— but is it overdoing it if I request a bad car accident but with an established relationship EMT marauders 👀

Yes definitely absolutely but I'll allow it (I did have to try and make it a little different though) <3

cw: scary car wreck aftermath, blood, concussion, angst

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

By the time the ambulance arrives, you’re already in hysterics. They only get worse when you see who steps out. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come out on a guttural sob, snot and tears and blood all mixed together on your face. “He was—I distracted him, and—” 

“Shh, shh.” Remus comes to you while Sirius rounds the car. He puts his hands on your jaw. “You’re alright. Don’t move.” 

“I made him look away—” 

“Stop moving, love.” His hands are still, grip firm, eyes moving quickly to scan you over. “I need you to focus.” 

“Is he okay?” 

“What hurts?” 

“But James—” 

“Sweetheart, please. Please.” Remus’ voice scrapes a little, and through your panic you register the wetness of his eyes. He’s terrified. “Sirius is with him, okay? We’re doing all we can, but I need to be sure you’re okay. Please let me do this.” 

Another sob collapses through your ribcage, but you choke out, “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Remus takes a breath. His fingers shift slightly on your cheek; perhaps only adjusting his grip, but it feels like a caress. To your right, you can hear Sirius’ voice but not James’. “Focus on me. What hurts?” 

“Um…my shoulder.” You haven’t given it much notice, honestly, all your worry since the crash only for your boyfriend unconscious at the wheel, but when you take a moment to think it’s obvious. Your arm is screaming. “And my head, but less.” 

Remus nods, all business as he uses one set of fingers to feel the back of your neck, moving down your spine. “Any pain here?” 

“No?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Sorry, I’m sure.” 

“Good. That’s good, sweetheart.” He spares you a brief kiss. The stiff upper lip you’d been attempting to form quivers underneath his gentle touch. “Do you feel sick at all?” 

“Yeah,” you admit, though you think that’s more from anxiety than anything else. 

Remus seems to understand. He pulls a pen light from his pocket, clicking it on. “Look here for me.” 

You have every intention of doing as he says, truly, but it’s at that moment that you hear Sirius say thickly, “There he is. Hi, baby.” 

Later, you might think it’s sort of funny—baby. It’s unlike Sirius to call James that, and unlike James to be called it. But perhaps Sirius is only feeling very overwhelmed by tenderness and relief; that, you could certainly understand. 

You turn in your seat, the pain in your left side temporarily vanishing. You only want to see James with his eyes open, but if you have your choice he’ll be awake and talking, normal, totally unhurt, a miracle. “James?” 

“Y/n,” Remus chides, but there’s relief in his voice, too, his gaze looking past you. 

“Sorry, I—Jamie.” Your voice breaks. You’re sobbing again all at once, reaching for your boyfriend as he blinks slowly, his lovely face all pinched in discomfort. “James.” 

You’re arrested from both ends, Remus catching your wrist and Sirius halting you with a stern look. It softens after a moment, that instinctive protectiveness giving way to something gentler. He almost looks sorry.

“Don’t touch him,” he tells you, firm though not unkind. “We can’t move him until we rule out spinal injury. Listen to Remus, angel, let us do our job.” 

You lower your hand, chastened, but are unable to tear your gaze away from James. He looks confused. There’s the smallest bit of blood collected under his nostrils. 

He seems to find words slowly. “Pads?” 

“Hello, gorgeous boy.” Sirius smiles at him, holding his neck and jaw as Remus had done for you. “Funny seeing you here.” 

Remus says your name again. Only when he cups your cheek, manually turning you towards him, do you finally look away. Your boyfriend is watching you with a tender expression. 

“He’s okay.” He thumbs underneath your eye, collecting blood and tears on the latex of his glove. “We’re okay, yeah?” 

“I distracted him,” you whisper, throat tight. “He swerved too late because he was looking at me.” 

“Well,” Sirius, who has evidently overheard, chimes in with a suave tone, “who among us could be faulted for that, eh?” 

A laugh, soft and half broken, stutters out of Remus. “Very true,” he says. “Can you look here for me now, please?” 

You let him go through his tests, which eventually find you well enough to be moved from the car. Your boyfriends work as a pair to get first James and then you onto stretchers. By then another ambulance has arrived and, neither Sirius nor Remus wanting to leave you or James and each seemingly having grown slightly jealous of the other, they swap off; Remus hops into the ambulance with James and another paramedic, and Sirius goes with you. 

You see this as your chance to get some real, unfiltered intel. Sirius can always be relied upon to tell things as they are. 

“Is Remus—are we going to the same place?” you ask as he locks your gurney into place inside the ambulance, knocking on the window to let the paramedic driving know once it’s secure. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course, you thought we’d let you end up in different hospitals?” Sirius turns your head gently with his hand, wiping with something cool above your eyebrow. It stings. “We want you both where we can keep an eye on you.” 

Your fear worsens. “Why?”

Sirius glances at your eyes, his expression softening. He brushes a gloved forefinger over your forehead consolingly. “Not because we think anything bad is going to happen to either of you, sweetness. Just for the same reasons as always; because we like to.”  

“How bad is it, though?” 

“Could certainly be worse,” he says. “You have a relatively mild concussion, and your shoulder—”

“With James,” you clarify quickly. 

“Oh.” Sirius blinks. His brows draw together, not condemning but sympathetic. “His concussion is a bit worse than yours,” he says, as frank as you’d been counting on from him. “He’s in and out, rather confused, but mostly unhurt besides that. Honestly, that first blow to his head might have saved him a lot of damage. Sometimes, when people go limp during a crash, they…hey. Hey, baby.” 

You shut your eyes, powerless to stop the silent sobs that shake your middle. Sirius wipes gently underneath your eyes. 

“That’s enough of that,” he murmurs. “We’re fine. We’re all fine.” 

“He’s hurt because I—because he turned—” 

“I heard you before,” Sirius quiets you. “You couldn’t control that, lovely.” 

You can feel your hairline growing damp with tears. Your voice is a scratchy, shamed thing. “I’m just so sorry.” 

“I know.” Your boyfriend presses a piece of gauze to the cut on your forehead, his gaze unflinching. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, though. You really don’t. Anyone can blame themselves, but the truth is you might’ve gotten hit no matter what. There’s no sense in thinking like that.” 

Sirius pauses, looking for understanding in your face. You press your lips together in attempt to stop crying. 

“I need you to focus on getting better,” he says. “Can you do that for me? I can’t hug you properly so long as your shoulder’s dislocated, and I think we could both use a hug right now, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you whimper. 

Sirius offers you a small smile, taping the gauze over your cut. “Good. So you’ve got your job, then, yeah?”

“I’ll try.” 

“You’re going to be so great at it, sweetness. I have absolute faith in you.” 

[thekinslayed]

I Come To You A Sinner

summary | Aemond's wife has been made aware of his whereabouts by Aegon.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | spoilers to s2e3 ahead! miscommunication, angst, infidelity, aemond can't open up, aegon is the worst, thoughts of fratricide

wordcount | 2.3k

note | sorry to rub salt into the already gaping wound that is ep3 aemond 💔 but that whole scene was unbelievable omfg it is over for aegond i fear

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Where have you been?”

She was staring into the hearth when he returned. It was evident she had already been asleep, but had awoken by a disturbance of some kind. It was unlike her to be awake so late, though Aemond could guess what brought her out of bed to fasten on her robe, to wait for him.

He could still hear his cackle, Aegon’s, as the curtain that shielded him from prying eyes was swatted away unceremoniously, revealing his whereabouts. He remembered how his little entourage stared at him, how their stunned gazes brought about prickles of humiliation in the back of Aemond’s spine. They threatened to laugh. He saw it in the twinkle of their eyes, in the subtle lift in the corners of their lips. 

“It is late, dear wife, why have you not rested?” he said. His steps towards her were small, careful. Perhaps she doesn’t know. That would be preferable. He had already been found out once tonight, and if he could save her from the knowledge of his shame, there was naught he would not do. 

“Aegon was here,” she responded, and it was then she finally turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them was puffed from the tears she had evidently shed. The prickle in Aemond’s spine returned, only now it was coupled by a hammering pang in his chest. He had done this to her.

“At least he had the decency to tell me where you were, after many nights of being left in the dark by mine own husband. Though his delivery of the message was a bit cruel, I’ll admit.” 

The dark chuckle that left her lips held no sort of amusement, but a clear sputter of disbelief and betrayal. Aemond was stuck in his place, unsure of how to speak to her, unknowing of what would happen to them now that his sin was laid out in the open.

“It is not what it seemed–”

“What is it, then? When your brother catches you in a brothel with a whore, what else am I to think, Aemond?” she burst, rising to her feet to look at him. Her chest heaved as she regarded him with a look so different than what he was used to. There used to be such warmth in her gaze, reserved only for him, not the fracturing hurt she bestowed on him now. He couldn’t look at her, and so he settled his eye elsewhere. A futile attempt to escape what had already caught up to him.

“You’ve told me of what had happened to you there, what she made you do, and yet you’ve crawled back to her? After everything that’s happened?” she questioned, desperate. He could hear the break in her voice, and he could only imagine the quivering of her lips into a frown. A scoff left her lips, and Aemond could see her desperate attempt to wrap her around this, but her despair had gotten the best of her. 

“W-why… Why would you even want to go back there? What is it in her that you can’t find in me?”

Aemond couldn’t say it. His mind refused to let him say it. In truth, he couldn’t recall how his feet had led him back there, all he knew was it brought a temporary soothing to an ache that had sprouted in the days after Lucerys’ death. He wouldn’t dare speak his sin into words, to solidify his betrayal of the love for his wife. How ever could he tell her the truth of it? How ever could he admit that the only way for him to find a sense of order in his life, however misconstrued, was to return to the woman who had been a figure of his torment? 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” he asked. 

A fool’s answer. A true coward, he is. Many people would consider him otherwise, but in front of his wife, he was no warrior. Utter shame coupled with his ego prevented him from coming clean. How could he? He had gone too far. He expressed no remorse when he had come home to her, drenched, after Storm’s End, no, he even acted proud. In his heart of hearts, Aemond knew that the one person who could see him as he was was his wife, yet he refused to let it be. He had gone through his whole life a rigid soldier, a scholar, the image of the fearsome dragon of Valyria. He didn’t know how to dismantle the shackles that held him upright.

Yet he had seen his fault now in the face of his wife, his love, who visibly crumbled before him.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked, quietly, as a lone tear streaked down her cheek. He couldn’t bear to see her like this, to have him so far from his grasp as the ever-growing space between them turned the air cold. Aemond approached her, arms lifted open to take her into his grasp, but she flinched away. A shatter in his chest brought about a thick lump in his throat, one he couldn’t swallow. 

“My love,” he whispered, a solemn plea for her to see him. She hugged her arms to her chest, looking away as she blinked away the fat, traitorous tears that beaded down her cheeks. Aemond took hold of her elbow, his grip desperate as she fought to wiggle her way out of his grasp. He couldn’t let her, he cannot. This hellish war, this irreconcilable damage would all be futile if he lost her, he couldn’t let that happen. But she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. 

“Can’t you even look at me?” he beseeched in despair. 

A sob was her only response. She had slapped a hand to muffle her cries, but it had broken through the barriers that kept him away from her. Aemond descended to his knees, hugging her legs to his chest. His good eye stung with something hot, something wet. He clung to her skirts like a beggar, a sinner praying for retribution.

“Please… please…” he grieved. Her robe was growing spotted with his tears, and her grip on his shoulder was punishing as she pushed and pushed to get him away from her. She slapped him, had pulled on his hair to get him to release his hold, but he never relented. “You have to understand,” he muttered. 

“I cannot even try to begin to do so, Aemond! How can I?” she wept. “How could you even think we could recover from this?”

“My love… my light… I beg of you.” It was pathetic to whoever would witness him like this. The Kinslayer, on his knees, pleading for forgiveness to the wife he had wronged. There was much he had done that was far worse, far more cruel, but to have hurt her was his greatest crime of all.

A shrill cry had pierced through the night air. Her head snapped to her babe. Their babe. With a firmer push on his shoulder, his wife freed himself from his grasp to where their son wailed for his mother. She took him into her arms, soothing the child with her gentle caress and shushes. Aemond could only watch. He watched the babe nestled into the crook of her neck, how she wiped his tears away while hers continued to fall. She pressed her nose into his scalp, the milky scent of his flesh a welcome comfort to her otherwise crumbling sanity. 

Aemond waited in agony, keeping his space lest he aggravated her any further. Every cry of their babe was another sword pierced through his heart, leaving him to bleed out while his family floated away from his grasp.

He had settled after a few minutes, descending back into slumber as his mother returned him to his cradle with a kiss on his forehead. The silence was deafening. The dying hearth was unable to break the cold that sent shivers under Aemond’s skin. He called out to her once more. Another full beat of silence passed through the room before she spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Aemond?” she whispered, turning to him. Her eyes were a painful red from how much she had been crying, but she wanted to know. “Tell me, you owe me that much.”

“I owe you everything, darling,” he responded, moving closer to her. Aemond closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back into his chest. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, reverent… repentant. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said into her skin, his voice low. “It is my fault and my fault alone. You have done nothing wrong.”

He turned her around to face him, and she allowed him to do so. Albeit, unwillingly, but his wife was tired. It was evident in the way her eyes had run out of tears to weep, yet she remained broken all the same.

“I have wronged you. Allow me to pay for my sin. Let me make things right. I promise you, I will make it all right,” he pleaded. Perhaps he could make her see, convince her to forgive him. It was a fool’s wish, but the prince could hardly consider himself a wise man now. A flicker of hope thumped excitingly in his chest when her fingertips caressed his jaw, but the furrowing of her brows dampened whatever fire he thought he had stoked.

“I can’t,” she responded, shaking her head. She pulled herself away from his grasp once more, leaving them both cold and alone. Aemond hung his head low in shame. He felt sick to his stomach. The full weight of his doing had dragged him straight into the mud, while the love he could only ever carry for his wife throbbed painfully in his chest. “I can’t stay here. I can’t live with this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You are my wife, you cannot leave me.”

She was starting to step away from his grip, but he couldn’t let her. Aemond tried to cage her in his arms, but she fought back with strong pushes against his chest. There was a desperation in the one-eyed prince no one had ever known, until now. His pleas echoed through their apartments, cut off by a resounding slap on his cheek. The sting on his flesh was warm, keeping him awake in this reality. He could’ve prevented this, had cut off the poison from its roots if only he had the will to do so, but he had not. The stubbornness in his dragonblood and his refusal to acknowledge the rot in him had let it happen. He had let it grow and fester, spoiling everything he had until it took away the one most precious to him.

She regarded him with coldness, detached like a stranger. His wife looked away, sniffling.

“You are no husband of mine.”

Aegon slept like a boar when he was drunk.

The fucker had gotten back before he did, slithering his way back to the Keep with what Aemond was sure was a maniacal look on his face to tattle to his wife what he had found out.

The king’s chambers almost resembled a pigsty. Cups scattered about, along with some phallic wooden figurines that Aemond’s mind refused to imagine what he even used them for. Their father’s model was gone. At least the twat did one thing right.

But the smell. It was almost like Viserys’ rotting stench remained, haunting them all forever. It was enough to have Aemond scrunch his nose in disgust, but it didn’t repel him completely. No, he had come for something.

His brother laid out like a starfish on his bed, pasty flesh bright against the shadows of his apartments. His snores echoed through the vast chamber. Aemond’s presence did not alert the king at all, his sense of danger dampened by liquor. 

The second son watched him, sneering, before turning around in search of something. It glinted like a beacon under the moonlight, beckoning him closer. The Conqueror’s catspaw dagger stood tall, its sharp tip pierced into the wood of Aegon’s side table. Aemond tested its weight in his hand, getting familiar with the feel of its handle. It was heavy, burdened with its importance to them and their legacy. An imbecile like Aegon had no right to wield it. It belonged to someone worthy of power, of glory. 

Putting his brother on the throne had cost Aemond too much, yet he had been rewarded so little. It cost him his control, his sanity. It cost him his wife. His own brother had played a major hand in his torment, and it was high time the second son was granted his retribution.

It was all too easy to kill him now. One plunge into his slumbering form, and this would all end. It would save everyone much trouble and with a better king on the throne. Save the realm from much horror and bloodshed, that was the power Aemond currently held. No, he wanted him to suffer. He wanted to gaze into the elder’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy. The younger longed to feel his brother’s flesh under his boot, just before he crushed him to pieces. There was no honor in killing a sleeping man, yet again, there was no honor in killing one’s own kin either. There was no honor in any of this, and the one-eyed prince found himself uncaring. The gods had already shunned him, right under the thunderous clouds of Storm’s End. Honor will not save him now, nor any of them. That is why they allowed him to lose his wife. 

Perhaps he was too harsh on the gods, they have to deal with this headache of a war as it is. This was no other’s fault but his after all.

But he is owed by his brother. For many, many things.

The second son set the dagger back in its place. He will be patient. He will have his chance soon enough. Aegon will pay for his sins; Aemond will make sure of it. 

[surielstea]

A Lesson in Lust

Inspired by a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.

Warnings: smut | 18+ | pwp | dom!Az / Brat!Reader | Brat tamer/taming | cunnilingus | slight impact | slight breathplay | creampie | p in v | overstim | controlled orgasm | clit sucking | slut shaming | slight dollification | there’s so many ts freaky

Word count: 6.5k

A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.

I should have known better.

Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.

I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.

I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.

But he knows.

He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.

Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.

For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.

But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.

"Why did you fake it?"

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

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