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daddy-issues-99 · 2 years ago

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Venom x Reader Smut

In my last poll y'all voted for a Venom fanfic and I got the message 😏

Plot: you want to shower but feel uncomfortable with Venom watching you and iykyk

Afab reader, shower sex, size kink, biting, blood, fingering, praise, a little degration, aftercare

The last few days had been pure hell. Nothing but conflict and a new roommate.

You sat curled up on your couch, knees held tight to your chest. You were so tired. You had been on alert for what seemed like days. All you wanted to do was shower and go to bed.

If only it were that simple. Everything you did was met with a deep voice inside your head. Every action, statement, movement; everything.

No way were you gonna try and shower with this thing looking at you and commenting on your every move.

You let out a sigh. You were so tired you didn't even care anymore. "Where are you going?"

"I'm talking a shower." "Finally, your thoughts were becoming annoying." This was gonna be a nightmare. You walked to the bathroom slowly discarding your clothes as you went leaving you just in your bra and panties when you got to the bathroom.

"You are a nice shape. I would rip you apart." He said as you turned on the shower. "You are such a fucking perv." You moved your hands to the hem of your panties wanting to take them off only to stand their blushing. You felt so exposed.

"Well?" He asked wondering why you just stood there. "You're making me nervous. This is to embarrassing." You said bringing your hands to cover your face.

As soon as your hands left your sides two black tendrils quickly pulled your underwear down. Before you could even react he had done the same to your bra, throwing them to the side.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You yelled trying to cover your exposed figure.

"I am in your head. I am apart of you. I have already seen every part of your body." You just stood there baffled. "Don't be embarrassed, your look lovely. Go on, I won't judge darling."

You blushed at the comment. His voice made it even harder to remain neutral.

You carefully stepped into the shower and closed the door behind you. You let out an instant sigh of relief the minute the hot water made contact with your skin.

"You are relaxed." He stated in a matter of fact tone. "This is the most relaxed I've felt in days." You said rinsing shampoo out of your hair. "Why? You have no reason to be stressed." "I'm stressed because of you jackass!" You yelled with sarcasm in your voice.

In an instant you were pinned up against the shower wall as black tendrils fell into the floor forming a large figure with large teeth and bright white eyes. Small tendrils keeping the two of you conneced. His hand quickly went to your throat making sure you couldn't move.

"How dare you. I have given you an amazing opportunity and you insult me. You don't deserve my partnership." He said tightening his grip around your throat causing you to hold your thighs together.

He slowly looked down to see your thighs held tightly together. His face contorted into a wide smile. "Something you find amusing pet?" He asked squeezing your throat causing you to let out a small moan.

"Such a pathetic thing. Can't even answer a question." "I-Im not pathetic." You said trying to talk with his hand squeeze your airway. "Oh really? You say you hate me and yet your arousal is showing my darling." "I'm- I'm not-" "You can't hide how you truly feel. I'm a part of you. I can feel every sensation you do. Every thought that goes througg your head I see. Now tell me my darling, what do you want?"

"You."

"Good girl."

Venom leaned down to your neck leaving a trail of small bite marks just enough so it would draw blood which he happily licked up with his long tounge.

"This is going to hurt." He said before opening his jaw as wide as possible and biting your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your flesh. You screamed only for his free hand to quickly cover your mouth.

He licked up the blood and leaned back to see his work. "This mark will forever symbolize that You. Are. Mine. Do you understand?" You quickly nodded you head as a tear ran down your cheek. "Good."

With that the remaining tendrils still attached to your body quickly healed the bite leaving only the scars from his teeth.

"Please" "Please what?" He asked towering over you once more "Please touch me!" You whined.

"So desperate. I think you'll like this." With that he directed your head down to where his tendrils formed into a large cock. Your eyes widened in shock. "V, how is that gonna fit?"

"We'll just need a little extra help." His hand moved down to your clit rubbing slow painful circles. You head fell into his chest as you let out breathy moans.

"Look at you, so desperate for me. Pathetic." He let out a low laugh continuing his assault on your clit. "I-Im not-" You cried out and buried your head back in his chest, gripping his shoulders as he quickly inserted one of his large fingers inside you.

"You were saying?" He said contorting his face into a smirk. "Mm fuck you." "Oh I intend to. Or shall I stop?" He said as he began to pull away from you. "No! I-I'm sorry just please touch me!" "As you wish."

He continued his pace as he added another finger. Every thrust was pure bliss and you could feel your orgasm building. "Cum for me pet." Venom quickened his pace hitting your cervix with the tips of his fingers. You cringed thinking what his cock would do.

The knot in your stomach finally came undone with Venom thrusting in and out of you as fast as he could letting you ride out your high.

You opened your mouth letting out a loud moan only to be silenced when a long tounge filled your mouth,going down your throat giving you a makeshift kiss triggering your gag reflex.

"You did wonderful my pet. " Venom pulled his fingers out bringing his hand down to his cock. He rubbed your juices on his cock as a makeshift lube to try to prevent as much pain as possible.

Venom listed you by your waist as you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso holding yourself close to him. He pushed you back up against the shower aligning his cock between your folds rubbing the tip at your entrance.

You let out a whimper. "Don't worry. You will be okay. If it's to much you can bite down on my shoulder." With that he slowly began to lower you down onto his cock. You screamed instantly biting down onto his shoulder trying to silence your screams. Venom didn't even respond.

He stopped when you had taken in as much as you could, still leaving some of his cock exposed. "Your so tight. Smaller than I thought." You didn't respond. Venom pressed you harder up against the wall and brought a hand up to brush through your hair. "You will be okay my darling."

He intertwined his hand in your hair slowly pulling your head back to look up at him. A tear ran down your cheek which he gently brushed off with his thumb. "Don't worry. If you need me to stop I will." He brought his forehead to rest against yours as you adjusted to his size.

After a moment you gave a small nod indicating that he could move. His thrusts were slow, only moving a few inches. At first it was painful but after a while it became pleasurable. You whined and buried your have in the crook of his neck.

He continued his thrusts slowly quickening his pace pushing himself as far in as he could. You quickly became a moaning mess, whispering curses of pleasure.

"Look at you. So needy, so pathetic. I love it." He roughly thrusted into you. "Say it." He said, his teeth gritted. "I'm pathetic! I'm nothing I'm pathetic!"

"Good girl." You buried your face in his neck, hiding the blush covering your face.

Venom continued his thrusts all concerns of being gentle thrown out the window. This was pure lust. Rough, sloppy thrusts. Every one hitting your sweet spot. You rolled your hips forward giving your clit more friction.

"V, I'm close." "Cum for me, cum on my cock. Prove I'm the only being who could ever bring you this much pleasure." Your gripped his shoulders as he quickened his thrusts, holding onto your hips tight enough to leave a bruise.

The knot in your stomach came undone. You screamed in pure pleasure as Venom continued his pace allowing you to ride out your high. Venom soon followed coating your walls with ropes of cum.

Venom pulled out of you setting you back down on your feet. You fell limp and Venom quickly wrapped his arms around you as you rested your head against his chest.

Venom shifted you so the shower watter was hitting your back. He grabbed the washcloth and some soap and began to gently wipe away the thin layer of sweat that had formed. He continued cleaning you off making sure to get every part of you and carefully rinced you off.

He turned off the focet and picked you up bridal style resting you on your sink. He grabbed a towel and wrapped in around you drying you off. He wrapped the towel around you and grabbed a hairbrush, slowly brushing your hair sending shivers down your spine.

You rested your head against his chest lazily trying to keep you eyes open. Venom gently caressed your hair whispering sweet nothings.

He picked you up, holding you close to his chest as you absentmindedly played with the hem of the towel. He gently placed you down on the bed giving you one final kiss as he slowly absorbed back into your body.

"I love you V." "I love you to my darling." With that a tendil quickly formed from your hip and pulled the blanket over you as you drifted off to sleep.

#marvel #venom is hot #smut #venom fic #venom fanfiction #venom x reader #venom x yn #venom #venom smut #venom x you #symbiote #marvel smut

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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It takes Steve an embarassingly long moment to realise that the spray isn't doing anything. He tries shaking it… nothing. He even checks by spraying it on his hand, shaking it again. Nothing.

He tries listening as he shakes it again and, though he's sure there's some product still left inside, nothing will come out.

He reluctantly throws it in the little trash can, just next to the toilet door. He doesn't bother rooting through the draws or cabinets either; he'd used the last of his emergency powder kit yesterday. There's nothing left.

He huffs, folding his arms, glaring at his reflection. Specifically at the very overgrown, bright blond roots of his hair.

It brings up the same anxiety he's been having for the past month. It's taken him a long time to save up for his usual hairdressers. He hadn't thought it would take so long but, with the kids and now Robin and Eddie, it shouldn't be that surprising.

Robin often pays a good chunk for things too, often paying him gas money, but it's usually him paying for everything. And now that he's paying rent in his own little appartment? He's not often left with that much at the end of the month.

He's starting to think it's not worth the trip. But he isn't going to start using box dye or anything cheap. He's spent a long time taking care of his hair, spent just as long struggling to find the right products too.

He doesn't even care that the kids and Robin mock him for it, he has great hair and, screw it, he's proud. He's not going to damage it by getting bad hair dye.

He's already booked his next hairdresser appointment for the next day, already saved up gas money too. He might as well ask for bleach instead, go back to his natural color and save himself from anymore days with overgrown roots.

He almost regrets the idea when he gets to work.

"Holy shit, you're a natural blond?" Robins grin looks almost painful with how wide it is. She's a little too excited for his comfort. "I don't know how I didn't guess before. This explains so much. How have you kept this hidden for so long? It's so light!"

"Don't you have work to do?" He bats her hand away when she, again, reaches for his hair.

"Not anymore. Why do you dye it? How did it grow out so much? When did you start hiding it? Did someone pressure you into it? They didn't make fun of you, did they? Because I will hunt them down and-"

"No one made me dye it or bullied me into it," he huffs. He can feel his attempt at a cool demeaner soften with how quickly she jumps to his defense. "I just... I never liked it. I don't think it suits me. Brunettes are cute."

"Are you dyeing it again?"

"Probably not. The hairdresser I go to isn't exactly cheap."

"You can get box dye at-"

"I'm not using box dye."

"It's not that bad, and if you really hate the blond-"

Steve swats at her when she reaches for his hair again. With a heavy sigh, he braces himself for the shift full of questions and jokes of 'betrayal'.

Like he suspected, they don't get much work done.

When Eddie comes in, towards the end of their shift, Steve is almost relieved.

"Stop bullying him without me," Eddie complains.

"Thank you," Steve says, whilst Robin boos. "What is it tonight? Movie night with Wayne or some of the kids?"

But Eddie is frozen, staring at his hair.

"I think he's broken," Robin says after a pause.

"You're blond?" Eddie blinks. "When did you go blond?"

"Always have been," Steve shrugs. "Just... not dyeing it anymore."

"Oh."

Steve and Robin stare at him. They share a glance after a moment.

"You here for a movie?" Steve asks.

"What? Me? No, I- just stopping by. And you're... yeah. I'm gonna- I've got to go. Wayne is waiting and... you know. Bye."

He turns around and practically runs out the store. His wheels squeal a little as he drives out, most likely breaking the speed limit.

"Did he just..." Robin starts, trailing off with a frown.

"Unbelievable," Steve shakes his head. "Just when I give up, he realizes that he likes me too! What the hell, Bob. Is he only into blonds or something?"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #alittlelaughtime

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theplumsoldier · 1 year ago

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sore loser

summary: the scales of your rivalry with joel miller tips in his favor as he calls out your mistake and you end up a loser. the classic "you hate your partner but fucks him anyway"

pairing: mean!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ please and thank you, hate sex, rough vaginal sex, spitting, slapping, choking, fingering, squirting, sloppy/rough blow job, degradation, age-gap, begging, biting, mean!joel, forced orgasm & multiple orgasms, tasting joel's blood?? no aftercare please let me know if i missed anything!! (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

You hated everything about him. You hated the way he looked, the way he spoke, and the way he walked. You hated how he was always confident, how he was always right, and the fact that he always knew which buttons to push. You hated how he was a better shooter than you, how he was better at finding supplies than you, and how he was better at tracking than you. You hated his salt-and-pepper beard, the curls in his hair, and his sun-kissed skin. You hated his brown eyes, his deep voice, and his large hands. You hated how he treated you like a child, how he called you "kid", and how he looked after you.

Most of all, right now, you hated that he shot the clicker before you managed to put a knife to its skull, how he made it look like you couldn't save yourself. He took the win and he got the point.

It was a game and you were losing this battle for dominance, and you hated losing to Joel Miller.

You had been biting your tongue so damn hard to keep yourself from stooping down on his level and the taste of blood lingered in your mouth for about 4 minutes before the last straw had been drawn.

Joel just couldn't stop himself from being an ass and work in yet another one of his snarky remarks.

"Get over yourself, Miller. I had it handled," you grumbled.

"Sure looked like it," he retorted sarcastically, making scattering noises as he dug through a crate in the warehouse.

The way he didn't even bother looking at you only made you more furious. "How the fuck do you think I survived this long on my own, huh? I've been—"

"Ask myself that every time I save your ass," he interrupted mockingly.

Your blood was boiling in your veins. He felt so fucking superior and it was driving you insane. You knew your worth, but for some reason, you had this crippling urge to prove yourself.

"Somebody needs to knock you off your fucking horse, Miller."

Joel chuckled grimly. "S'that right, sweetheart? Wanna give it a go?"

His infuriating words made you stand to your feet, and frankly, it excited Joel to see you acting like you might just do something about it.

With a groan he got up himself, easily towering over you. You swallowed harshly, jaw clenched.

Joel's face was set in a firm expression, dark eyes analyzing your face to predict your next move. It was a face-off.

There was a subtle smirk and you wanted to wipe it off so badly. This was entertaining to him—a challenge he joined, a game he played just for the kick of it.

You couldn't win a fight against him, you were smart enough to recognize that fact (at least for now). So you breathed out, your nervousness drawing out a shaky laugh.

"I hate you," you spat and turned around, sure you'd only dig a deeper hole for yourself if you looked at him any longer.

"That what you tell yourself when you dip your little fingers down between your legs?" he wondered aloud, not even testing the waters but diving head first into the lake of all your buttons that he planned to push: "Don't think I don't hear you moaning my name when you get off in the night."

Your eyes went wide and shame colored your cheeks pink. You hoped he wouldn't notice as your eyes shot daggers, completely dumbfounded, hoped your anger had already made your face red. You were at a loss for words, completely and utterly embarrassed.

The mixture of emotions compiled a message to your brain for you, and before you had a chance to regret it, you lashed out. Your hand stopped clenching and raised to deliver a well-deserved proper bitch-slap, but Joel caught your wrist. It all happened quickly, and it felt like you were watching on rather than being forced back against the wall, arms suspended against the cool and rough cement in his grasp.

Joel's head cocked, eyes blazing down at you. "You wanna try that again, sweetheart?"

The sudden close proximity made you involuntarily grind your hips forward.

"So that's what all this s'about, huh? You’ve been givin' me that bratty attitude 'cause ya got your panties in a twist?"

"Fuck you!" you snapped, the words seething through your grit teeth, leaving a bad aftertaste on your tongue.

"But that's what you want, innit sweetheart? Goin' around acting like I'm the devil's spawn, but really you just want a good fucking, yeah?"

You hated how he was always right.

Your arms strained in his grasp, writhing to get loose though the heat pooling between your legs protested. You enjoyed having him this close. You could smell him, see him.

"You're so fucking full of yourself, Miller," you snarled but had stopped trying to fight off his grip.

Joel chuckled down at you, tutting: "F’you wanna be full o' me, too, darlin', all you gotta do is ask nicely."

There was no fucking way he was actually offering to fuck you. It had to be a dream. A nightmare. But it wasn't. And he was offering exactly that, you realized as his head tilted. He was dead serious.

You knew it wasn't out of the good of his heart, so he must be wanting this, too. And if he needed it as much as you did, you were going to make him work for it.

You ground your hips into his again, this time very much on purpose.

"Tell me you don't want to bend me over right now, Miller," you leaned forward and whispered in his ear, letting your lips graze the soft flesh of his neck. His cock was hard against your cunt and he didn't do a thing to push you away. "Tell me you haven't just been dying to try out this tight pussy. An old man like you can't have had a proper fuck in ages."

He laughed. "Swallow your pride, sweetheart. You've never even been with a real man before, have ya? Always waltzin' around in your short skirts at the Byson, whoring yourself out for attention from those boys."

"Knew you'd been checking me out," you smirked, the movements of your hips now a consistent grind against him. "But you're right. And those boys can't help, they dunno how to handle me."

"I don't do charities, darlin'. F’you want me to fuck that shitty attitude out of ya, you're gonna have to prove yourself."

This time around, Joel pushed his clothed cock against your pussy and you knew what he wanted.

You wriggled your hands, inching closer to his face but never letting your skin touch. "Kinda difficult to get on my knees when you’re holding me like this, innit?"

Joel let go only to force you down on the ground, but you didn't protest. You had lost all filters, all of your arrogance as you were faced with his cock prodding at the zipper of his jeans.

Looking up as you eagerly undid his belt, you were pleased to see him inhaling deeply, proudly as he looked down on you. You pulled the zipper down, and your breath hitched as his cock saluted. He wasn't wearing underwear.

His cock was thicker than you had imagined, girthier than what you had felt while fingering yourself that night which he had so mockingly reminded you of. Long with a slight curve and a purple mushroom head unscathed. A drop of pre-cum covered the slit and you imagined it was crying for you.

"You gonna put that bratty little mouth to good use or do I gotta do that for you, too?"

Instinctively you glared up at him, giving him a look but it was washed away a second later as he took charge.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Joel forced you onto his cock, not giving you a second to wet your lips or spit on it. Harshly pushing you down on his cock, you found that it wasn't needed, there was plenty of saliva in your mouth to lubricate him. A whimper left you when his head hit the back of your mouth, your throat automatically constricting at the sudden intrusion. You felt your cunt mimic the reaction and clenched around nothing.

Joel was heavy in your mouth, the thickness making you worry the back row of your teeth would scrape him. If they did he didn't care, for when you looked up at him through teary eyes he was unconcerned.

He forcefully prodded against your throat, slipping in just enough to push further and you gagged.

Joel inhaled sharply. "S'a tight little throat you got there. Guess you haven't been whoring around as much as I thought," he chuckled, holding your face pressed firmly against him, your nose nuzzled in the patch of curls.

He held you there for a couple of seconds, allowing your throat to get adjusted despite acting seemingly careless about how you felt. A moment later he pulled you off by your hair, and you gasped hoarsely, blinking up at him through the tears slowly blurring your vision.

Hovering over you, Joel cupped your cheeks and lifted you slightly, bending down as he did. For a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but his fingers dug into your face, forcing your mouth open for him and he spat on your tongue, an obscene look on his face.

"Eyes on the price, sweetheart," he chuckled and landed you back on your knees.

With his hand holding you tightly by a makeshift ponytail, Joel pushed his cock back into your mouth and without warning, set a brutal pace sure to give you a headache. As slick gathered between your legs, a migraine was the least of your worries. You snaked a hand between your legs to relieve the tingling strain.

The breaths you were granted came in between the thrusts and you squeezed your eyes shut, feeling dizzy, prompting him to yank at your hair.

"Look at me," he grunted coarsely, voice going straight to your sex and you ground down hard on your hand, gasping for air. Joel admired your puffy lips, smeared with saliva, strings of drool connecting your mouth to the tip of his cock. "You look like a fuckin' mess, sweetheart. This what you been thinkin' about, hm? Been thinking 'bout acting like a little slut f'me, huh?"

His degrading words fueled your fire, both making you want to bite back at him and make him come down your throat. Opting for the latter, you tried to take him back in your mouth, wanting to put your adjusted throat to good use, but he yanked you back. A whimper left your lips and he slapped your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

"F'you know what's good for you, you'll answer when I ask you a question."

Wet and needy, you didn't hesitate. "Yes! Yes, Joel," you cried, one hand on his hip for purchase, the other hid between your legs, fervently toying with your clit. "Wanted you to treat me like a whore! Wa—wanted you to fuck me stupid!"

That's when he noticed your hand between your legs, eagerly seeking out friction. His brows connected in a crease of anger, and he had you on your wobbly legs one moment and hurled you onto a dirty surface the next.

"The fuck you think you're doin', huh? Touching yourself without permission?" Joel growled and for the first time his disappointment got to you.

He held you by your throat and you could feel the calluses in his palm scrape your skin.

"M'sorry—couldn't help myself," you babbled feverishly as he shoved a hand down your undone pants, feeling just what you had been so disrespectful to touch.

A guttural moan escaped him and you could have died just then, knowing you did that to him.

"Christ, sweetheart. You got this wet from chokin' on my cock, huh?" he mused absent-minded and you couldn't decide which you liked more; Joel calling you "sweetheart" or— "such a fuckin' slut.”

You were startled but thankful when he pulled down your jeans in one swift movement, exposing you to the cold air in the warehouse.

He didn't give you a warning before he plunged two fingers into your cunt, curling them against the velvety roof of your wet cave. Clawing onto his shoulder with a gasp of surprise, you instinctively tried to lift yourself and relieve the overwhelmingly intense feeling.

"Where you goin', sweetheart? This not what you wanted?" You desperately wanted to slap the grin off of his face, but he had you completely wrapped around his finger. Literally and figuratively. "Didn't you wanna be used like a little slut, hm?"

"Please," you begged, drawing the word out with a rugged moan and clutching to his shoulders. "Ff—uck!"

He fingered you at an unforgiving pace, three fingers and his palm slapping against your cunt each time. The squelches from your pussy resonated off the bare walls and if you hadn't been so focused on the pain mixing with pleasure, you would have been ashamed Joel was the one making you this wet.

"Joel!" you cried, tugging at the front of his shirt. "Plea-please! Need your cock!"

He choked you with his unoccupied hand, forcing your face inches from his. "Quit whinin' or I'll leave you 'ere," he threatened.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, unable to comprehend your increasing lust for him from being this close. Joel's breath was hot on your face, breathing his air, you became dizzy from a mix of him and your impending orgasm.

"That's right, sweetheart, cream all o'er my fingers," he beckoned, feeling your contracting walls squeeze his fingers. Your legs were trembling, wanton moans spilling from your lips as Joel pulled an orgasm from you.

You incoherently begged him to fill you up, wanting nothing more than to milk his thick cock, but when he caught sight of your pleading eyes, he applied pressure to your clit instead. It was sore from the heel of his palm having slapped it repeatedly and it made you unable to come down from your high properly.

Your legs spasmed as his torturous fingers brutally skirted across your bundle of nerves. Before you could process what happened, a gush of pleasure sprayed from you.

Your cheeks flushed pink, realizing Joel had just made you squirt. You had never done that before, and you looked at him with an expression of surprise mixed with confusion. He looked proud.

Joel groaned as he stroked his throbbed cock, smearing the precum over the head while his other hand pushed down hard on your belly, holding you just at the edge of the table.

Stammering his name, your attempt at any sort of coherent sentence was foiled as he slid his girthy cock into your cunt.

Your eyes fluttered shut, walls clenching around him. You had never felt so full. "Joel—" you shuddered, gripping his bicep for purchase.

A string of curses left his lips, a crease knitting his brows together in concentration. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart, s'a tight lil' hole ya got 'ere."

Joel wanted to take a moment just then, revel in the sweet clench of your pussy, catch his breath but he knew you would notice. As much as he had a hidden desire to ruin every other man for you and have you tail him like a lost puppy, he refused to acknowledge how overdue this was.

He didn't give you another second to adjust before he rocked his hips back and slammed his cock back into you. If you thought his fingers hit a spot, his cock fucking destroyed that.

You couldn't even form moans properly as his hips rutted at a bruising pace, expertly molding your cunt to fit him. His face contorted and he grumbled something under his breath, but you didn't care to ponder what as he filled you up. You were still dazed from the previous orgasms and it was like he wouldn't allow you to come down. Your ragged breaths, his grunts, and the wanton sounds of skin slapping filled your head as you soared around on cloud nine.

A large hand snuck under your shirt, the calluses on his palm rough against your skin but you loved the feeling as he squeezed your breast, thumb and index pinching your nipple.

Your knuckles turned pale from clutching down hard on his shoulders, fingernails clawing indents at the exposed skin on his neck and collar.

You hoped the crescents would outlast this moment, that Joel would curse at the sight the next time he looked in a mirror. You hoped he wouldn't be able to get this moment out of his head then, not ever, thinking back to this moment whenever he would see the scars you left on him.

A hiss escaped you and tore the thought of making your mark out of your mind. His deft fingers were rubbing your sore clit once again.

There was determination on his face and animalistic hunger in his dark eyes—he looked as if there was no getting through to him, like he was stuck in a world of his own.

Whether he insisted on drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you for your pleasure or his ego, you did not know. Joel always had something to prove—to himself or the people around him, it was another thing about him you didn't know. In this moment, as he chased every high for you, you didn't care either.

You hated him for making you feel this good. Hated him for making you moan in pleasure, hated him for making your legs shake uncontrollably. You wanted to taunt him, crack a spiteful comment about his age or something, let him know he wasn't doing as well as he thought—but he was. You could lie, but your body would betray you.

There was no snide comment left in you as Joel's hips pistoned into yours. It felt too good. He felt too good.

"S'too much," you gasped and held onto his shoulder, not pushing him away but not pulling him any closer either. "I can't."

The pressure on your clit was too much. The frantic rubbing, the harsh pads of his fingers, mixing pleasure with pain in the most unforgiving way. It hurt too good to want to stop him, though.

Joel surprised you, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes were heavy, and his jaw was slack, the blissful expression ruined by a smug chuckle.

"You can. C'mon, sweetheart, I believe in you," he tutted like one would to a child riding a bike for the first time.

It spurred something inside you, the degradation. Your hooded, watery eyes caught sight of his plump lip through the blur and without a second thought, you lunged forward and bit it, your teeth piercing the soft skin.

It was the closest thing you would get to feeling them, you knew it, and you weren't about to beg for a taste.

A slap landed on your cheek, sharp and stinging, but he kept his hand there on the side of your face, cupping it in an almost endearing way.

Joel hissed at the taste of blood—surprised but not disgusted. The hand cupping your face in the sweetest way turned to force your mouth open, and you grinned bitterly when he spat on your tongue, tasting his blood.

His thrusts became more frantic, the pad of his thumb sloppily skipping over your clit as he draws your pleasure out. Forcing you to look into his eyes while you come around his cock, Joel's too far gone watching you to notice the way his balls tightened.

"Fuck—"

Slick with your juices Joel slips out of your clenching pussy, jerking his cock a few pumps as he hisses, strings of milky sperm decorating your abdomen.

Your heavy breaths hang in the room like thick syrup, bodies sticky, tension at a maximum as the lust turns back to hatred.

Joel moves from you with a grunt, a sly smirk on his lip as he moves his gaze from the mess on your stomach to your eyes. He leaves you to clean yourself up and tucks his softening cock into his pants, the zipper resounding comically loud through the silence. It reminds you of a secret between children, zipping your lips close as a solemn pledge.

It was over and it would never be brought up again. As you did your best to clean up, get back into your clothes, and comb your fingers through your hair, your eyes were trained on Joel's back—if eyes could kill and all that.

At once, you were back to hating one another. You hoped your nails had dug deep enough into his shoulder, hard enough to leave scars.

#theplumsoldier #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #the last of us #partner!joel miller

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banj0possum · 11 months ago

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Alistair x (platonically) Teen Reader

In the fic he is like oh my god a bride, he walks in and instead of an adult..or a bride-

They find a teen, who literally threw a pebble at him, an angsty teen💀

I’m very happy to read ur fics and usually pair them with teen/child mc because I find it funny because they expect the love of their life

and teen mc standing there :🧍‍♂️

anyways sorry for the long request, luv ur writing, and ur art :D

Yandere! Evil King x Teen! GN! Reader

CW: platonic relationship, Alistair is a bit of a DILF so do with it as you will, Dads are hot you guys!! READER IS A MINOR.

👑 Who is this sassy lost child?

👑 His minions kidnapped you while you were on a carriage ride back to your kingdom.

👑 He was hoping for like a princess or something to marry and take over the kingdom with or whatever so like...what tf he gonna do with you???

👑 Clearly you were too young to be in a situation like this, but theres no way he's giving you back without a reward, so yes he still holds you for ransom.

👑 "Child, I am Alistair, King of-ACk!"

👑 Did...did you throw a pillow at him?!

👑 "How dare yo- AHK! Stop it!" another one..

👑 You refuse to listen to anything he says, you just wanted to go home

👑 You two had a bit of rivalry for a bit. He hated you and you hated him.

👑 He promised not to show any affection or care towards you since in his eyes, your actions didn't deserve it. How can someone be so rude to a king !?

👑 But he starts to notice you don't eat much. He never sees you in the dining hall and has only seen quick moments of you nibbling on some bread or pastries the servants gave you.

👑 He scoffed, so irresponsible! You must eat a proper meal right this second or you'll starve!

👑 You're surprised to see a meal prepared for you during your routine trip to get a snack from the pantry with a note on the plate.

👑 "Next time, ask for a proper meal. I don't want your parents to think I've been starving you. -Alistair P.S. go to bed early."

👑 Huh...

👑 Alistair smiled from the doorway of the dining hall, watching you eat up with a smile on your face. You might have been too scared of him to ask for food so you've been sneaking snacks while he wasn't looking.

👑 Of course he wasn't doing it because he cared about you, he just didn't want royalty like you to resort to such pathetic means to eat!

👑 Why are you still sad? Perhaps he should get you some things to keep your attention..

👑 He asks (threateningly may I add) about your hobbies or interests.

👑 The next morning your cell (which has been upgraded to a lovely room in the castle because he didn't want you to be filthy and gross in a dungeon) was filled with anything he could find that he thought you'd enjoy.

👑 Don't think he wants you to be happy! He's just tired of seeing you sulk everywhere!

👑 He denies everything, but you swear you could see a tiny smile on his face when you hugged him happily.

👑 You start being a little more open to him, showing him anything you've made or done with pride and he'd receive it gratefully, but he won't show it of course.

👑 "I made you this friendship bracelet!"

👑 "I've seen better jewelry."

👑 "Oh I'll take it back then I guess.."

👑 "No, it's mine now, back off."

👑 Drawings and the like that he said would be thrown out as soon as you left would be seen framed in his room

👑 It would be a..waste of good canvas..

👑 And of course he buys a few books of your choice for you to read, he'd be damned if your brain turns to mush.

👑 Bro bro he'd be the type to let you swing around while holding onto his bicep.

👑 If you ever have any problems, or come to him in a bad mood, he'd have no idea how to help other than to sit down and listen to your troubles.

👑 He's not the most physical when it comes to affection, but you bet your ass he's gonna do everything he can to cheer you up.

👑 At this point he's rewriting his demands for the ransom. Either your kingdom lets him sign some adoption papers or he's starting a war.

#yandere #yandere x gn reader #male yandere #yandere oc #oc yandere #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #tw yandere #x reader #x gn reader #gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #king x reader #yandere king #evil king #platonic #platonic reader

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 month ago

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An Amazing First Kiss - Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Title: An Amazing First Kiss

Hobie Brown X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friend (Mentioned)

WC: 1,651

Warnings: Try at writing a Cockney accent, Reader's nervous, italics, Reader's nervous about first kiss, Hobie is the best boyfriend, hurt/comfort idk?, nicknames, teasing, banter, flirting, mini angst, very brief mentions of lying, and fluff

To cut right to the chase, you were dating the amazing, and super lovable, Hobie Brown. You met him when he was performing with his band at some pub with your friend, and you just couldn't look away from him. His charisma, how easily he seemed to draw people to him, his passion for music, and just the way he’d spot you in the crowd. It made you feel as if no one else existed in the world, except you and him.

His dark brown eyes - even though they were covered by his Spider-Punk mask - had found yours in the crowd. He, too, was unable to look away. The way you softly danced in spot, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Your friend's arm linked with yours, your friends jumping up and down with more enthusiasm, but you drew him in; entranced him. It wasn't long until the two of you started seeing each other, going out for dates and whatnot. And it wasn’t long until the both of you started dating, and he revealed his secret identity to you.

Everything was perfect, except that you were very nervous. You were worried that Hobie might want to kiss you soon. And it's not that you don't want to kiss him. You did… You really did. And you would, eventually. But, at the moment, you just weren't ready. But it seemed that Hobie was. Only last week, he tried ‘the lean in’. But you were quick to come up with some sort of excuse. But, it was coming to a point where you hated lying to him and not talking to him about it. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing something wrong or that you weren’t interested or attracted to him.

The first time he tried to lean in, you had been sitting on the couch together, in his loft, watching a movie. Well, you weren't really paying much attention to it, and neither was Hobie.

"'is movie's bit boring, innit?" He muttered, his arm resting over your shoulders, his fingers randomly drumming along your forearm to an irregular beat.

"Not the best movie I've seen, no," You agreed, glancing at him, "But it's entertaining to a degree."

Looking down at you, he continued, "'is guy a bit of a git 'ough." Hobie randomly gestured towards the screen where the main character was fighting with his brother.

“I agree…” Looking up at him, your words began to trail off when you noticed how close your faces were to one another. Looking into his beautiful brown eyes, you felt your stomach flip flop. However, you began to inwardly panic as he began to lean in. Red, flashing lights blared inside your mind as you froze and jumped out of his arms and off the couch. Letting out an awkward chuckle, you gestured down at your watch. "I have to go... Uh... Feed my cat." You stumbled over your words, making your way to the front door. Opening the door, you turned to give him a nervous grin, "I'll see you tomorrow, love you!"

“Love you…” As the door shut, Hobie let out a deep sigh, falling back upon the couch. Raising his legs up, he propped his feet on the coffee table. Why did you leave like that? And when did you get a cat?

~~~

A couple of weeks later, you were back in Hobie's loft, baking cookies. You hummed along to the song that Hobie was playing on his guitar in the other room, your thoughts drifting elsewhere as you worked. You didn't know how much time passed, or when Hobie stopped practicing, but as his arms wrapped around your waist, you couldn't help but smile.

"Wha’ are you makin' 'is time?" He asked, resting his chin on the top of your head as you pressed the heart-shaped cookie cutter into the dough.

"I think you know what I'm making, Hobie." You sputtered out a small laugh, "It's quite obvious."

He let out a small chuckle, before asking, "Well, 'ow many are you makin’ 'en?"

"About ten, I think? I won't know until I cut them all out." You patted his hand on your stomach briefly, “And you’re not eating them all like last time.”

Hobie hummed as he pulled away from you, his fingers brushing your waist as he did so, causing a shiver to run down your spine; heading to the stove, he grabbed the kettle, "You want some rosy?" He asked, setting the kettle on the burner, and turning it on.

Glancing over at him, he was already looking at you, leaning against the counter beside the stove, arms crossed. His gaze was warm, and his grin was - as always - breathtaking. You returned his smile, "Sure, thanks. That would be nice. Do we still have Earl Grey?" You asked before going back to the cookies as Hobie went to fetch the milk and sugar, humming softly to himself.

“‘Ave no scooby-doo.” He answered, before searching around in the cupboards, pushing other boxes of tea around until he spotted the Earl Grey, grabbing the tea box.

Reaching over your shoulder, his chest pressed into your side, Hobie grabbed the sugar from the counter near you. Looking up at him, you were surprised to see him still looking at you. There was that look again, the one that made your insides just turn into mush. But, as if in slow motion, he began to lean in. Quickly, you turned to look back down at the cookies, his lips pressing a kiss into your warm cheek; the coolness of his lip ring sending goosebumps over your skin.

Hobie pulled back, titling his head at you, his eyebrows narrowing as you slid the cookies into the oven; pursing his lips. Hobie was beginning to really wonder now. You seemed reluctant to kiss him, which made Hobie wonder if he had done something wrong. Did he do something? Say something? Did you just not want to kiss him? Hobie snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of the screeching kettle.

Now, Hobie wasn't one to keep quiet about things bothering him. After pouring both him and you a cup of tea, he joined you on his couch. Setting both the cups on the coffee table, Hobie turned himself in his seat to face you, his arm resting on the back of the couch.

"Let's cut to 'e chase, yeah? 'Ave I done some'nin wrong?" He asked you, a slightly concerned expression crossing his features.

Your shoulders slumped and a small, sad smile formed on your face as you looked down. "No. You haven't done anything wrong, H." You looked over at him, your sad smile turning into a frown upon meeting his eyes, "I... Uh, I don't think I'm ready to kiss yet." You knew Hobie wouldn’t break up with you because of this, but it was an irrational fear that your brain liked to tease you with.

Hobie, though, tilted his head, looking confused at this response. Noticing your frown, the unleashed tears in your eyes. Hobie moved closer to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You melted into his embrace, relaxing in his grasp as you let out a sigh of relief. He gave you a reassuring squeeze. "I 'ough' you just didn't want to kiss me, or some'nin' like 'at."

You shook your head at his words, nuzzling your face into his chest, "No, I... I just don't think I'm ready to kiss anyone right now... I think sometime in the future I will be ready, I don't want you to think that I just won't kiss you ever."

At this, Hobie chuckled, lightly squeezing your shoulder. "Ya silly, luv." He teased, "You should know 'at it's fine. We ain't rushin' into anythin'. You’re stuck with me. I’m not gonna jus’ up and leave ‘cause you ain’t ready to kiss me."

Nodding your head, you gently pulled yourself out of his embrace, looking up at him. "Thank you, Hobie."

"Anytime, luv." He said, moving to lie down on the couch, opening his arms to you. You gladly climbed on top of him, laying your head on his chest; cuddling with Hobie always felt like home. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm under your ear, a comforting sound that made the world outside seem distant and unimportant.

Leaning up on your arms, you looked down at him, "You're amazing, you know that, right?" Grinning, he reached up and ruffled your hair, causing you to scrunch up your nose. "Oi, don't mess up my beautiful locks," You laughed, jokingly swatting his hand away.

"An' I'm always amazin’. ‘Ough’ you knew ‘at ‘bout me already." He said with a wink, causing you to giggle.

Staring down at him, you silently admired him. His dark complexion, chocolate brown eyes, high cheekbones, the piercings on his eyebrow and lip. Suddenly, you had an idea. "Hobie, honey, I’ve got an idea." You stated, grinning.

The tall boy sat up with you, a slight tilt of his head and an intrigued look on his face, "What's 'at?" Shifting on his lap, you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, his cheeks soft under your gentle touch. Giving him a small smile, you leaned forward. You shut your eyes before the tip of your nose bumped into his. Softly, you shook your head, giggling, your nose rubbing against his in an nose kiss. As you opened your eyes again, you saw Hobie staring back at you, his eyes half-lidded. A smirk played across his features, "Wow, luv." He whispered.

"Pretty amazing first kiss, eh?" You joked, your hands dropping from his cheeks, and reaching for his hands; interlacing your fingers with his.

"Oh, very amazin’ indeed." He said, bringing your hands to his lips, and kissing each knuckle. “Maybe even more amazin’ ‘an me.”

~~~

Main Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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goldfades · 2 months ago

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★ dancing phantoms on the terrace; are they second-hand embarrassed, that i can't get out of bed? cause something counterfeit's dead; it was legendary; it was momentary; it was unnecessary ─── PB⁵

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6.4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you and paige have always danced around each other—an intricate waltz of unspoken words and fleeting touches, each step pulling you closer to the edge of something you both feared to define. but when your feelings finally bubble over, paige’s silence cuts sharper than anything you could have imagined. in the wake of her denial, you vow to let her go, but it’s hard to sever the bond when she keeps lingering in the corners of your world, drawing you back like gravity. what happens when you can’t be friends, but letting go feels impossible?

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst w/ no happy ending. weird fwb, cheating (kinda?), toxic relationships, emotional manipulation, unhealthy attachment, and cycles of miscommunication and unresolved feelings.

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | this is lowkey just a word vomit... idk how to feel about it. i've been on an angst kick lately and i'm apologizing for this fic right now, it's EMOTIONALLY DAMAGING. um anyway, don't even ask how i am right now... enjoy?

The gym smells like worn leather and ambition—Paige’s favorite cocktail, if you had to guess. The echo of bouncing basketballs fills the cavernous space, and there she is, effortlessly commanding the court like it’s her birthright. You’d think the sight of her—golden hair slicked back, sharp focus slicing through the room—would dull with time, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s worse.

You don’t mean to stare, but when it’s her, you always do.

“Hey,” her voice cuts through your thoughts, soft but with a rasp that’s always felt like a secret shared just between the two of you. Paige jogs toward you, her smile easy, but her eyes? Complicated. Like she knows. Like she’s always known.

“Hey,” you manage, though your throat feels tight, your body betraying you with a spark of something you’ve tried to douse for months.

She stops just short of you, close enough that you can smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. “Thought you were too busy to come by anymore.”

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but the weight of her gaze makes it impossible. “I’m not staying long. Just… passing through.”

It’s a lie. You’ve never been able to just pass through when it comes to her.

Paige grins, wiping sweat from her brow with the hem of her jersey. It’s a fleeting movement, but it leaves your pulse racing, and you hate yourself for it. She doesn’t notice—or maybe she does, and that’s worse.

“You’re a bad liar,” she says, her tone teasing but gentle. She tilts her head, like she’s reading something written on your face. “You okay?”

It’s such a simple question, but the weight of it threatens to shatter your resolve.

“I’m fine,” you say too quickly. Too sharply.

Her brows knit together, but she doesn’t push. Paige never pushes. It’s you who always falls, silently hoping she’ll be there to catch you.

But you’re tired of hoping.

“I should go,” you mutter, turning before the cracks in your chest start to show. But her hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait.”

It’s a single word, but it roots you in place, her touch burning like truth against your skin. You turn back to her, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breath and the ache of everything you’ll never say.

And Paige, looking at you like she wants to say it too.

SIX MONTHS AGO

The party was already half a blur when Paige walked in, but her presence made everything snap into focus. You hadn’t been looking for her—you’d told yourself you wouldn’t—but there she was, a magnet pulling every molecule of you in her direction. She wasn’t dressed for the occasion like everyone else, no glittering dresses or expensive heels. Just a hoodie, sneakers, and that disarming grin.

You were nursing a drink, not for the taste, but for the illusion of control. People were scattered across the house in little clusters, and you were tucked into a corner of the living room, balancing somewhere between tipsy and regretfully sober. That is, until Paige caught sight of you.

Her gaze found you through the crowd like it was the easiest thing in the world, and you felt it—really felt it. That invisible thread between the two of you, taut and unyielding.

“Hey, stranger.” Her voice carried over the low hum of music and chatter as she slid into the empty space beside you on the couch.

You laughed softly, but it came out more nervous than amused. “Stranger? I didn’t know you even remembered my name.”

She tilted her head, her grin shifting into something softer. “I remember a lot more than that.”

The comment shouldn’t have sent a shiver down your spine, but it did. Paige had a way of saying things like they were just words when they were anything but.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you admitted, your fingers tightening around the red Solo cup in your hand.

“Yeah, well…” Paige’s eyes dropped to your drink before returning to your face, and it made you feel naked somehow. “Needed a break. Thought I’d find you.”

Thought I’d find you.

The words hung in the air, charged, and you couldn’t tell if she was teasing or telling the truth. Maybe both.

The night blurred after that, the two of you falling into a rhythm that felt far too natural for how often you tried to keep your distance. Drinks were passed back and forth, jokes were made, her laughter melted into yours. Every time her knee brushed yours, your pulse spiked. Every time her fingers lingered on your arm, your stomach flipped.

At one point, someone turned up the music, and people started dancing in the center of the room. You didn’t want to, but Paige grabbed your hand, her touch electrifying. “C’mon,” she coaxed, her eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

You followed, of course.

The two of you didn’t so much dance as sway, caught in your own little bubble amidst the chaos. Her hands found your hips, and she pulled you closer, so close you could smell the faint tang of beer on her breath. The way she looked at you—dark, intent, unflinching—made the air between you too thick to breathe.

“Having fun yet?” she asked, her voice low.

You nodded, though fun wasn’t the word for what you were feeling. It was something else entirely.

“Good,” she murmured, leaning in. Her lips brushed your ear as she spoke, sending a shiver through your entire body. “’Cause you deserve it.”

When you pulled back to meet her gaze, you saw it: the crack in her armor. That small, fleeting look of hesitation before she leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t shy. Paige kissed you like she’d been holding back for years, and maybe she had. Your drink slipped from your hand, forgotten, as your fingers found their way into her hair. The rest of the world vanished, the party, the music, the people. There was only her—her lips, her hands, the heat of her against you.

Somehow, the two of you stumbled your way upstairs, her hand firmly gripping yours as she led you to a bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and suddenly it was just the two of you, no distractions, no pretense.

You shouldn’t have let it happen, but you did. And it wasn’t just the alcohol, wasn’t just the heat of the moment. It was years of longing packed into a single night.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, the glow of the moon casting soft light across her face. Paige was quiet, her fingers drawing absent patterns on your bare shoulder. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat.

“I can’t do this,” she finally whispered, her voice breaking the fragile silence.

Your chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

She turned to face you, and the conflict in her eyes was enough to make your heart ache. “I’m… I’m trying to focus on basketball. This—us—it’s too much.”

Her words felt like a slap, but the way she looked at you—regretful, hesitant, almost desperate—kept you from walking out right then and there. Instead, you forced a nod. “Okay.”

“But—” she added quickly, her hand finding yours, “this doesn’t have to be it. We can figure something out. Later.”

It was a promise she had no right to make, and deep down, you knew that. But when she kissed you again, softer this time, you let yourself believe it.

That was the beginning of the end.

Paige had a way of engulfing your life without even trying, and the worst part was, you let her. She wasn’t yours—you weren’t hers—but she consumed you, seeped into the quiet corners of your world until there wasn’t a part of you she hadn’t touched.

She made it look so easy, too. Like you were the one complicating things.

Every time you tried to pull away, she’d reel you back in with a text, a glance, a late-night phone call that started with “I was just thinking about you.” It was never enough to feel like a relationship, but it was always just enough to keep you tethered to her.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need a label, that you could handle the messiness of it all. But then you’d see her with someone else at a party, her arm slung around a teammate’s shoulders, her laughter spilling over like champagne, and it’d feel like your chest was being hollowed out with a dull spoon.

Still, you stayed.

You stayed because of the way she looked at you when no one else was around, like you were the only person in the world who mattered. You stayed because of the fleeting moments when she let her guard down, her fingers lingering on yours a second too long, her voice soft when she whispered your name.

And you stayed because of the promises.

“I just need time,” she’d say, her hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You understand, right?”

And you’d nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, because of course you understood. What else could you do? Tell her no? Walk away? The thought of losing her entirely was worse than the slow, aching heartbreak of being caught in her orbit.

But it was exhausting, being held at arm’s length while she continued to live her life exactly the way she wanted.

There were nights when she’d come over, late and unannounced, her hair still damp from the shower after a long practice. She’d climb into your bed, curling into your side like it was the most natural thing in the world, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest against your stomach.

“I missed you,” she’d murmur, her voice drowsy.

And for those moments, you’d believe her. You’d let yourself believe that she meant it, that maybe this time things would be different.

But the mornings always came.

She’d wake before you, slipping out of your bed as quietly as she’d slipped in. By the time you stirred, she’d be gone, her spot cold, the faint scent of her shampoo lingering on your pillow. She never left a note, never sent a text. You’d see her later that day, laughing with someone else, like the night before had been nothing more than a shared dream.

It wasn’t fair. You knew that. But Paige wasn’t the kind of person who played fair, at least not when it came to this. She played basketball like her life depended on it, with precision and purpose, but with you? She was reckless, careless, and sometimes it felt like she didn’t even realize it.

“You’re overthinking it,” she’d say when you finally mustered the courage to confront her, her tone light, dismissive. “We’re good, aren’t we?”

And every time, you’d cave. You’d tell her what she wanted to hear, because the alternative—calling her out, forcing her to make a choice—felt too dangerous.

So you kept waiting.

For the next stolen moment, the next broken promise, the next time she’d pull you in and push you away all over again.

It was a slow unraveling, and you didn’t know how much more you could take. But as much as you hated yourself for it, you knew one thing for sure:

You’d keep waiting. For her love. For her to choose you. For something you were terrified might never come.

The gym was cavernous, every dribble of the ball echoing like a drumbeat in your skull as you stormed in. You didn’t stop to think. Logic and restraint had abandoned you the second you saw the picture. Paige, her hands on someone else’s waist, her lips pressed to theirs in a way that made your stomach churn.

Her laugh was unmistakable even above the squeak of sneakers and the occasional shout from her teammates. It grated on you now, sharp and mocking. She didn’t see you at first. She was mid-layup, her ponytail flying behind her, the sweat on her brow catching the fluorescent lights. The picture was still fresh on your phone, the brightness of the screen almost taunting you.

You didn’t care who was watching.

“Paige!” you barked, your voice cutting through the gym’s rhythm like a knife.

The ball thudded against the floor, rolling away as she froze mid-turn. The laughter stopped. Heads turned.

Her eyes found yours, widening slightly before narrowing. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face—then something else. Panic? Regret? It didn’t matter.

She jogged over, wiping her hands on her shorts. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, keeping her voice low.

“What am I doing here?” Your laugh was humorless, loud enough for the whole team to hear. “What the hell are you doing, Paige?”

“Let’s talk outside.” Her voice was tight now, her eyes darting toward her teammates, who were whispering among themselves.

You ignored the way she grabbed your arm, the way her fingers pressed a little too hard against your skin as she dragged you toward the double doors. The moment you were outside, the cold air slapping your face, you yanked yourself free.

“I saw the picture,” you snapped.

“What picture?” Her face was the picture of practiced innocence, but her tone was wary.

“Don’t play dumb, Paige. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You were kissing her!”

Her jaw tightened, and her eyes flicked away for just a second—long enough for you to catch it. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her voice measured, like she was trying to calm a storm.

“Not what I think?” You could feel the heat rising in your chest, your hands trembling. “You had your hands all over her. What is there to think, Paige?”

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“A bigger deal? Are you serious?” Your voice cracked, the anger spilling over, loud and raw. “You told me—no, you promised me—you weren’t seeing anyone else!”

“I’m not,” she shot back, her own voice rising now. “It was just a stupid kiss, alright? It didn’t mean anything.”

Your laugh was bitter, cutting. “It didn’t mean anything? Do you even hear yourself? You think that makes it better?”

Her frustration boiled over, her hands running through her hair as she paced a tight circle. “You’re acting like we’re in some committed relationship or something!”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as your breath caught. “So, what? This—us—it’s just nothing to you?”

“I didn’t say that!” she yelled, her voice echoing off the empty hallway. Her eyes blazed as she stepped closer, her finger pointing at you. “But you keep pushing me, and I don’t know what you want from me!”

“I want you to stop messing with my head!” Your voice cracked, raw and thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “You can’t keep pulling me in and then acting like I don’t exist whenever it’s convenient for you, Paige!”

She blinked, the words hitting her harder than you expected. For a moment, the anger on her face faltered, replaced by something softer, something you’d almost call guilt.

But just as quickly, her defenses snapped back into place. “I told you I needed space,” she said, her voice quieter but still edged with steel. “I told you from the start this wasn’t going to be easy.”

“Easy?” You shook your head, a humorless laugh bubbling up. “No, Paige, this isn’t hard—it’s cruel. You’re cruel.”

Her face fell, the anger draining from her expression. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

But the words felt hollow, like a script she’d practiced too many times. Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms, trying to anchor yourself in something, anything, besides the spiraling frustration.

“Yeah?” Your voice was low, trembling under the weight of restrained fury. “You didn’t mean to hurt me, Paige, but you knew. You knew how I felt—how I feel—and you kissed her anyway.”

Her eyes darted away, lips pressed into a tight line. “I told you this wasn’t... I told you I didn’t want anything serious.”

You laughed, sharp and bitter, the sound bouncing off the cold concrete walls. “No, you didn’t want anything serious, but you didn’t want to let me go either. You wanted me close enough to have whenever you felt like it, but not so close that you had to be accountable for it.”

“That’s not fair,” she snapped, her voice cutting through your words. She squared her shoulders, looking at you like you were the unreasonable one, like this was all spiraling because you couldn’t control your emotions. “You’re acting like I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who stormed into my practice and made a scene.”

“A scene?” Your voice rose, the sharp edge of disbelief slicing through the tension. “You kissed someone else, Paige. What the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit at home, pretend it didn’t happen, and wait for you to toss me a few scraps of affection when it’s convenient?”

“That’s not what this is!” she shouted, the crack in her voice betraying her frustration. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, alright? I didn’t plan it! God, why can’t you just trust me?”

“Trust you?” The words tore from you, laced with incredulity. “How the hell am I supposed to trust you when you do things like this and then try to make me feel crazy for reacting?”

“I’m not making you feel crazy!” she fired back, but the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrayed her. She stepped closer, her hands gesturing wildly as if she could will you to calm down. “I just... I didn’t think this would turn into... into this.”

“This?” Your voice broke, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks in your anger. “Paige, I let you have all of me. You knew that, and you’re acting like I’m the one who crossed a line.”

Her face softened for a split second, and you saw the Paige you thought you knew, the one who made you laugh so hard you cried, the one who looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the room.

But then she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t ask for this to get so complicated,” she muttered, almost to herself.

“Complicated?” The word fell from your lips like venom. “You made it complicated. You wanted me enough to keep me on a leash, but not enough to—”

“Stop,” she cut you off, her voice sharp. “Just stop. You’re spiraling, and you’re putting all of this on me like you don’t have a choice in any of it.”

The sheer audacity of her words made your chest tighten, heat flooding your face. “A choice? Paige, I chose you. I keep choosing you, even when it hurts.”

For a moment, you thought she might say something—an apology, an admission, anything to make this feel less like a freefall. Instead, she just stepped closer, her voice softening. “You’re overthinking this. You always do.”

Your body went rigid, the casual dismissal slicing through you like a blade. “Don’t do that,” you warned, your voice trembling. “Don’t make this about me being too much.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly, her tone too smooth, too rehearsed. “I’m just saying... maybe we’re both a little out of line here.”

“Out of line?” You scoffed, the hurt morphing back into anger, fueling the fire between you. “You kissed someone else, and I’m out of line for calling you out on it?”

Her jaw clenched, her shoulders squaring as her frustration boiled over. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I’ll never do it again? Because I can’t promise that, alright? I can’t promise to be someone I’m not!”

The admission knocked the wind out of you, the raw honesty of it cutting deeper than any excuse ever could. You stared at her, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And then, without thinking, you grabbed her face and kissed her.

It wasn’t soft or tender—it was a collision of lips and teeth, anger and desperation crashing together in a way that felt like drowning and breathing at the same time.

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands found your waist, pulling you closer, her frustration melting into something else entirely. For a moment, the world disappeared—the hurt, the anger, the confusion—and all that was left was her, her lips moving against yours like she was trying to prove something, to take back control.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Her lips brushed yours again, softer this time, almost apologetic. “I know,” she murmured.

But it didn’t stop her, or you, from letting it happen again. And again. And again.

This was the beginning of a vicious style. Paige would do something — something reckless or selfish or dismissive, something that cracked the fragile balance you were barely holding together. You would crash out, spinning into anger or heartbreak or desperation. Then, when the storm was at its peak, you’d collide in a mess of kisses and tangled limbs, pretending the hurt didn’t exist. And for a little while, it would work.

Rinse, repeat.

It was like a drug. The highs were euphoric — the way she’d whisper your name in the dark, the way her hands knew the map of your body like they’d been there a thousand lifetimes. But the lows were brutal. Paige wasn’t just in your life; she engulfed it. Even when she wasn’t physically there, she was everywhere — in your thoughts, in your chest, in the hollow ache that came from wanting more than she would ever give.

And yet, every time you told yourself this was the last time, she’d reel you back in.

It was always the same. She’d make promises she couldn’t keep. I’ll do better. I’ll be better. I don’t want to lose you. They were just words, fragile and insubstantial, but you clung to them like a lifeline. Because even if Paige didn’t love you the way you needed her to, she made you feel.

But feelings weren’t enough. Not when the cycle kept repeating, each round leaving you a little more frayed, a little less whole.

Looking back, you didn’t see it at first. How could you? In those early days, it all still felt new, like you were learning each other in ways no one else ever had. The tension, the passion, even the arguments — it all felt alive.

But what you didn’t know then was that this wasn’t building toward something better. It wasn’t growth or healing or progress. It was just a loop, and the more you gave, the more it took.

And it all started here — in a practice gym with her teammates staring after you, with a kiss that should have been an apology but felt more like a warning.

This was how it was going to be. You just didn’t know it yet.

It was over long before she said it. That was the truth you’d been carrying for weeks, maybe even months, like a stone in your chest. The late nights tangled together, the whispered promises that never quite landed, the explosive fights that burned hot and fast — they were all just delaying the inevitable.

Paige didn’t love you. Not the way you loved her.

And even though you’d told yourself a hundred times that you’d walk away first, that you’d save yourself the heartbreak, there was a part of you that had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for her to finally say the words so you wouldn’t have to.

When she said them, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair messy and her lips still swollen from the argument-turned-kiss that had just played out like a broken record. Her voice was quiet, careful, like she thought if she said it gently enough, it wouldn’t hurt.

“I think we should just stay friends.”

Friends. As if that word hadn’t already been stretched beyond recognition between the two of you.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t yell. You didn’t say anything at all. You just nodded, a single dip of your head that felt like letting go of a thousand unspoken words.

Because by then, you were too tired to argue. Too numb to care. You’d given everything you had to Paige Bueckers — your heart, your time, your trust. And in the end, she’d left you with nothing but empty promises and the ache of what could have been.

She watched you, her expression unreadable, maybe expecting a reaction. But there was nothing left to give. No anger, no tears, not even the kind of hope that had once kept you tethered to her.

And that’s when you knew.

It had been over long before it was over.

The first few days after Paige walked away, you told yourself you were fine. Numbness had a way of masquerading as strength, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you believed it. You went about your routine mechanically, ignoring the ghost of her laugh that seemed to echo in every corner of your mind, or the phantom sensation of her fingertips trailing down your skin.

But it didn’t last.

The cracks began to show in the quiet moments, the ones you couldn’t fill with distractions. You’d see her everywhere — not in person, but in the lingering memories that clung to every inch of your life. The way she used to leave her hoodie draped over your chair. The playlist she made you that now sat like a ticking time bomb on your phone. Even the way the air smelled after it rained reminded you of her, of those late-night walks when the world felt small and it was just the two of you against everything.

Now, it was just you.

The nights were the worst. That was when the realization hit hardest, settling in your chest like a lead weight. She wasn’t coming back. And not only that, she seemed fine. Perfectly fine without you.

Social media became your own personal form of torture. Paige smiling with her teammates, Paige at practice, Paige at a party with her arm slung casually around someone else’s shoulders. She looked radiant, unbothered. And why wouldn’t she be? You were the one left unraveling, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had already been broken long before it officially ended.

You tried to bury yourself in distractions, in work, in friends, in anything that could occupy the space she used to fill. But nothing worked. Everywhere you turned, there she was, in your mind, in your heart, like she had embedded herself into the very fabric of your being.

The worst part was the silence. Paige hadn’t reached out — not once. Not to check on you, not to see if you were okay, not even to pretend that she cared. She had moved on seamlessly, like you were just a chapter she had finished reading. But you? You were stuck. Stuck rereading the same lines over and over, trying to figure out where it all went so wrong.

You hated her for it. And you hated yourself more for still wanting her, for craving the sound of her voice even when it was the last thing you should want to hear.

Sleep became elusive. You’d lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every argument, every kiss, every unspoken promise. Your mind refused to let go, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. But deep down, you knew better. Paige had already moved on. And she wasn’t coming back.

It was a cruel kind of clarity, realizing how little you seemed to matter to her now. While you were drowning, she was breathing just fine.

And so, you began to sink. Not all at once, but slowly, steadily, as the days turned into weeks and the weight of her absence pressed down on you. You stopped checking your phone, stopped looking at her social media, stopped pretending you were okay. Because you weren’t. You were a mess, and she was gone, and there was no fixing what had been broken.

For the first time, you understood what it meant to lose yourself in someone. Paige had taken pieces of you when she left, pieces you weren’t sure you’d ever get back. And as much as you hated it, as much as you hated her for making you feel this way, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You still loved her. And that was the hardest part of all.

The first time you saw the picture, it felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs. Paige stood there, her arm draped casually over a girl you didn’t recognize, her smile so effortlessly carefree it made your stomach churn. It wasn’t just the picture—it was what it represented.

She wasn’t hiding anymore.

For months, you had clung to the idea that Paige’s reluctance to be with you had been about timing, about her career, about her focus on basketball. You’d told yourself over and over that it wasn’t about you—that she wasn’t ready for anything, not just you. But seeing her like this, so at ease, so perfectly content in someone else’s arms, shattered that illusion into a thousand irreparable pieces.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t ready. She just didn’t want you.

The realization hit you harder than any of the fights, any of the cold silences, any of the times she had pushed you away only to pull you back in. This was different. This was final. And it sent you crashing in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

The next few days passed in a haze. You couldn’t bring yourself to eat, to sleep, to function like a normal person. Every time you closed your eyes, the image of her with that girl played on a loop in your mind. Her hand resting on her shoulder. The easy grin that you used to think was just for you. The sickening thought that this new girl got the version of Paige you’d always wanted but could never have.

Your friends tried to help. They texted, called, even showed up at your apartment uninvited, but nothing seemed to pull you out of the spiral. You were stuck, trapped in the memories of what could have been, haunted by the ghost of what never was.

And Paige? She was fine. She was more than fine. While you were unraveling, she was out there, living her life like nothing had happened, like you had never happened.

It wasn’t fair.

You replayed every moment in your head, dissecting every word, every touch, every promise she had made and broken. You thought about the nights she’d held you, the mornings when she’d whispered things you now realized she didn’t mean. You thought about the times she’d called you "important," like that word was supposed to mean something, like it was enough to keep you tethered to her while she gave you nothing in return.

The more you thought about it, the angrier you got. Not just at Paige, but at yourself. How had you let it get this far? How had you let her take so much of you, only to leave you with nothing?

But even as the anger simmered beneath the surface, it couldn’t erase the pain. Because no matter how much she hurt you, no matter how many times she let you down, a part of you still wanted her. You hated yourself for it, but it was the truth.

She was the love of your life—or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourself. And now, as you watched her move on so effortlessly, it felt like you had lost not just her, but a part of yourself.

You thought about the nights you’d spent together, the dreams you’d secretly dared to have, the way she had made you feel like the center of her universe, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You thought about the way she’d look at you sometimes, like you were the only person in the room, and you wondered if she ever looked at her new girlfriend like that.

The jealousy burned, but it was nothing compared to the ache of knowing you weren’t enough.

And that was the hardest part. Not the fights, not the breakups, not even seeing her with someone else. The hardest part was realizing that no matter how much you loved her, it was never going to be enough. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.

But you still saw her everywhere. In the songs that played on the radio. In the basketball games you couldn’t bring yourself to watch anymore. In the small, stupid things that reminded you of her—like the way she used to steal the last piece of pizza or the way she’d hum under her breath when she thought no one was listening.

You wanted to hate her, to erase her from your mind and move on with your life. But how could you hate the person who had been your everything, even if only for a little while?

So you sat with the pain, let it wash over you like a tidal wave, drowning in the memories of a love that had never really been yours. And for the first time, you let yourself admit the truth: Paige had been the loss of your life. And no amount of time, no amount of distance, was ever going to change that.

PRESENT

You’re standing there, caught in the pull of her gaze, the space between you both charged with unspoken words. It feels like you’ve been here a thousand times before, standing on the edge, your heart teetering between wanting to stay and knowing you should walk away.

Paige’s hand still grips your wrist, and the simple touch feels like a tether. A lifeline. But you know better than to think it’s something more. She’s always been like this—holding on just enough to make you feel wanted, but never enough to pull you all the way in.

“Are you really fine?” she asks, her voice lower now, softer, like she’s trying to break through your walls. Her thumb moves in slow, deliberate circles against your skin, and for a brief moment, you feel the weight of the last few months—how everything has spiraled, how much you've tried to hold it all together.

You want to scream, to ask her why it’s always been this way, why she makes you feel like you’re the one losing the fight when you never even had a chance to begin with. But instead, you swallow it all down, pushing the rawness deep inside, out of sight.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, and this time, it sounds almost like a plea. A hope that if you say it enough, you’ll start to believe it.

Paige doesn’t let go. She studies your face like she’s looking for something—some crack in the surface that would make everything make sense.

You hate how easily she does it. How she makes you feel like you could fall apart right here, and she’d still somehow be the one holding it all together.

But she’s not the one holding the pieces anymore.

“Don’t do that,” Paige says, her voice a little rougher now, her grip tightening just slightly. “Don’t close off from me. We’ve never been good at that.”

You can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes you. “We’ve never been good at anything,” you snap, but the words feel too raw, too real for this moment.

She flinches, just barely, but you see it. You see the way her shoulders tense, the way her jaw clenches. It’s a reaction you’re so used to by now—the shift in her, the way she pulls back whenever you push too hard, whenever you force her to confront the mess between you two.

But this time, there’s something else in her eyes. Something you can’t quite place. Maybe it’s guilt, or maybe it’s regret. But it’s there, lurking beneath the surface, and it stirs something in you.

“I didn’t mean that,” you add quickly, your voice softer now, almost apologetic. But the damage is already done. The walls between you, the ones you’ve spent months building and reinforcing, are beginning to crumble.

Paige shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “You never do.”

You don’t know what to say to that. The truth is, you’ve always known. You’ve always known that Paige was never going to be the one who could fix this. Fix you.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a beat, and the words hang in the air between you like a promise you both know she can’t keep.

It’s the same thing she’s always said. The same thing she said when she left. The same thing she said when she came back. And each time, it meant less and less.

You swallow hard, blinking away the sting in your eyes. “It’s fine,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow. Because it isn’t fine. It never will be.

Paige looks like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she leans in, her lips brushing against your cheek in a fleeting, soft kiss.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

And just like that, everything falls back into place, if only for a moment. She pulls away, her hand still around your wrist, keeping you there, keeping you close—but not close enough.

You don’t know what’s worse: the way she makes you feel like you’re everything she’s ever wanted, or the way she makes you feel like you were never really a part of her at all.

You look into her eyes one last time, and for a moment, you see something there—something that makes you think maybe, just maybe, she feels it too.

But before you can get lost in it, she’s already pulling back, walking away. And you’re left standing there, once again, at the edge of it all.

The gym feels cold now. The bouncing basketballs echo through the space like the rhythm of your own heartbeat—distant, unsteady, and out of sync with everything else.

And in that moment, you realize something.

You’re never going to be okay with this. Not really.

But you’ll keep pretending, even if she has a girlfriend. Even if you've "moved on". Because that’s all you know how to do.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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yanderelionwrites · 3 months ago

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I'll Stay Here - Yandere!Leona x Reader

Content Warning: (soft) yandere, implied kidnapping/captivity, I fear the Stockholm Syndrome has ARRIVED

Word Count: 607

(Again, kind of a part 3 to this, but can be read on its own)

You really need to stop forgetting your things in Leona’s room. Luckily, he doesn’t mind you coming and going, but it’s still a pain to have to walk all through the palace to get there.

You’ve been keeping him company as of late, just sitting in his room while he naps or plays chess, meaning you like to bring your own stuff over to entertain yourself. Today, you left behind a book you were reading earlier, so you thought you would pop by really quick and take it back. Even though it was late in the evening, Leona would most likely be taking a nap right now, so he wouldn’t even bother with trying to engage with you.

Poking your head into his room, you confirm that he’s asleep before tip-toeing over to the table you left your book at. You grab it and turn to sneak back out, but you stop yourself when you glance at Leona’s face.

His expression appears so…soft. Free of the stresses his family, the servants, or even you sometimes cause him. He looks the most at peace he’s ever been…

It makes your heart swell, which is very alarming because you’re supposed to hate this man. And yet, despite it all, you still find yourself drawing nearer to him. Just to get a better look.

Leona sleeps soundlessly on his stomach, with his arms hugging the pillow his head is buried in. You can’t help but smile at the way his ear twitches; he looks like a napping kitty. It’s such a stark contrast to how he acts when he’s awake.

This is so frustrating… One minute you feel like you wish you never met Leona, and other times, you’re thinking it’s not so bad staying here with him. You have everything you need, and anything you want (other than freedom) can be given to you when asked. And Leona himself isn’t awful to be with… He makes sure you’re taken care of and remains respectful around you.

But do you love him enough to want to stay?

…You don’t want to admit you don’t hate him anymore.

Inching ever so closer to his sleeping body, you tentatively reach out to brush a strand of hair out of his face.

You shouldn’t…

Hesitantly, you lean down so that your face is hovering right over the crown of Leona’s head. You place the quickest and gentlest kiss on top of his hair, before immediately withdrawing from him. Trying to leave like you were never there, you turn towards the exit, but jump when a hand grabs your wrist.

A small yelp escapes your lips as you’re pulled backward onto Leona’s bed. Arms wrap around your waist, not too tight but firm enough to let you know that you won’t be leaving anytime soon.

“L-Leona?!” is all you can stutter out, hands uselessly pushing at his arms.

“Just stay here…please,” he utters into your ear, voice husky and surprisingly pleading.

“...Only for a few minutes,” you relent, letting him pull you against his chest.

A few minutes is all Leona needs. He’ll take what he can get.

He feels you relax next to him, and he couldn’t be more content. This was only a small step towards the future he envisions for you both, but it was still important progress. Leona bets you don’t even know how much he’s been holding back, how much of his feelings he’s repressed to make sure you’re comfortable here first. But with this small gesture, you’ve opened the doors to so much more.

You’ve walked into the lion’s enclosure, and there’s no getting out of it now.

~~~

Probably the last part to this little series. I've been cooking up something Savanaclaw related though, so stay tuned for that 👀

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

#yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere leona kingscholar x reader #soft yandere #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

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cowboy1ikereid · 4 months ago

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the archer ~ s.r.

‘Dark side, I search for your dark side, but what if I'm all right, right, right, right here?’

Summary: When you focus so much on wanting to care for Spencer that you begin to lose yourself, and he notices.

Warnings: fem!reader x post prison!spencer, references to ptsd, reader bottles up her emotions and needs a good cry, spencer confronts her and then comforts her, a tiny bit angsty but mostly comfort, established relationship, spencer is a sweetheart who just wants you to communicate with him, reassurance, pet names (honey/sweetheart), reader is the archer coded, inspired by the archer by taylor swift

Category: Angst x Comfort

Word count: 1.3k

Author's Note: This is my first ever one shot/fic that I've ever uploaded, so please be kind and I hope you enjoy!! Feel free to leave me any advice. ily <3

It had been four months. Four months since Spencer Reid had last set foot into the BAU. Four months since he had been arrested in Mexico and sent to prison. Two months since you had seen him during the visiting hours when it was your turn.

He’d looked so worn down. Completely broken, and it broke your heart. You never imagined seeing him like that. Not the nerdy, sweet and intelligent man you’d loved so dearly. He became an entirely new person, but you didn’t treat him as such. You’d been your bubbly, cheery self as always. The happy mask slipped onto your face almost too easily considering your boyfriend was in a maximum security prison, and Spencer knew that. He knew you weren’t being genuine, but he didn’t have the energy to call you out on it. When you’d returned back to your shared apartment after the visit, you’d broken down that night, sleeping in his shirt and drinking from his favourite Doctor Who mug. He hated it when anybody else used his plates, cups or cutlery, but with you, he never seemed to mind… not when he was around, anyways. It was no different to a kiss, you’d supposed.

But that was two months ago. Now, Spencer had been free from prison for a month, and he was still adjusting to normal life. He was constantly on edge, and he couldn’t take showers by himself anymore. Not unless you were there. Whenever he ate, he wolfed his food down like he was afraid somebody would take it away - like somebody was about to tell him that lunch time was over. His life had been completely flipped around when he’d gone to prison, and you’d wanted to make sure everything was the same when he returned home. You wanted his surroundings to feel familiar. No more unnecessary change. But you were starting to think it wasn’t working.

Trying to keep so happy all of the time was taking a toll on you, but you were trying to do it for Spencer. He had enough on his plate, and the last thing he needed was to deal with your struggles, right? You thought that he was too absorbed with his own issues to notice yours, which you’d decided were much less serious in comparison, but he had noticed the darker side to yourself that you tried to keep under wraps.

You were reading a book on the sofa, glasses perched on the tip of your nose, hair thrown up into a ponytail and one of Spencer’s sweaters hanging off your frame when he approached you.

“Honey?” He said softly, sitting down next to you on the sofa and drawing your attention from your book. You looked up to him quickly, eyebrows slightly furrowed as you hummed in response. “Can I talk to you?” He continued, placing a hand on top of yours comfortingly. Just from his tone, you could tell it would be a serious conversation. One that you weren’t sure that you were prepared to have, but you accepted anyway. If he needed you, you’d be there for him. No matter what.

“Of course. Anything.” You nodded, unintentionally releasing a deep sigh.

"Are you okay?" He said simply, his hazel eyes showing concern. You bit your lip, unsure of how to answer. He was a profiler, after all. If you lied to him, he'd be able to tell instantaneously. But you didn't want to worry him. That was the last thing he needed right now. You didn't trust your words, and so you nodded sheepishly, not seeming too sure. You used to vent to Spencer all of the time before he went to prison, but now you were aware that he had problems of his own to deal with, and to you, your own seemed far less important in comparison, so you bottled up your feelings and acted like you were fine, even if you weren't.

Truth be told, you didn't even know why you felt so down. It had just been a tough few weeks with Spencer returning and being so different, but that wasn't his fault. Life in general was catching up to you, and it was exhausting.

"Words?" He sighed, "Look, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. You know that I won't make you, but.. I'm worried about you, okay? I know that you're not okay, and I'd appreciate it if you could stop acting like you were." Spencer said, with warm eyes and a soothing tone. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to say, and it always managed to surprise you even though he had an IQ of 187.

You didn't want to talk about it, not right now. You weren't ready to. But you were fully prepared to remove the mask that you'd been wearing in front of him for months. You looked to the side, and then back at him with your bottom lip trembling, not wanting to speak and instead letting your actions do the talking by shifting towards Spencer and leaning into the warmth of his body, where he opened his arms and wrapped them around you tightly, resting his head on top of yours so he could smell your sweet vanilla scented shampoo. Some things never changed. You tucked your head into the crook of his neck, and he could feel the dampness of your tears that you were finally able to let loose.

The dam had finally burst, and you cried it out. You cried it out in Spencer's arms for a good half hour, and he let you, whispering sweet nothings and stroking your back comfortingly, not letting you go.

Eventually, when you were ready, you pulled away slightly but not fully, one of Spencer's arms still around you as he looked down at you, your eyes swollen, red and puffy. Your cheeks were tear-stained, but he was quick to wipe them with his thumb.

"Are you ready to tell me why you've been bottling up your emotions lately?" Spencer asked, although he had an inclination as to why.

You sniffled and nodded, wiping your runny nose with the sleeve of your sweater Spencer's sweater. It was probably gross, but he'd seen you at your worst, and this wasn't even close to it.

"I'm sorry, okay? I just.. I-.. you've had so much going on lately, and you don't need my problems on top of your own-" You said, but he quickly cut you off.

"Don't say that," He shook his head, "I will always be here for you to talk to. I don't care if you think I have too much going on, okay? That isn't your decision to make. We're in a relationship, sweetheart. I understand that you're trying to do what's best for me, and I love you for that, but what we have is mutual. That means we share things with each other. We communicate our feelings with each other. You don't keep them bottled up just because you think that what you're doing is right. I know that I've been through a lot in these past months, but I don't want us to change because of that." He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his words soft-spoken and gentle, like he always was with you.

You let out a teary chuckle. "You always see right through me."

"I can see through almost anyone, honey. You can't bottle up your emotions forever with a profiler as a boyfriend." He teased.

You smiled a little before your tone grew insecure and serious once more.

"...you're sure you don't mind?" You asked, wanting reassurance.

"Of course I don't," He kissed your forehead and pulled you in for another hug, resting his head on top of yours once more. "All of these problems we have... we can work through them together. One step at a time. It's us against the world."

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citysuk · 6 months ago

Text

innocence of love | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

summary: Is it too late? Will you forgive him? Are you still in love with him? Remus' mind won't stop repeating those questions in his head. He must find you and hear it from you.

words: 2,1k

notes: i love these babies SOOO much, they're literally my children. i took a little time writing it but it's finally here. hope you guys enjoy it 🥹🥹

warnings: ANGSTYYYY, but so much fluff at the end, i just- ADORE THEM SO MUCH. no use y/n but no oc neither. no proofread.

part 1 | guilt and shame

(could be read as a stand alone too)

As the night progresses, Remus finds himself thinking about your confession. He's spent the evening with his best friends, their conversation and humor managing to lighten the mood somewhat, but he can't shake off the heaviness he feels in his chest.

He finds himself wandering the castle, not quite ready to retire to bed, when he spots you walking down one of the corridors. The sight sends a pang through his heart and he hesitates for a moment, summoning up the courage to approach you.

He takes a breath, steeling himself, then steps towards you. As he draws closer, he takes in your form, his heart pounding in his chest. When he's a few steps away, he calls out quietly, his voice hoarse.

"Hey..."

You look up, surprised by the sound of Remus's voice. As you turn to face him, you see the weariness in his eyes, the struggle clear on his face. He stops a few feet away, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding your gaze, unsure of how to start.

He clears his throat, still looking down at his feet as he speaks, his voice slightly shaky. "Can I... Can I talk to you for a moment? I know it's late, but...I just really need to say something."

You notice the tension radiating off him, the way he fidgets, the uncertainty in his tone. You haven't seen him like this before. Nervous to the core, just like you. Curious and a little worried, you nod. "Oh, yes. What is it?"

His gaze finally meets yours, the raw vulnerability in his eyes clear. He takes a deep breath, struggling to find the right words. "I... I need to apologize. I've been an idiot. I know that. I thought I was doing the right thing, sparing you from... from me."

He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. "But... but I realize now that it wasn't my decision to make. I had no right to push you away like that. I should've trusted you, trusted your decisions, your... your feelings."

He takes a step closer, his eyes begging for understanding. "I never meant to hurt you. I was just... I was just trying to protect you. But I see now that I was really just being selfish, making decisions for you that weren't mine to make. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. That's not how you treat someone you..." He trails off, the word ‘love' hanging unsaid between them.

"I don't understand. What are you trying to protect me from, Remus? Your feelings?" You say clearly confused by Remus' words.

Remus hesitates, the truth on the tip of his tongue. He can't bring himself to look directly at you, not yet. "No...No, not my feelings. I mean, yes, my feelings... But that's not all. It's much more complicated."

Remus sighs, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. He knows he has to explain, but he hates the thought of having to lay out all his secrets. "It's... It's not just my feelings. It's everything. It's who I am, what I am. There are things about me... Things you don't know. Things I'm scared to tell you."

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and regret. "You see, there's a part of me that I can't control. A part that... that's dangerous. A part that I'm terrified of could hurt you. I didn't want to put you at risk, that's why I tried to push you away. That's why I thought it would be better if..." He trails off again, unable to say the words aloud.

You come closer to him and grab his face in your hands, looking at him right in the eyes. "What could be that dangerous about you?"

Remus's breath hitches as you place your hands on his face, the warmth of your touch sending a shiver down his spine. He can't help but lean into your touch, the comfort it offers is a stark contrast to the turmoil he's feeling inside.

His voice is barely above a whisper as he finally speaks, the confession tearing at his heart. "I'm a monster. A real, actual, literal monster. I'm not like you, not like any of the others. There's something that... that happens to me. Something that I have no control over." He swallows hard, the admission taking all his strength. "I transform. Every full moon, I transform into something terrible. I can't stop it. I've tried. I've tried everything. And I'm... I'm scared. I'm scared of what it does to me, of what it could do to you, if you got too close."

He reaches up, gently grasping your wrists and pulling your hands from his face. He holds them in his own, his grip desperate, almost desperate enough to hurt. "You don't understand. The thing I become... it's dangerous. It's violent. It's... it's capable of things you can't even imagine. And I can't let it hurt you. I won't let it hurt you. So that's why... that's why I had to push you away. I had to keep you safe from me."

He looks down at your hands in his, the sight of them intertwined a stark reminder of the connection between you. He's torn, pulled between the part of him that aches to be close to you and the part that's terrified of what being close might bring. "I don't want to keep hurting you. But I don't know what else to do. I can't change what I am. I can't change what I'm capable of. And I can't... I can't put you at risk like that."

His voice breaks a little as he speaks, the pain evident in his tone. He looks back up at you, his eyes filled with conflict. "You make me... You make me feel things that I've never felt before. You make me happy, you make me want things I can never have. But I can't... I can't get that close to you. For your sake, for my sake, for everyone's sake. If something ever happened... if I ever hurt you..." He lets out a bitter laugh, a sound edged with despair. "I would never forgive myself. I'd rather have you hate me than risk seeing you hurt because of me."

He lowers his head again, his grip on your hands tightening. "Can you understand that? Can you try to understand why... why I did what I did? Why do I have to keep pushing you away, even though it's killing me?"

He waits for your response, his heart thundering in his chest. He's laid out his secrets, his fears, his guilt. Now it's up to you to react, to accept him, to forgive him, or to turn from him in disgust. He steels himself, bracing for the worst, praying that you'll see past his monster to the boy beneath.

His eyes plead with you, searching your face for any sign that you can see the truth behind his words. But he also braces himself for the worst, waiting for the blow that could shatter what's left of his heart into a thousand pieces.

You are completely silent for a moment as you process everything Remus has told you. Your heart aches for him, in a mixture of compassion and grief at what he must go through. And yet, the love in your heart doesn't waiver, if anything it becomes stronger. When you finally speak, your voice is calm and steady, belying the turmoil of emotions within you. "I... I can't say I understand everything you're going through. But I do understand your fear. I understand your guilt. I understand why you pushed me away." You take a step closer to him, your hands still in his. You look at him intently, your eyes locked on his. "But I also understand this: You're not a monster, Remus. You're scared. And you're hurting. But that doesn't make you a monster. It just makes you human."

He looks at you in surprise, not quite believing what he's hearing. He opens his mouth to speak, to protest, but you shush him gently. "You're not a monster, Remus," you repeat, the voice softer now. "And I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

He swallows hard, the emotions he's been holding back threatening to overwhelm him. A single tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek. You grab his hands again. "How can you say that? After everything I've told you? After everything I've done? How can you... How can you still care?"

You sigh, a tender smile on her lips. You reach up, wiping the tear away with your thumb. "Because I love you, Remus. Despite everything, even though you've been an idiot, a stubborn git, and a complete fool... I love you. I'll ever do."

He draws in a sharp breath as he hears the word 'love'. He looks at you, disbelief and hope warring within his heart. "You... you still love me? Even knowing what I am? Even knowing what I'm capable of?"

You nod firmly, gaze unshaking. "Yes, I do. I do. I love you for who you are, Remus. All of you. Even the parts you think are monstrous. They're a part of you, and I love you for that. I love you for your strength, your bravery, and your courage in the face of your fears. I love you for the boy you are, not the wolf you turn into."

He can't stop the tears from falling now, cascading down his face in silent streams. He reaches out for you, pulling you into his arms, holding you close. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his body shaking with silent sobs. He whispers the words into your skin, his voice choked with tears. "I... I don't deserve you. I don't deserve your love."

You wrap your arms around him, the embrace tight and comforting. "Yes, you do. You deserve all the love in the world, Remus. And I'll give it to you, if you'll let me. I'll give you all my love, my understanding, and my support. I'll be here for you, always."

He shivers against you, your words and touch soothing him, calming the storm that has been ravaging his soul. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, his own filled with awe and gratitude. "I... I don't know what to say. I don't know what I did to deserve you."

You smile at him, hand gently tracing the lines of his face, wiping away the tears. "You don't have to say anything, Remus. You don't have to do anything. You just have to be here, with me. And I'll do the rest. I'll prove to you every day that you're worth loving, that you're not a monster, that you deserve happiness and peace and comfort and love."

He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers tracing her features in turn, as if he's trying to commit every inch of her to memory. He leans in, pressing his forehead against hers, his eyes closing as he memorizes every detail of the moment. "I'm a fool. I'm a complete and utter fool. I almost let you go. I almost let my fears and my guilt drive you away from me."

You pull back slightly, your hands still framing his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks softly. "But you didn't. You're here now. You're here with me. And I'm never letting go. I'll fight for you, Remus. I'll fight your fears, your guilt, your monsters. I'll fight for us."

He smiles through his tears, his heart overflowing with feelings he can't even begin to put into words. He pulls you closer again, holding onto you like you're the most precious thing in the world. His voice is a whisper, a prayer, a vow. "I love you, darling. With everything that I am. With every beat of my heart, every breath of my soul. I love you."

You melt into his embrace, the words you longed to hear since your heart first fluttered with love falling from his lips at last. "I love you too, Remus. With everything I am. With every fiber of my being. I love you now, and I'll love you until the end of time."

He smiles against your hair, his heart so full he feels like it might burst. He pulls you impossibly closer, his body aching with the need to be as close as possible. "Then you're stuck with me, forever. I'm never letting you go. Ever."

You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. "Good. Cause I wasn't planning on going anywhere. You're mine now, Remus Lupin. Stuck with me for the rest of your days."

#harry potter x reader #james potter x reader #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #harry potter #james potter

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skyfallscotland · 8 days ago

Text

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

"Remi for once can you please—" "Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Hello! After what we shall henceforth refer to as the Onyx Storm Incident, I did not know if I would ever write for this fandom again (yes, that was three days ago, I know, shut up).

Anyway, I figured I should try and push through my reservations early instead of letting my disappointment linger, so I set out to write a little palette cleanser. As usual I tried to write smut and ended up with four thousand words of feelings first 🤦🏼‍♀️

This is set in some sort of alternate (completely unbelievable) universe where Xaden never gave in to Remi's flirting when she was a first-year at Basgiath (oh and he's not a venin) everything else is irrelevant, just go with it.

It's also basically straight up erotica, so explicit content! Not for minors! Minors DNI or whatever the fuck they say over here (I really should be posting all these on AO3, but that's for another day).

Finally, I'm sorry to all the teachers out there, I hate this kink too but it's minimally emphasised (they're still them) and it was what my girl Remi deserved—why should Violet get Professor Riorson and not her, the Queen of Tyrrendor, the Angel of Death? So here we are.

PS. Justice for chairs! Hopefully you can all visualise what's going on here 😂🪑

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

Fraternisation between cadets and those serving in higher chains of command, including the aggregate leadership cadré at Basgiath War College, is strictly forbidden. —Article Eight, Section One, The Dragon Rider’s Codex

I tap my foot against the floor, levitating my pen above my hand almost subconsciously as Professor Devera informs the rest of the cadets just how fucked we actually are. "Welcome to the new face of battle, where we are not only outnumbered in the sky but now equally matched on the field in terms of the skill of our opponents."

Equally matched? We're not equally matched, we're absolutely fucked. It's hard to find the energy to care anymore, knowing what awaits us. Maybe if I had a signet like Violet's, I would be in with half a chance at survival, but mending? Yeah. I'm screwed.

Heads drop in the rows ahead of us, like everyone else is reaching the same conclusion.

"With that in mind, the nature of challenges will change under the supervision of Professor Emetterio to include wielding in order to better prepare you for actual combat. Death is no longer an acceptable outcome when you face your classmates. The days of settling your scores on the mat are over. We need each and every one of you to survive to graduation.”

I scoff aloud, drawing more than one person's attention. Death should never have been acceptable. The military, the system gains nothing from it, it's just a senseless waste of life.

“Easy to say when you’re not facing Sorrengail,” Caroline Ashton calls out.

My lips tilt up. I hope she ends up facing my sister.

“We aren’t going to throw you to the wolves,” Devera tells her. “The third class you’ll be adding will be a hands-on approach to prepare you for signet-against-signet combat. You’ll have a rotating roster of professors to benefit from all signet types, and the Eastern Wing has temporarily loaned us their most powerful rider to start your instruction.”

Violet stiffens beside me and I frown, glancing over at her. The Eastern Wing…wouldn't that mean…

“And on that note.” Devera gestures to the door at the back of the room, and slowly, I turn. “Look who just arrived—everyone, welcome our newest member of your leadership team. Professor Riorson.”

My heart skips a beat and my lips begin to curve into the most self-satisfied smirk I've worn in a while. This is going to be fun.

Friday comes far too slowly for my liking, but finally it's our turn to head out to the Infantry Quadrant's outdoor amphitheatre. There's a skip in my step as we descend the stairs and Violet groans, eyeing me with disapproval.

"Remi for once can you please—"

"Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Ridoc snorts, bumping me with his hip as he passes.

I glance up from my feet, taking in the man standing dead centre in the base of the amphitheatre, his impatience clear. His arms are crossed over his chest and his usual dark stare is ever-present as he watches us, waiting.

"This is incredible." Sloane is saying ahead of us, commenting on the weather and the temperature inside the amphitheatre's wards. It is warm in here and as Professor Riorson's eyes dart up to lock with mine, I shrug my arms out of my flight jacket. My pulse jumps at his continued attention and slowly I shake the snow from my braid.

"You're right, Sloane." I smile, running my hand over my hair. "It's so warm in here." I reach for the bottom of my shirt and draw that up too, pulling it over my head to leave me in just my leather pants and armoured corset.

"Remi!" Violet hisses and I smile innocently.

"What?" I lift a brow. "You don't want me to pass out, do you Vi?" She grumbles something about knocking me out, which I promptly ignore, dropping my things in the first row of stone seats beside our classmates.

If there's one thing my sister has always hated, it's my infatuation with Xaden Riorson. I suppose that's fair, given she shares a mind with him at times, but it does nothing to discourage me. If I see something I want, I go after it and I've wanted Xaden Riorson ever since I first laid eyes on him all those years ago at parapet.

Too bad he doesn't want me just as badly.

“Welcome to your first session of Signet Sparring, in what I like to call the pit.” He announces as we reach the base of the steps.

"Ominous." I mutter.

“Those who can wield, keep your feet on the rock but—and I cannot stress this enough—off the mat. Those who cannot, take a seat in the first row.” He gestures to the terraced stone behind us.

I assume it has something to do with the warding, so when Aaric and Lynx move to take a seat in the rows behind, I stand to follow.

"Remi Sorrengail!" Riorson calls. "I know you can wield."

I pause, turning slightly to arch a brow. "My signet is neither offensive nor defensive, sir." The slightest, most minuscule twitch jolts his shoulders at the word and I show him my teeth. "You wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you?"

An ember of desire flickers to life in my gut and I bite my lip, letting my eyes drag over him slowly from head to toe. The tight-fitting sparring gear is reminiscent of what he always wore in the quadrant when he was our wingleader, but the swords strapped across his back…they really add to it. It's doing something for me. A lot for me.

"I'll make sure you don't get hurt, Cadet Sorrengail." He reassures. "Take a seat. Now."

I hold his gaze for a moment, wishing he could read my mind and understand exactly what that tone is doing for me. For a second his eyes flare and then it's gone; his stony, unaffected mask falling back into place as he gestures to the first row where my sister waits.

"Whatever you say, sir." I simper, flopping down onto the stone.

"Sickening." Imogen mutters, rolling her eyes from my other side, and I grin. She's never liked my obsession with him either.

First wing begin to filter in, taking their places on the adjacent seating and Riorson's eyes dart left, then right. “Let’s go. It shouldn’t be this hard to sort yourselves out."

"You can sort me out—" All the breath rushes out of me in a wheeze as Imogen's elbow plants itself in my gut. "Ok." I cough, "understood." Violet stifles a laugh.

“You done gossiping among yourselves?” Riorson eyes First Wing with what I'd classify as menace.

“We were just saying that we’re not sure someone who graduated less than a year ago makes the best teacher.” Loran Yashil folds his arms.

I laugh aloud, drawing the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. "Because you've been doing so well with Carr." I comment. "How many dark wielders do you think he's fought? Hiding back here behind the wards like a coward?"

"Remi!" Violet groans, though the chastisement holds no sting—I know she agrees with me.

What follows is perhaps the hottest display of power and dominance I've seen in a long while. He barely lifts a finger taking the third-year down and then proceeds to do it all over again…and again, and again until there's no one left but my sister and I.

"Sorrengail, you're up!"

Violet and I glance at each other and she lifts a brow. I wiggle mine in return. Quickly, we both leap to our feet and stride onto the mat.

"I meant—"

"You should have specified then." I cut him off, drawing my daggers from my corset.

"I didn't speak in plural." He all but rolls his eyes.

"Well that's just cheating, you can't both—"

I throw my blade to the side, never once breaking eye contact with Riorson. "Shut up, Caroline!" I call. Who asked her anyway?

Drawing another dagger to replace the one I'd thrown, I let my hips sway as I stride down the centre of the mat, coming to a stop directly in front of him. "If you're too afraid to fight us both, just say Professor." I taunt. "I don't mind if you want to have our session one on one."

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly. "You're infuriating." He murmurs.

"I think you like it." I whisper, tongue darting out to wet my lips, and the ground rumbles. Lightning strikes overhead and he drags his eyes up from my lips, locking gazes with me as shadows rush out, blacking out the area entirely.

"Fuck." I mutter, taking a step back, entirely blind. I take another and another until I run clear into a hard chest and an arm brackets my middle from behind.

"What was the point of this, Sorrengail?" He asks. "If I were venin, you'd be dead right now."

"You're not venin." I counter breathlessly. "If you were, the distraction wouldn't have worked."

"The—"

Boom.

Lightning strikes mere centimetres to his left, shaking the ground, lighting up the arena. I tear myself free from his hold, ignoring the shadows that chase me, caressing my hair, my cheek—and grin slyly. "We win." I smirk as sunlight filters back through. "You'd be dead if she wanted you dead."

He frowns, like the idea of it is ludicrous. "You'd be dead. You would have died before me."

I shrug my shoulders. "And she'd be alive." I tilt my head. "Like I said. We win."

With that I turn and walk away.

"You really need to give it a rest." Violet sighs as she slings her pack over her shoulders, prepared to head down to Chantara with the others. "Remi, I'm…worried about you."

I huff, folding my arms over my chest. "Worried?"

"Worried." She confirms. "It's not healthy to go chasing after someone like this. He's not capable of loving you. There are plenty of people who—"

"Who said anything about love?" I interrupt. "I never said I wanted him to love me."

Violet looks at the ceiling like she's praying to Amari for patience. "You're you." She finally says softly, reaching out to take my hand. "I know you. You want love—and I know him—he's not capable of it."

I know she doesn't mean it critically, she's been orbiting him for quite some time now, her dragon being mated to his and all. So she knows him, better than I probably ever will as a result and she's probably right, but…

"Sometimes he looks at me and I think, just for a second…" I swallow hard.

Violet's expression softens. "I know, I see it too."

My face crumples. "Then why—"

"Because it doesn't mean he can, Rem." She squeezes my hand. "You've been chasing after him since the day you met and him liking you, doesn't mean he'll risk his heart and that's what he'd have to do—we're at war." My sister frowns. "It's all or nothing."

All or nothing.

"Fine." My voice cracks as I speak. "Fine. I get it."

My twin chews on her lip. "So you'll come to Chantara?" She whispers softly.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm going to see him, one last time." Violet's face falls. "I can do all or nothing," I whisper quietly, "but I need a chance to convince him it should be all."

"You've had—"

"No." I shake my head, my heart clenching in my chest. "I've joked and flirted and watched him spend hours of his time dragging you around, but I never made it clear…"

My sister breathes in deep, her shoulders rising like she's steadying herself. "He knows." She whispers, the words leaving her in a rush. "He knows, Remi."

I sit with that for a moment and then slowly, I nod. "Ok." I accept, my throat tightening.

"Ok?"

"Sure." I turn around, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "I think I'll stay here anyway." I try and force a smile, but I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "You go, Vi. Have fun with the others."

Her eyes are worried, but a lifetime of arguments and tears has told her when to push and when to leave well enough alone, so she leaves well enough alone. It takes a moment to collect myself, to pick the pieces of my heart up off the ground and place them back where they're meant to be, but when that's done and I've managed to still the shaking of my hands, I stand from the bed and head for the door.

If he doesn't want me that's fine, but he can tell me himself, one final time.

All or nothing.

I throw on my jacket and make my way down the hall, heading toward the school's academic wing. Pretty much everyone is either training or enjoying some recreational time, so I don't pass many people on the way there and when I raise my hand to knock, the hall is empty.

The door swings open with the help of lesser magic and I slip inside, not bothering to announce myself—the presence of a shadow curling up around my ankle tells me he knew exactly who was at his door before he ever opened it.

"Professor Riorson." I lift my eyes to his and attempt to shore up my resolve.

"Cadet Sorrengail." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "To what do I owe this visit?"

My heart pounds against my rib cage and my pulse flutters like a caged bird. There's a desk between us and metres of clean air, but it may as well be nothing. The atmosphere in the room is charged and I absently wonder if Vi warned him I might be coming.

"I…"

He waits, lifting a brow. "Yes?"

"I'm failing!" I blurt, suddenly losing my nerve. "I'm going to fail your class and I don't know how to…" His eyes hold mine, gold-flecked onyx practically smouldering.

"Try again." He instructs, lowering his hands to the armrests on his chair. He splays his knees casually, leaning back while his eyes seem to stare right through me.

"I'm sorry?"

His lips tilt up, just slightly. "That's not what you came here for." He shakes his head. "Try again and don't lie this time."

My mouth runs dry. Suddenly every conviction I had, every ounce of bravado flees my body and I want to be anywhere but here because I know…this is about to hurt. Having your heart ripped out always does.

"I…came to ask for an extra credit assignment?" I try again, clinging to the minuscule hope he might believe me. It's nothing Vi hasn't done before. Well, before Basgiath, but still.

Riorson smirks. "And your suggestion?"

I frown.

"You're the professor. Don't you decide…?"

The hair on my neck stands on end and I shiver as something brushes the end of my braid. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He murmurs and my eyes blow wide.

"Uh…" His lips tilt.

"Not that it matters, you're lying again."

My mouth falls open. "Ok, you can't possibly know that!" I hiss. "You're not an inntinnsic, you have no idea what I'm thinking!"

"I know you." He counters. "You expect me to believe you, Remi Sorrengail, came here for an extra credit assignment?" He shakes his head.

"You don't know me!" I frown. "I've barely even seen you since you graduated." And not for lack of trying. I've personally been deployed up and down the Eastern Wing, but every time we've been at the same outpost he's miraculously busy. Violet however, sees him all the time. A fact I've always hated.

"Why are you here, Remi?" He tries again, looking more amused by the second and I can just tell—he knows. It shouldn't be a surprise to me. I've never made my interest a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, but that doesn't lessen the disappointment that even after all this time he'll refuse to give me the time of day when I know he's attracted to me too.

I lock my jaw and scowl. "Is there an answer you'll believe?" I finally utter, shame and frustration colouring my cheeks.

"Not extra credit."

I guess the all or nothing is going to be nothing then. How disappointing. I turn on my heel, refusing to waste a second more of my time on someone who clearly doesn't appreciate me.

"Remi." He calls sternly, his shadows tugging on my braid, and when the door won't open I resist the urge to stomp my foot like a sullen teenager—I want out.

My throat tightens. "Yes, sir?" I grit my teeth, glancing over my shoulder and his expression shifts like he's only now recognising the finality in the air. No more flirting, no more games, no more anything.

He closes his eyes and I recognise the minute twitches of his brow—he's talking to his dragon. I yank on the doorknob again but it refuses to turn, keeping me trapped in a mess of my own making.

When he stands from his chair and rounds the desk, my heart begins to flutter with panic.

"Sit down." He orders and I blink.

"No."

I'd have said it anyway, just to be contrary, but this time I mean it. I don't want to be here anymore.

"Sit. Down." His voice lowers, taking on a frustrated, threatening tone and my lip peels back from my teeth.

"No."

Before I can reach for a blade to defend myself with, his arms are around my waist and he's lifting me into the air, carting me back toward the desk like a sack of grain. He kicks the chair before it out of the way with his foot and deposits me on the desk's surface, sending papers scattering.

When I lash out with my foot, aiming to kick him somewhere painful, he catches my ankle between thick, powerful thighs. "Stop." He warns, his tone glacial. "Look at me."

Fuck you. I think, and when I glance up there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Sor—Remi." He corrects, leaning in. He plants large, calloused hands on my knees, keeping my thighs apart as he steps between them, ensuring I can no longer lash out at him with my boot. As his fingers curl around my knees, he leans in close enough for our jaws to brush, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Sir?" My voice shakes and he all but groans.

He lifts a hand, tracing over my cheekbone with his thumb and my heart races. Each brush of his fingers, the feel of his stubble against my jaw, all of it—it sets my soul alight.

"Everything about this is inadvisable." He whispers, his voice gruff. "You are inadvisable."

I swallow hard. "So you've said." Never going to happen, he'd told me more than once while studying here.

"And yet…"

My muscles bunch, shoulders tensing. "…and yet?" I challenge, finally finding my voice.

He takes one breath and then another, and forces me to mourn the loss of his warmth as he steps away. "Article eight, section one—"

"You are not quoting the Codex at me!" I spit, eyes narrowing into a lethal glare as he takes another step. "You? Seriously?" Fury engulfs me, anger burning my chest with tendrils of white-hot rage. "You're a gods damned separatist, even now, Duke Riorson," I sneer, "and you're wedging the Codex between us?"

Of all things, of every excuse—

"You could be—"

"I'm exempt!" I throw my hands up, lashing out with my foot once more and growling with frustration as he halts it with his shadows. "Article eight, section one of the Dragon Rider's Codex states that calling cadets into active service in times of war may only be authorised by—"

"The Commanding General of Basgiath. I'm aware." He glares.

"So I'm no longer a cadet and I haven't been since July when they sent me to the front to mend." I point out.

"That's a technicality—"

"Oh so you're allowed to call technicalities and I'm not? Got it." I roll my eyes. "Just admit you don't want to fuck me professor and let's move on."

"In-ad-visable!" He yells, a deadly glare on his face and I jolt, rearing back a little. "If you were anyone else I'd have—" He seals his lips together and spins, facing the wall as he jerks a hand through his hair, gripping the dark strands roughly. I watch wide-eyed as his shoulders rise and fall, like he's short of breath.

"You'd what?" I whisper.

I don't dare move, frozen in place on the desk as I watch him, waiting with bated breath to see if he'll finally, finally tell me why. Why he refuses to see me as anything but Lilith Sorrengail's daughter, Brennan's little sister, Violet's twin. See ME, I want to scream at him. I deserve that.

When he turns, his eyes are dark and incensed. "If you were anyone else, I'd have bent you over that desk already and taught you a lesson."

My heart flies into my throat. "What?" It's barely more than a whisper leaving my lips.

He stalks back across the room, clearing the few feet he'd put between us, and slides his hand beneath my chin, long fingers curling around the back of my jaw to pull me in, tilting my face up to meet his. "You heard me."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "Wh…why not me?" I ask and embarrassingly enough, my voice breaks. "Why anyone but me? I'm—"

"Soft." His thumb drifts, brushing gently over my lips as he cups my jaw. "You have a soft heart, Remi Sorrengail, and I'm not the kind of man who can care for it."

I scoff, baring my teeth at him. "I'm a rider, same as you." I glare. "They don't call me the Angel of Death because I'm soft."

His hand slips, running back over my hair and down my loose braid. "Well they got the first part right." He murmurs, closing his eyes. I watch, taut as a bowstring as he takes one breath, then another. "Fuck." He mutters, face twisting up like he's in physical pain.

"Xaden?" I whisper, voice shaking.

"You have terrible timing." His hand tightens on my braid and then he's pulling, tugging me forward as he grasps my chin and seals his mouth over mine. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest tightens as he devours me, the hand on my hair sliding down to rest between my shoulder blades. His fingers splay as he pulls me in, holding me close.

His teeth nip at my lower lip and I gasp, tilting my head in submission as he slips his tongue into my mouth. Oh gods. I whimper, pressing myself further into his grasp as he kisses me thoroughly. A small sound of pleasure escapes my throat and he diverts his attention, nipping gently at my jawline.

His mouth moves right to the sensitive spot behind my ear, like he knows exactly where to nip, where to suck, where to pleasure to have me liquefy. His lips are warm against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "you choose now to take no for an answer?"

He worries the skin beneath it with his teeth and I moan, arching into him. "Y-ou didn't want me." I pant. "You've never—you—"

"I always want you." He growls. "You've been taunting me for years, angel." I gasp at the endearment, tilting my head to give him more access as he works his way down the column of my throat. "It's not a matter of want."

My fingers tighten on the timber of the desk behind me and I suddenly realise I no longer have to refrain from touching. Immediately I reach for him, slipping my hands beneath the leather of his flight jacket, running them up his sides to hold him to me.

"Then what?" I whisper, lifting a hand to rake through his hair, scratching my fingernails against his scalp as he sucks a mark into my throat. I want to touch him everywhere. "Xaden, please." I whimper, bringing my legs up to try and drag him closer. I need to wrap my thighs around him.

He groans, panting into my neck. "We should not be doing this." But he doesn't stop.

I gasp, arching upward so my chest brushes his as his fingers skate beneath the line of my corset. "You've yet to give me a good reason." I say, desire coiling low in my abdomen.

"I'm your teacher." He breathes, pulse skipping as I lock my ankles behind his lower back.

"And I'll be such a good girl for you."

Just like that, his control snaps. "Fuck, Remi." He pulls me forward forcefully, dipping his head to claim my lips once more. The kiss is deep and desperate, and I moan loudly into his mouth.

"So. Fucking. Tempting." His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly on the silver-tipped strands and I moan again, heart pounding as my skin gets hotter and hotter.

He kisses like a man possessed, holding me to him like he can't get enough and when we finally part for air again, it's all I can do to keep from begging. I grasp his hand, dragging it from where it rests on the side of my neck, down over my chest, past my stomach and to the button on my leathers.

He barely hesitates, slipping his hand beneath my waistband. I toss my head back, a small gasp leaving my lips as he slides his fingers over my clit and and back up again. "Gods," I whimper, "please."

"Please, what?" He whispers, slowly drawing his fingers through my arousal.

"Please, sir?" I gasp, leaning back to meet gold-flecked onyx. He chuckles.

"I meant what do you expect me to do with you, angel?" His thumb slowly circles my clit in soft, barely-there movements, "but the respect is a nice touch."

I swallow hard, a red flush spreading down my neck, but I have him right in front of me and I refuse to falter now. "Please make me come." I whisper and he groans, hips rocking forward reflexively. "I'll be good for you, I promise."

His eyes are so dark they're almost entirely black despite the light in his office, and he pushes my legs from his hips, spreading my knees further apart as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.

"These need to come off. Now." His hands are already moving, undoing the buttons and sliding my pants down over my hips, taking my underwear with them. I lever myself up on my hands as he drags them down and drops to his knees before me, fingers working on the laces of my boots.

He pulls them off one by one and dumps them on the floor, and when my pants are finally off and I'm half-naked on his desk, he tips his head back and stares. I flush deeper as he remains kneeling on the floor, slipping his hands up to cup my knees.

He rests his head on the inside of my thigh for a moment, his hair brushing my skin, and parts my legs further. Anxiety flares and I glance up at the door uncertainly, suddenly realising where we are.

"Is that door locked?" My heart skips a beat.

"Does it make you wet?" He murmurs, "the idea of being caught?"

I swallow hard. "No."

My heart flutters against my rib cage and his eyes soften, lips pressing gently to my skin. "It's locked, angel. No one's getting in." He places another careful kiss on my inner thigh. "No one can hear us. It's just you and me."

Something inside me settles and I relax enough to reach out, threading my fingers through his hair. "Ok." I murmur, admiring the silky strands as he moves closer, drawing in a sharp breath as he wraps strong arms around my legs and pulls.

"Xa-Xaden." I whimper as he lowers his mouth to my heat, parting his lips.

"What happened to sir?" He lifts a brow, glancing up at me, and my stomach swoops.

"Sir," I whisper, my voice shaking.

I watch as his mouth curves up in a smirk. "Better." He agrees, and lowers it to my clit.

"Oh, gods." I moan aloud as he seals his lips around it, wasting no time with foreplay. He flattens his tongue and I can't help but rock my hips, both my hands flying into his hair.

My back arches as he scrapes his teeth over me and I quickly slam one hand down behind me to keep from losing my balance, sending pens scattering everywhere.

"Look at you, making a mess." He murmurs between languid strokes of his tongue.

My chest heaves and I grip his hair tighter, trying to still the movement of my hips. "I'll make—a mess—of you." I pant, the last word pitched higher as he closes his mouth around me and sucks.

"Promises, promises." He murmurs as he drags his fingers along my inner thigh teasingly. "Are you going to come on my face, angel?" He asks, barely looking up as he slips a finger inside me.

I moan, arching as my heart pounds, desire coiling low and tight in my gut as I clench around his finger. "I—" I can't get a word out, entirely breathless as he sits back on his heels and waits, lips shining with the evidence of my arousal.

"Look at you." He whispers, lifting his thumb to swirl it around my clit. "So wet for me already."

"Yes," I breathe, curling my fingers tighter in his hair. "Always for you."

He drags his finger out and presses it back in again, eyes never leaving his hand. I squirm in place, wanting—needing—more. He thumbs at my clit almost playfully, finally looking up to watch my reaction and I whimper, screwing my own eyes shut.

"Can you take another for me?" He asks, moving his finger teasingly.

"I can take all of you." I whine, twisting with impatience. "I want your cock, please Xaden?" He lifts a brow and I already know exactly what he's going to say.

"Ask me nicely."

There it is. I swallow hard. "Please, sir?" I soften my voice, ignoring the embarrassment that flares in my chest. I'll beg if it gets me there. "I want to come on your cock."

"You will." He responds, stroking my inner wall with his finger. "Just not yet. Be a good girl and let me have my fun."

I manage to refrain from more than a single disgruntled whimper as he ignores my plea, starting circles with his thumb again. When he slides a second finger home beside the first and curls them up, I cry out, tugging on his hair to bring him close.

"Please, your mouth."

He flattens his tongue obediently and I gasp and whimper as he begins moving it over my clit in time with his fingers. He laps at me as he slides them in and out, curling them up to press against a spot that almost sends me over the edge.

"There! There, please!"

I decide I hate the desk. It's hard and uncomfortable, and it provides poor leverage, keeping me from rolling my hips or fucking myself against his face.

He swirls his tongue and presses his fingers up simultaneously, and the action takes me entirely by surprise, tossing me unceremoniously over the edge. "Xaden!" I cry out, jerking against him as I shatter, coming apart on his tongue.

His head is squeezed tightly between my thighs as I shudder, hips jerking, and he moans against me, sending my heart rate soaring as the vibration of it rumbles through my clit. I gasp, clenching my cunt down around his fingers.

I don't know where to look, what to hold onto as my pleasure rolls over me in waves. Sweat slicks my skin and when he finally pulls away, licking his lips in self-satisfaction, his eyes gleam. "I can't wait to get my cock in you."

I moan, tightening around the fingers still inside me. "You could have already been in me." I pant, whimpering as he finally rises to his feet, showing no signs of the difficulty I know I'd be experiencing if I were on my knees that long.

He slips his fingers free and brings them to his lips, holding my gaze as he licks them clean. My stomach swoops like I've done an aerial dive and my lips part, surprise and arousal no doubt written all over my face. Gods.

"Patience, cadet." He lectures, grasping my chin roughly. "You've been so good," he croons, leaning in to kiss me. "You don't want to ruin that now, do you?" When he slips his tongue past my lips, I can taste myself on him and I moan into his mouth, skin heating beyond comprehension. It feels like when I wield—all my power building up inside me, only now it's pleasure; building and building again until I'm ready to explode.

"We're going back to that?" I pant as we part. "You don't like your name on my lips?"

"I like you obedient." He fires back, his hand gripping the back of my neck. "You've spent years taunting me, having your fun at my expense. I think I'm owed some recompense."

I almost roll my eyes. Almost.

"You could have had me at any time." I whisper. "If you waited, that's on you." I tilt my head up, closing the gap between us myself for the first time as I kiss him sweetly. "Your room, mine, the sparring mats…" I murmur. "I've thought about us everywhere."

"And this…?" He asks, eyes heated. "What were you picturing when you came down here, all innocent, asking about extra credit?" His hands move to his own leathers and my heart skips a beat as he begins undoing buckles, removing his weaponry with quick, efficient movements.

"What were you picturing when you walked in here, Remi, and saw me sitting behind my desk?" He moves onto the button at his waistband, popping it open. I watch, breath hitching as he frees his cock, pushing his pants down slightly as he begins to stroke. "Was this what you had in mind?"

A small sound escapes me, more of a squeak than anything else, and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. He's…sizeable. He grasps the front of my corset, dragging me up off the desk, levering me to my feet. I tilt my head back to look at him, but our eyes only meet for a second before he's pushing, turning me around and down.

I catch myself on my hands, palms flat on the desk, fingers splayed wide and gasp as he presses himself in behind me, a hand grasping my braid. He leans down, mouth warm against my ear and says, "be a good girl and spread your legs."

I obey on reflex, but I'm certain my skin is so red it looks like I've reached burnout. "Xa-Xaden…" My fingers tighten on the dark timber and I gasp as he presses down on my spine, forcing my back to bow, lifting my ass against him.

"You look so pretty like this." He murmurs in my ear and I jolt as he drags a finger up through my folds, adding a second to gently hold me open. I can feel his fingers on my skin, hear the stroke of his hand on his cock as he prepares himself, but all I can see is papers and tomes.

I gasp as the head of his cock presses against my entrance, heart fluttering wildly, and as he starts to slowly push inside, I panic. "Wait!" I call, reaching behind my back, searching for his hand. "Wait, wait, wait." I pant, anxiety thrashing in my chest as he freezes, holding completely still.

His hand closes over mine, fingers threading between my own and I squeeze tightly, trembling in place. "Not like this." I swallow hard, shaking my head. "Not—" Before I can finish speaking he has me on my feet, spun around and held against him, his cock pressing against my stomach as he spears his hand into my hair, guiding my eyes to his.

"Remi?" He asks seriously.

My lip shakes and a small, mortified sound escapes my throat. "I want to see you." I whisper. "The first time…I want to see you." I want to look into his eyes. I want to see the way his brows knit, the way his lips part in pleasure as he drives into me. I want him to see me and know it's me and no one else. I want all of him.

His gaze softens and he dips his head, kissing me softly, his movements slow and languid. It eases the pressure in my chest, the small part of me that thought speaking up might be a deal breaker, and when we part he reaches down and lifts me off my feet, carrying me in quick strides to the chair behind his desk.

"Tell me if you want to stop." He murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my throat.

My knees settle on either side of him and I hover in place for a moment, waiting for his eyes to return to mine once more. "I don't want to stop."

Slowly, I sink down on his cock, holding his gaze as I take inch after inch of him until I finally have to close my eyes, tipping my head back in rapture. "Gods, Xaden."

He exhales slowly and his voice is strained when he speaks again. "So tight, Remi." He murmurs, lips brushing my cheek. "So wet for me."

I moan, tipping my head into his neck as he jerks his hips up, pressing against all the right places. The stretch is just this side of too much and it's exquisite and entirely worth the wait. I reach around him, gripping the back of his chair as I lever myself up and drop back down again, squeezing my walls tight around his cock.

"Good girl," he praises, sliding his hands up my spine as he encourages me to move.

I blink my eyes open, kissing my way up his jaw, sucking a mark of ownership into his neck. I want everyone to know exactly what he's been up to in here—I want them to know he's taken. I lean back until I can see him properly—see every minuscule expression as I gyrate on his cock. "I've wanted this for so long." I gasp. "Wanted you."

He lifts a hand, brushing my hair from my eyes and the other palms my hip, encouraging me to move. "I know." He murmurs, shadows slipping free from his control. "I know everything, Remi. All your wants, your needs, everything." Wisps of black curl up around me, brushing my skin, disappearing beneath my clothes. "I'm just as fucking obsessed with you as you are with me." My stomach swoops.

"Are you—" I gasp, arching my spine as something cold brushes lightly against my clit. "Is—is that?" I can't even get the words out I'm so short of breath.

"Me." He whispers, thrusting harder. "All of me, all over you."

I groan, tipping my face back into his neck as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on tight. I could interpret that very differently. "Do you want it harder, angel?" He murmurs, teeth nipping at my earlobe.

I nod furiously, panting as he snaps his hips up, pulling me down at the same time. "Please, Xade."

He sets a quick, unrelenting pace, slamming home inside me with the same desperation I feel, like he needs it—like he's a man starved. "You're so perfect, Rem." He praises, breath rattling out of him as his shadows circle my clit. They endless and determined just like him, slipping low beneath the neckline of my corset as he drives his cock into me over and over again.

"Are you going to come again for me?" He pants against my ear as I tighten around him. "Let me come inside you? Fill you up?"

"Yes, yes, yes—" The coil of pleasure building in my abdomen bursts and I cry out, holding on tight as fire floods my veins, nerve endings lighting up like a shooting star. "Xaden! Xaden—" I gasp and shudder, curling into him as he continues thrusting, chasing his own peak.

I'm so over-sensitised I can't help but whimper against his throat, my fingers tightening on his arms with every stroke. His thrusts grow less and less controlled as he hurtles toward the same cliff I'd just toppled over, and I clench down tight around him, sucking another mark into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"Fuck!" He curses, teeth lodging in my dragonscale armour as his hips give one final jerk and he spills inside me with a groan. His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my cheek and I smile softly to myself, keeping my eyes down. "Gods." He rests his head on my shoulder, arms curling around me to hold me close, and I do the same to him, my heart swelling in my chest.

I lie my cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. His breathing begins to even out, pulse slowing but I hold onto him just as tightly still, keeping him close.

My knees are beginning to ache and the width of his hips isn't exactly comfortable for mine, but I don't dare move, knowing the second I do this will be over and I'll have to face reality again—awkward, uncertain reality.

I'm just as obsessed with you as you are with me, he'd said—but is he really? That seems unlikely.

"Remi." He murmurs, his arms falling from my sides, and I bite down hard on the inside of my lip, throat tightening. "Angel, we can't stay like this." He chuckles.

"Yes we can." I murmur petulantly into his neck, not loosening my grip an inch.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes." He replies, hand firm in the centre of my spine, "and while I'm happy to work with my cock inside you, I don't share."

A barely audible sound of surprise lodges in my throat. "Share?" I ask quietly, a tendril of hope curling in my chest.

He tugs gently on my braid, encouraging me to lean back so our eyes can meet. "You're mine, Remi, and I don't share my things with anyone." He says sternly.

That kind of possessive alpha bullshit should not fly with me. If it were anyone else, I'd probably punch them square in the nose for their insolence and tell them I'm not an object, but he's not anyone else and for him…

"Yes, sir." I whisper, cheeks flushing, and he groans, hips stuttering below me as his body makes a valiant attempt at an encore.

"Remi!" He chides and my lips curl up in a smirk, emboldened.

"Was that enough for extra credit, Professor Riorson? Am I passing your class?"

"Fuck." He mutters, mostly to himself. "If anyone finds out—"

"I'm happy to warm your cock while you work," I murmur, "if you still think I need extra instruction."

"Remi!" He groans, lifting me off him completely. "You're going to be the death of me." I guess he wasn't kidding about having a meeting to go to.

He sets me on my feet and I stare up at him innocently, chewing on my lower lip. "I feel so empty without you inside—"

"For fuck's sake!" He curses, sending a shadow to curl around my mouth. I go to speak further, to taunt him again, and find the dark mass blocks all sound—I can't so much as whisper in his direction for as long as he can wield. I pout, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"How important is this meeting?" I sign, hands moving rapidly in the air. "I'll be lonely without your—" Shadows zip forward, swirling around my wrists to lock them tight together, binding my hands.

He finishes buttoning his pants and folds his arms over his chest, staring at my half-naked form in the middle of his office, completely unimpressed. "I suppose insecure Remi is gone then?" He asks, striding forward to cup my jaw with his hand.

That scores a direct hit and I guess he somehow knows it, because his fingers gentle as they tip my chin up. "Torment me in public and you won't like the punishment."

I'm absolutely certain I will.

Almost as if he hears my thoughts, his eyes narrow and he scowls. "I promise you won't, angel. I'll bring you to the edge over and over again and leave you there, bound and desperate while I get myself off—every day until you've learned your lesson."

I swallow hard.

"Thought so." He hums. "But if you're good, I'll help you come—on my face, on my hand, on my cock…over and over and over again." Onyx eyes glitter. "It's your choice, baby."

Baby. The word hits me like a punch in the gut and my chest tightens. "I can be good." I blurt the second his shadows disappear. "I promise."

"Good girl." The hand around my jaw curls up and he drags me in, dipping his head to place a soft, reverent kiss on my lips. "Go clean up and I'll see you tonight, Cadet Sorrengail."

I breathe in deep, a small smile touching my lips as I reach for my pants, hands shaking with relief. "Ok." His hand skates over my back as I finish dressing and he guides me toward the door to his office.

"And Rem?" He calls, halting me when my hand is on the doorknob. "That technicality is bullshit—it's not flying with anyone in leadership and you know it, so for fuck's sake keep this to yourself until this posting is over."

I bare my teeth in a grin, a joyful laugh bubbling past my lips. "Whatever you say, sir."

Who knew academia could be this satisfying?

#professor riorson (remi's version)#remi sorrengail; badass of navarre #xaden riorson: head of the remi sorrengail fanclub #onyx storm spoilers #fourth wing fanfic #basgiath (remi's version)

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