#but i wanted to make it slow and dramatic okay

[vacate-et-scire]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ "AT THE HANDS OF AN ANGEL"

Jason groans as he slumps onto the bed, face-first, with all the dramatics of a man twice his age. His jacket’s already discarded on the floor, his boots half-kicked off, and his entire body just radiates exhaustion.

"Fuck everything," he mutters into the sheets.

You lean in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with amusement. "Everything?"

"Everything. The city, the idiots running it, the dumbass informant who wasted my entire night—" Jason lifts his head just enough to glare at the ceiling. "And most of all? My goddamn back."

You bite back a laugh. "You sound like an old man."

He flops an arm over his face. "That’s because I feel like one."

"Jason, you’re not even thirty."

"I might as well be."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it. With a sigh, you push off the doorframe and crawl onto the bed, settling next to him. Your hand ghosts over his back. "Want me to fix it?"

He grunts. "If you can bring me back from the dead again, be my guest."

"Ha-ha." You press your palms into his shoulders, kneading gently. The moment you do, Jason groans—a deep, guttural sound that makes heat creep up your neck.

"Shit," he breathes, "yeah, there. Right there."

You smirk. "Big bad Red Hood, taken down by some muscle knots?"

"Shut up and keep going."

You do, pressing deeper, working out the tension in his shoulders, the knots along his spine. Jason melts. The tension in his body seeps out little by little, his breath slowing, his grip on the sheets loosening.

"God," he mutters, voice muffled. "Marry me."

You huff a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

"M’serious." He sighs, utterly content. "You wanna stop me from doing stupid shit? This is how you do it. Just bribe me with this."

"Noted," you tease, digging your thumbs into a particularly tight spot. Jason shudders.

"...Okay, but not like that," he mumbles. "I will fall asleep right here."

You roll your eyes, softening. "Good. You need it."

Jason hums, too relaxed to argue.

And yeah, maybe he's not old. But nights like this, when exhaustion weighs heavy and his body hurts, he thinks—if growing old means coming home to this, to you—

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

[navi-the-flying-bee]

Valentine's day

(a/n): okay. I know i am VERY late,but to arrive late is better than not arriving. So... Forgive me?

Characters: Atsushi, Fukuzawa, Dazai, Fyodor, Mori, Chuuya, Ranpo, Poe, Nikolai.

Warnings: use of y/n. This took me too long but mostly because i had writing block while writing it (which was a month ago? Or two?) then i had to drag myself to continue it.

Nakajima atsushi

Valentine’s Day at the Armed Detective Agency was… chaotic.

Not that you were expecting anything less.

You had no real plans for the day. romance wasn’t exactly your forte. You were more of a “wait until the 15th and buy discounted chocolate” kind of person. But apparently, Ranpo had figured that out.

And that was a mistake.

“You’re telling me,” he said, eyes gleaming like he had just solved the world’s greatest mystery, “that you, didn’t think ahead about Valentine’s Day? How tragic.”

You groaned, burying your face in your scarf. “Leave me alone. It’s a capitalist trap.”

Ranpo took a slow, exaggerated bite of the expensive chocolate he had somehow acquired (probably by guilting Kunikida into buying it for him). “Ooooh, Kunikida’s gonna lecture you again.”

And just as he said that-

“Y/N!”

You flinched.

There he was. Kunikida Doppo, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking every bit like a disappointed teacher about to give a very long lecture.

“As a member of the Agency, you should have at least some consideration for your coworkers,” he scolded. “Valentine’s Day is about appreciation, not just romance.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Kunikida blinked. “...Wait. Really?”

“Yeah,” you said, already sidestepping toward the exit, “I’ll write you all a heartfelt letter about how much I appreciate you later. Sound good? Okay, bye-”

“come back here-!”

You turned too fast and crashed right into Atsushi.

“Oh!, I was actually looking for you,” he said, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “I got you something.”

You blinked. “...For me?”

Atsushi held out a small box of chocolates, tied with a golden ribbon.

“Well… yeah,” he said, smiling shyly. “You always make sure everyone’s okay, so I figured you deserved something too.”

Your heart melted a little. “That’s-” You shook your head. “Atsushi, that’s unfair. Now I feel bad for not getting you anything.”

“No, no! It’s not about that,” he said quickly. “I just wanted to. You don’t owe me anything.”

You stared at him for a moment before smiling softly. “...Thank you.”

And that’s when it happened.

From across the room, Dazai smirked.

“How sweet,” he teased. “Ciel, did you just get a confession?”

You choked on your own words. “I- NO. Dazai, stop.”

Atsushi, now bright red, waved his hands wildly. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Dazai, clearly enjoying the chaos, dramatically clutched his chest. “Ah, young love! So pure, so fleeting-”

Ranpo, still munching on chocolate, leaned over. “Ten bucks says Kunikida tries to shut him up in the next five minutes.”

You scoffed. “Two minutes.”

And sure enough.

“DAZAI, GET BACK TO WORK.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi

Look. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to give President Fukuzawa something for Valentine’s Day. You just… didn’t know what.

I mean, what do you give someone so wise, composed, and effortlessly cool?

You couldn’t just hand him some cheap chocolates and call it a day.

“Just write him a letter,” Atsushi had suggested.

“Or get him cat-themed tea,” Ranpo had added with his usual knowing smirk. “He’ll love it.”

And that was how you ended up standing outside Fukuzawa’s office, holding a neatly wrapped box of cat-shaped tea bags (shoutout to Yosano for the shopping advice) and a small letter.

You hesitated.

What if this was weird? What if this was too much? What if he thought you were trying too hard?

Before you could spiral any further, the door slid open.

Fukuzawa looked down at you, calm as always. “y/n?”

You straightened up. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sir.”

His gaze shifted to the gift in your hands. “For me?”

“Uh… yeah.” You hesitated before handing it over. “It’s nothing special, just some tea. And, um, a letter. You don’t have to read it or anything-”

Fukuzawa accepted the gift with a small nod. “Thank you.”

You exhaled. “Oh. Cool. Okay.”

You turned to leave when-

“I will read it.”

You froze. “Huh?”

Fukuzawa regarded you thoughtfully. “You are an expressive person. If you took the time to write something, it must have meaning.”

Oh.

Your face suddenly felt warm. “I- Uh- Yeah, I guess so.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in an uncharacteristically soft tone, he added:

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

…

Did you just get praised by the President of the Armed Detective Agency?!

Atsushi and Kunikida found you five minutes later, sitting in the hallway, staring into space.

“She looks like she just saw a mythical creature,” Atsushi whispered.

“She basically did,” Ranpo replied, grinning.

Dazai Osamu

You messed up.

The second you hesitated in front of Dazai’s desk, you sealed your fate. Because that was all the invitation he needed to turn your day into a performance.

“Ohhh?” His eyes lit up with the thrill of chaos. “Could it be? y/n-chan, are you giving me a Valentine’s gift?”

And that was when you knew.

You were done for.

“No,” you deadpanned.

“What’s that in your hand, then?”

“Nothing.”

Dazai gasped. Full, dramatic, hand-to-chest levels of betrayal. “A confession?! Oh, Ciel, I’m flattered! But you should know, my heart belongs to the endless embrace of-”

“It’s chocolate, Dazai.”

He stopped mid-monologue. Just froze.

“Eh?”

With the patience of someone who had long accepted their suffering, you dropped the small box onto his desk.

“It’s just chocolate. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. And because if I didn’t get you something, you’d be insufferable about it.”

Dazai picked up the box, turning it over in his hands like it held the secrets of the universe. “So this is how much I mean to you, huh?”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Oh, I want it.” His smirk returned, far too pleased with himself. “I just didn’t expect you to be so bold”

You saw red. “I swear to God-”

“Did you put poison in it?”

“No, but I should have.”

“Ah, how cruel!” He collapsed against his desk like a tragic widow. “To think, my dear Ciel-chan, the one person I trusted, has betrayed me so—”

So you threw a piece of chocolate at his forehead.

It hit with a satisfying thud.

“Just eat it and shut up.”

And that should have been the end of it.

But then, Dazai looked at you, a real smile tugging at his lips.

Not the teasing kind. Not the act.

A small, genuine one.

“Thank you.”

…And for some reason-

That threw you off way more than the flirting.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You weren’t sure why you were doing this.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was stupidity. Maybe it was some self-destructive impulse that made you think, Wouldn’t it be interesting to see how Fyodor Dostoevsky reacts to a Valentine’s gift?

So now you were here. In a dimly lit room. Sitting across from him.

Fyodor watched you with an unreadable expression, fingers tapping lightly against his teacup. “A gift? For me?”

His voice was smooth, polite-like he already knew your intentions and was simply indulging you.

You cleared your throat and placed a small box on the table. “Yeah. It’s… nothing special. Just chocolate.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Ah. How thoughtful.”

He picked up the box, examining it with unsettling amusement. “Tell me,” he mused, violet eyes gleaming, “is this an act of goodwill? Or do you simply wish to see how I would respond?”

You hesitated. Damn it. He saw through you so fast.

“I mean…” You leaned back, crossing your arms. “Maybe both.”

Fyodor chuckled. “Honest. How refreshing.”

He unwrapped the box with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. “You intrigue me,” he admitted, plucking one of the chocolates between his fingers. “A human with a unique power… yet you walk willingly into the lion’s den.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re the lion?”

He smiled. a slow, knowing smile. “And what else would I be?”

Oh.

Oh.

You suddenly felt very, very aware of the fact that you had voluntarily given Fyodor Dostoevsky a Valentine’s gift. This was probably a bad idea.

He took a bite of the chocolate, his gaze never leaving yours. Then, tilting his head slightly, he asked:

“Tell me, … do you believe in fate?”

Your pulse quickened. “That depends,” you said carefully. “Are you about to make me regret this?”

Fyodor chuckled again, slow and deliberate. “Perhaps,” he murmured. “Or perhaps… this is just the beginning.”

You swallowed. Yeah. This was definitely a bad idea.

Mori Ougai

You would never give Mori Ougai a Valentine’s gift. Ever.

It wasn’t even about him being the leader of the Port Mafia-hell, you’d already given Fyodor chocolate, and he was arguably worse. No, Mori was just… dangerous in a different way.

The kind of dangerous that smiled too kindly while pulling the strings behind the scenes.

So imagine your absolute horror when you walked into your regular café, to your daily table and found a beautifully wrapped gift box waiting for you.

With a card.

Signed: Mori Ougai.

…You stared.

No. No, no, no. This was bad.

You immediately turned on your heel-only to find Mori standing right behind you.

“Going somewhere, y/n-chan?” he asked pleasantly.

You barely stopped yourself from jumping. “Nope.”

Mori smiled. Too kindly. “I heard you were handing out gifts today, so I thought I should return the favor.”

“…I didn’t give you anything.”

“Not yet.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m never giving you anything.”

Mori sighed dramatically. “Ah, so cruel. Even after I went through all this trouble?”

Your gaze flicked to the box. Suspicious. “Is it poisoned?”

He chuckled. “Now, now, what kind of man do you take me for?”

“The exact kind who would absolutely poison a gift.”

Mori only laughed. “It’s nothing dangerous, I promise. Just a small token of my appreciation.”

Yeah, right. That sounded ten times worse.

“…Appreciation for what?”

“For being so interesting, of course.” His smile widened. Too wide. “I do hope we continue to cross paths.”

You picked up the box like it might explode.

“Great. That’s definitely not ominous.”

Mori simply chuckled, stepping away. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear.”

You decided right then and there that you were never opening that box.

Nakahara Chuuya

You had debated this for days.

Giving Chuuya Nakahara a Valentine’s gift? Risky.

He wasn’t exactly the romantic type... well, not in the cheesy way, at least. And honestly? You weren’t even sure if he’d want chocolate from you.

But after hours of overthinking, you finally decided: screw it.

Worst case scenario? He’d mock you and move on.

Best case scenario? …Well, you weren’t sure yet.

So here you were, standing outside Mafia HQ, clutching a small bag of premium dark chocolate truffles and second-guessing your entire existence.

Before you could change your mind, the door swung open.

Chuuya stepped out.

And paused immediately when he saw you.

You blinked. “…Oh.”

He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” You hesitated, then just shoved the bag at him. “Here.”

Chuuya looked down at it, confused. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s-” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “It’s chocolate, okay? For Valentine’s Day.”

Chuuya stared.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into an amused smirk.

“Well, well,” he drawled, taking the bag. “Didn’t take you for the type to hand out gifts.”

You groaned. “If you’re gonna make this weird-”

“Nah.” He shook his head, opening the bag and popping a truffle into his mouth.

Immediately, his eyes widened.

“…Shit. This is actually good.”

You crossed your arms. “Of course it is.”

Chuuya chewed thoughtfully, then glanced at you. Something unreadable flickered in his gaze.

“…Tch.” He looked away, a little flustered. “Thanks, I guess.”

You blinked. “Wait, did you just-”

“I swear to god, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You grinned. “You totally just-”

“Shut up.”

You laughed, watching as he pointedly refused to meet your eyes.

For someone so tough.

He sure was easy to fluster.

Ranpo Edogawa

You should have known this would happen.

Giving Ranpo Edogawa chocolate on Valentine’s Day? That was practically signing up to be made fun of for the rest of your life.

But at this point, you’d already given chocolate to Dazai, Chuuya and Fyodor (questionable life choices). What was one more?

So you marched up to Ranpo’s desk, dropped the small box of sweets in front of him, and crossed your arms.

“Here.”

Ranpo didn’t even glance up from his snacks. “Oho? A bribe?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, you idiot.”

He finally looked up, grinning like the little menace he was. “So… a confession?”

You rolled your eyes so hard you saw the ceiling. “It’s just chocolate. Don’t make this weird.”

Ranpo picked up the box, turning it in his hands with a thoughtful hum. His green eyes twinkled like he was already three steps ahead of you.

“Hmmm… I already knew you were gonna give me some, of course.”

“Sure you did.”

“I did! After all, I’m the greatest detective in the world.”

You smirked, leaning forward. Oh, you were gonna enjoy this.

“Okay then, Mr. Detective.” You crossed your arms. “What flavor is it?”

Ranpo blinked.

You saw the exact moment the gears in his head stuttered.

“…What?”

“You heard me.” Your smirk widened. “If you’re sooo smart, you should already know what kind of chocolate it is.”

He squinted at the box like it might reveal its secrets if he stared hard enough. Then-without breaking eye contact. he popped the box open and ate one.

“Hazelnut.”

Your jaw dropped. “You-”

“See?” He grinned, smug as hell. “Told you I knew.”

“YOU JUST TASTED IT.”

“Still counts.”

You groaned, resisting every violent urge in your body.

“I should’ve given it to Kunikida instead.”

Ranpo was already reaching for another chocolate. “Nah. You like me too much for that.”

You did not dignify that with a response.

Edgar Allen Poe

You hadn’t originally planned to give Poe a Valentine’s gift.

Not because you didn’t like him. Poe was actually one of your favorite people. It was just that… well, you weren’t sure if he even cared about Valentine’s Day.

But then you thought about how happy he’d look if he received a gift.

And, well… how could you resist?

So you made your way to a quiet, dimly lit corner of Yokohama’s library, where Poe usually hid away to write. You found him at his usual table, Karl curled up beside him, as he scribbled something in an old notebook.

You placed a carefully wrapped package in front of him.

Poe jumped slightly, blinking up at you. “y/n?”

You grinned. “Valentine’s gift.”

There was a long pause.

Then-

“Karl! She brought me something!”

You barely had time to react before Poe snatched the package with surprising speed, unwrapping it as if it held some ancient secret.

Inside was a beautifully bound, leather-cover notebook with delicate gold-embossed edges.

Poe froze.

His hands trembled slightly as he picked it up, eyes scanning every little detail. “This is…” His voice was almost a whisper.

“I figured you might like a new notebook,” you said, shrugging. “Y’know, for all your writing.”

Poe slowly looked up at you.

You blinked.

Was he… tearing up?

“…Poe?”

“This is the most thoughtful gift I have ever received,” he declared dramatically, clutching the notebook to his chest. Karl squeaked in agreement.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad you like it.”

Poe nodded furiously, then froze-as if remembering something important.

“Wait here!” He rummaged through his bag, then returned holding a small, carefully wrapped package.

“For me?” you asked, surprised.

Poe nodded eagerly. “Karl and I prepared it just in case!”

You opened the package to find a collection of beautifully handwritten short stories, bound together in a small book. The title page read:

“To y/n, A Collection of Mysteries & Dreams.”

Your breath hitched. “Poe…”

He flushed slightly. “I, um… I hope you like it.”

You grinned, holding the book close. “I love it.”

Karl climbed onto your shoulder, squeaking happily.

Best Valentine’s exchange ever.

Nikolai Gogol

You knew something was wrong the second you stepped into the Agency.

Everyone was staring at you. Some with curiosity. Others cough Kunikida cough with visible irritation.

You blinked. “Uh… what?”

Dazai smirked, nudging you forward. “Why don’t you check your desk, (Y/N)-chan?”

A sinking feeling settled in your gut.

Slowly, you turned-

And froze.

Because sitting on your desk was a massive, gift-wrapped box with a tag that read:

“To My Dearest, From Your Secret Admirer (Guess Who~!)”

You felt actual fear.

“No.” You turned to the others. “I am not opening that.”

Ranpo, casually eating a snack, snickered. “Smart choice.”

Before you could destroy the box yourself, the lid burst open-

And out popped Nikolai Gogol.

“SURPRISE, MOYA LUBOOOOV!” he sang, arms spread wide.

You screamed. Kunikida almost had a stroke.

Nikolai cackled, hopping out of the box. “Did you like my present, my dear? A gift from the heart- ME!”

You stared at him in horror. “Get back in the box.”

“Aw, but I worked so hard on this!” He spun dramatically. “I even thought about filling it with doves-maybe a few fireworks, but apparently, that’s ‘too dangerous indoors’ or whatever.”

“You-” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What do you even want?”

Nikolai grinned. “Just your reaction, of course! And to see if you’d join my villain arc!”

You crossed your arms. “Hard pass.”

Nikolai pouted. “Booooring.” Then, with a snap of his fingers, he vanished.

You sighed in exhaustion.

Then, from somewhere above you, his voice echoed:

“Check under your desk, love~!”

You did not. You simply walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Help! I feel the writing block coming back again. So i may disappear till then if you have any questions or requests? You know where to send them. Anyway i am going to my corner rn. Bye..

[odileeclipse]

hii! could you do a smc x fem!reader x vp (poly bcs why not) who wears a kimono always bcs of her culture and could you possibly write their reaction to reader wearing casual clothes for just one day? ty!! a mini scenario and some hcs will do

The absence of your kimono’s weight feels almost unnatural, like stepping onto a stage without a costume. Even though you chose this, the shift is unsettling. You pause at the doorway, fingers twitching slightly at the unfamiliar fabric against your skin. Pure Vanilla Cookie is the first to notice, his eyes widening just a fraction before softening into something unreadable tender, but thoughtful. He closes the book in his lap without a word, standing up and approaching you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “You…” His voice is barely above a whisper, reverent in a way that makes your stomach twist. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales a quiet chuckle. “You look beautiful.” He reaches out, fingertips brushing the sleeve of your clothes not judging, just feeling, as if confirming you’re real. “Does it feel alright?” His concern isn’t about the change itself, but about you. Before you can answer, laughter spills from the shadows, light and almost mocking. “Well, well, well.” Shadow Milk Cookie lounges against his staff, a smirk curling his lips. “Has the grand illusionist finally cast aside their veil? Or is this just another trick?” He paces around you, slow and deliberate, like a cat circling something just out of reach. “I have to say, I never imagined I’d see you like this. It’s… disorienting.”

He tilts his head, studying you with his ever-watchful, mismatched eyes. Then, in a hushed whisper, he leans in close. “You look like someone I could almost mistake for ordinary.” The way he says it like it’s some kind of inside joke, a riddle only he understands sends a shiver down your spine. Pure Vanilla sighs, shaking his head but smiling nonetheless. “Shadow Milk, must you always be so dramatic?” “Must you always be so predictable?” Shadow Milk Cookie retorts with an easy grin. “Come now, I was the one blindsided today. Don’t I deserve a moment of theatrical grief?” You roll your eyes, finally finding your voice. “It’s just for today.” “Ah, so the stage resets tomorrow. Good, good.”

“But, I must admit… seeing you like this? I do like surprises.” His smile is sharp but genuine, like he’s enjoying this new puzzle you’ve given him. Pure Vanilla squeezes your hand, anchoring you in the moment. “No matter what you wear,” he says softly, “you’re still you. And I’ll always love you.” Shadow Milk Cookie hums, expression unreadable. “Hmm. I’d say something similar, but that would ruin the fun, wouldn’t it?” Even as he teases, there’s something else in his gaze, something thoughtful, almost possessive. He won’t admit it, but he likes knowing he’s seen you like this when no one else has.

Head canons

💛 Pure Vanilla Cookie

Doesn’t hesitate to reassure you. His first reaction isn’t shock it’s deep admiration.

Gently asks if you feel okay, not because he dislikes the change, but because he wants to know if you’re comfortable.

Loves the beauty of tradition but also loves seeing you explore new things.

If you’re uncertain, he’ll remind you, “You’re still yourself, and that’s what matters.”

His favorite thing isn’t the clothes it’s you.

🃏 Shadow Milk Cookie

Immediately makes a show of it. You’ve given him something new to latch onto, and he will not waste the opportunity.

Theatrical grief? Oh, absolutely. “My dear, I feel as though I have lost something irreplaceable!”

Won’t admit he actually thinks you look good at least, not outright.

The idea of you stepping outside of expectations? He loves it. You’ve intrigued him all over again.

A/N I finally got around to proof reading this enjoy <3

[usomads]

Slow Burn // Jimmy Uso x Reader

Author’s Note -> Hiiiii :) had this sitting in drafts so I decided to finish it… and I’m– 🤤. Will be working on more stuff in the coming days, so stay tuned! Also, my lovely friend @zyvngi made this clip and I just… yeah there was no way I wasn’t using it lol. As always, happy reading y’all!

Pairings -> Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings -> Fluff (if you squint), Cursing, Drug Use (Weed), P in V, Not Proofread, MDNI

Word Count -> 4.4k

You enter Jon’s house as you always did, swinging the door open without knocking and waltzing right inside– your body collapsing on his living room couch. Media had kicked your ass today, more than usual, and you were definitely feeling the effects of it. Jon happened to have a day off today, one that was hard to come by, especially with the work you two did at WWE– him being a talent and you a producer. That’s how the two of you met 4 years ago, and you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Well, good afternoon to you too, princess.” Jon teases, as you shoot daggers at him. 

“I don’t know how much more I can fuckin’ take. Paul’s driving me crazy, the work is endless, and absolutely nobody seems to appreciate how much work I’m putting into this to make shit happen every show. I’m about to fuckin’ lose it.” You groan, flopping down onto the couch and rubbing your eyes.

Jon leans against the island countertop, grinning, clearly amused by your frustration. “Sounds like you’ve had a day… wanna vent or just keep it low-key?”

You sigh dramatically, sitting up on the couch. “No, no, I should probably let it all out. I swear, I’ve been busting my ass, and every time I think I’m ahead, something else gets thrown on me. And everyone thinks I’m this superhero that can just fuckin’ fix it,” you pause, rubbing your temples. “I just want a break, but I feel like there’s no time to take one.”

He nods sympathetically, then walks over to the end table and pulls something from the drawer. “You really need to take a break though, you keep goin’ like that, you’re gonna burn yourself out.”

You laugh bitterly, half-glancing at him. “I know, I know. It’s like I don't even know how to take a break anymore. It’s always work, work, and more work.”

Jon takes out a joint from his pocket and lights it casually, raising an eyebrow at you. “You want some help with that?”

He takes a slow drag, exhaling slowly as you stare at him– shocked.

“You… smoke?”

He laughs, shrugging nonchalantly as he continues to puff on the joint. “Yeah, ‘s not somethin’ I bring up, but yeah, sometimes it helps me unwind. And you look like you could use a lil’ somethin’ to take the edge off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “I just… I never thought you’d be the type to do… that.”

“What, smoke?” he chuckles. “Well, you never really asked. Trust me though, a little bit won’t hurt. It’s just us, Y/N. No work, no stress…” he grins, taking another drag then passing it to you.

You’re hesitant, but also curious. You take the joint from him, your voice getting soft.

“I don’t know… I’ve never done… this before.”

Jon smirks at you, sitting down and leaning back on the couch as he grabs another joint– one for himself. “First time for everything, right? No pressure, ma. Just take it slow.”

Nervously, you take a drag, coughing slightly. “Oh my god…” 

He laughs softly, leaning closer to you and offering you a reassuring smile. “Yeah, it can be a bit much at first. Just breathe through it, you’ll get used to it.”

You exhale, giggling nervously and shaking your head. “Okay, okay, I’m definitely not used to it. But… this actually feels kinda nice.” 

You’re growing more confident by the second, taking another drag. Jon watches you intently, a gentle smile on his face.

“That’s it, you’re doin’ great, ma. You deserve to feel nice, just let go of all that stress, you know?” he soothes you, his voice dropping lower than usual. 

As the night goes on, you both start to relax, the conversation flowing more freely. The effects of the joint take hold, and the atmosphere shifts in a way that has allowed the two of you to open up in a way you hadn’t before. You lean back against the couch, your eyes a little heavier but more relaxed. 

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this… to chill. I feel like I’m always runnin’ around, doin’ everything for everyone, and never doin’ anything for myself.”

Jon nods, a softer tone to his voice as he responds to you, looking at you intently. “I get it. You’re always taking care of other people, but you forget about you. You deserve to slow down. You gotta take care of yourself, too. Not everything’s on you.”

You turn to look at him, the weight of his words hitting you deep within your chest. “I don’t know why I feel like I have to do everything. It’s like if I stop, everything’s gonna fall apart.”

He softens, his expression growing more serious. “You don’t have to be everything to everyone, you’re enough just as you are. But I get it, you don’t want to disappoint people.”

A moment of quiet rushes in between them as the room feels more intimate, the casual chatter fading into something more profound. The connection between you feels intense, a shared vulnerability settling in. 

You look down, almost embarrassed, as you speak softly. “Maybe I don’t know how to stop being so… perfect. Like, I always have to keep everything together. I don’t know how to let someone help me.”

Jon reaches over and tilts your chin to face him, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to always be perfect, Y/N. With me, you can just be you, no pressure.”

The mood shifts. Your eyes lock, and there’s an undeniable charge between you, something unspoken but deeply felt. The air is thick with tension as you unconsciously move closer together. Before you can even process it, Jon leans in and kisses you, slow and unexpected. It’s not rushed, but full of emotion, a silent acknowledgement of everything you’ve both been feeling. The kiss deepens naturally, your mutual desire growing, and in that moment, the world outside fades. Reality hits you after a moment and you pull back slightly, eyes wide in shock as your breath catches in your throat. 

“Wha–?”

He pulls back quickly, his own eyes growing wide, clearly panicked. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to– I just– I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have–”

He stands up, pacing slightly, his hand running through his hair. After a beat you stand as well, still in shock as you move towards him and gently place your hand on his arm. 

“Jon…” 

He turns to you, his eyes pinged in fear and nervousness as he looks at you. You step closer, looking at him with a soft but intense gaze. Before he can utter another word, you reach up, gently pulling him back down to you, kissing him again– this time with more certainty, as if you had wanted it too. You pull away slightly, breathing a little heavier as his eyes search yours, his expression mixed with relief and surprise– then, a smile starts to form on his face. 

Jon leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours as that signature smirk of his plays on his lips. “Damn, Y/N… You got me over here thinking I messed up, and then you go and kiss me like that?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something deeper laced within it—something raw, something real.

You exhale a soft laugh, still feeling the warmth of his lips lingering on yours. “Maybe I just wanted to shut you up,” you tease, running a hand through his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Jon’s grin widens, his hands still resting on your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your skin. “Oh, word? That’s how you feel?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nah, Y/N. I think you’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You raise a brow, playing along. “And if I have?”

His gaze darkens, his fingers tightening just slightly at your waist. “Then I’d say we got a whole lot of catching up to do.”

Before you can respond, he reaches over to grab the joint resting in the ashtray nearby, taking a slow drag before bringing it to your lips. “Here,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something dangerously smooth. “Relax a little. We got all night.”

You hold his gaze as you take a hit, the smoke curling between you as he watches you, his eyes flicking down to your lips before dragging back up. The tension between you thickens, wrapping around you both like a slow burn.

Jon leans back slightly, exhaling, his lips curving into a lazy smile. “You always look this good when you’re high, or is it just ‘cause you’re sittin’ here with me?”

You smirk, handing the joint back to him, your fingers deliberately brushing against his. “I don’t know, Uce… Maybe it’s just you.”

His laughter is deep, rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “See, now you just gassin’ me up,” he murmurs, tilting his head as he studies you. “But I ain’t mad at it.”

You shake your head, biting your lip as you watch him. “You like the attention, huh?”

Jon leans in again, this time close enough that his nose nearly brushes yours, his voice nothing but a husky whisper. “I like it when it’s from you.”

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, all you can hear is the faint hum of music in the background and the sound of your own breathing. The world outside doesn’t matter—right now, it’s just you and him, the air thick with smoke and something even more intoxicating.

“Say the word, Y/N,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing up your arm, slow, deliberate. “Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

You swallow hard, meeting his gaze, your pulse pounding in your ears. Then, with a small smirk, you whisper, “What took you so long to figure that out?”

Jon grins, and before you can say another word, his lips are back on yours, the kiss deeper, more urgent, as if he’s making up for lost time. He groans softly against your lips, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulls you flush against him. The warmth of his body, the lingering haze of smoke in the air, and the way his fingers tease at the small of your back all send a slow-burning heat through you.

“You tryna drive me crazy, huh?” he mumbles between kisses, his voice husky, dripping with amusement and something deeper.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to the side as you let your fingers trail up his chest. “I think I already have.”

Jon exhales a slow laugh, shaking his head before taking another hit of the joint, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Oh, you definitely have,” he murmurs, exhaling the smoke lazily before slipping a hand up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin back slightly. “But I ain’t mad at it, baby.”

Your breath catches as his thumb traces along your bottom lip, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver straight down your spine. You hold his gaze, letting your lips part slightly, teasing him just enough before you take the joint from his fingers and bring it to your lips. His eyes darken as he watches you, his expression shifting into something unreadable but entirely consuming.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” you murmur after a slow exhale, the smoke curling between you both, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me.”

Jon chuckles, shaking his head as he licks his lips. “Oh, I been wantin’ yo’ fine ass,” he admits, his voice dropping lower, thick with something almost possessive. “Just been waitin’ for you to catch up.”

Your pulse quickens at his words, at the weight behind them, at the way his fingers are still tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull between you both magnetic, undeniable.

“And what happens now that I have?” you ask, arching a brow, challenging him, teasing him.

Jon grins, slow and knowing, his hands sliding down to your hips before he pulls you onto his lap, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Now? Now I finally get to show you how bad.”

His words send a spark of electricity through you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging slightly just to hear the way his breath hitches, the way his grip on you tightens.

“Damn,” he chuckles, his nose brushing against your cheek as he tilts your head, lips ghosting over yours but not quite touching. “You really been holdin’ out on me, huh?”

You smirk, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “Maybe I just wanted you to work for it.”

Jon lets out a deep, satisfied hum, his lips finally capturing yours again, this time with even more urgency, more fire. His hands roam your body, fingertips grazing exposed skin, setting every nerve ablaze.

“Mm,” he murmurs between kisses, pulling back just enough to let his forehead rest against yours. “I don’t mind puttin’ in the work, baby. Not if it means I get to keep you right here.”

Jon’s grip tightens on your hips as he tilts his head back slightly, looking up at you with a mix of amusement and hunger. His fingers trace slow, teasing patterns along your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his hands, the faint burn of the smoke in your lungs, and the deep pull of his gaze make your head spin in the best way possible.

“You really got me like this, huh?” he murmurs, his voice husky, rough around the edges. He smirks, exhaling a slow breath as his fingers press just a little harder into your waist. “Sittin’ on my lap, lookin’ at me like you already know what you doin’ to me.”

You bite your lip, dragging your nails gently down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “Maybe I do,” you tease, tilting your head slightly, watching his expression shift. “And maybe I like it.”

He lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head as his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Oh, I know you do,” he says, his lips ghosting over your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “You playin’ it all sweet, but you been wantin’ this. I can feel it.”

Your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Maybe he is. The heat between you is thick, the air electric with the weight of everything left unsaid. But right now? You don’t need words.

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against yours, teasing you, making you chase the kiss. “Damn, baby,” he murmurs, smirking as he pulls back just a little, enough to make you whine softly. “You really gonna make me work for it?”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully as you drag your fingers up the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your lips barely touching his. “I thought you liked putting in the work?”

Jon groans, shaking his head with a laugh before finally closing the distance, kissing you with a deep, slow intensity that sends heat pooling in your stomach. His hands explore, memorizing every curve, every dip of your body like he’s wanted to do this for far too long.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, “You taste too damn good, Y/N.”

Your heart pounds as you smirk, brushing your nose against his. “Must be all that smoke.”

He grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Nah… it’s just you, baby.”

The way he says it, low and smooth, makes something flutter deep in your chest. You were just playing before, flirting for the fun of it, but now? Now, you can feel it. This is more than just a moment.

Jon studies you for a second, his gaze softer now, a little more serious. “What you want, Y/N?” His voice is still deep, still teasing, but there’s something genuine underneath it. Like he’s really asking.

You hold his gaze, your fingers still tangled in his curls as you whisper, “You.”

He grins, slow and satisfied, like he just won a game he was always meant to win. “Then come here, baby,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “Let me give you what you been waiting for.”

Jon’s lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, like he’s savoring every second. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady on his lap as his tongue brushes against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your head spin. 

His hands wander, sliding up your back, tracing along the curve of your spine. His touch is firm, possessive, but there’s a tenderness beneath it too—like he’s memorizing you, committing this moment to memory. When he pulls back, just slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath is heavy, his eyes dark with something deeper than just desire.

His lips find yours again, this time slower, deeper, his fingers gripping you tighter like he’s afraid to let go. And you melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the moment, letting yourself feel everything.

He leans back slightly, his dark eyes drinking you in, his expression smug but soft at the same time. “So you admit it,” he murmurs, tilting his head, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your hip. “You been wantin’ me too.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t hide the smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe,” you tease, dragging your fingers down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. “What? You need me to spell it out for you?”

Jon lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, baby. I just like hearin’ you say it.” His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you even closer, making you feel just how much he’s enjoying this moment. “Say it again.”

Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your jaw, his voice like honey and smoke, smooth and intoxicating. “Say what?” you whisper, tilting your head slightly to give him more access, your pulse racing.

His grin grows against your skin as he places a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your neck, his tongue just barely teasing you. “That you want me.”

You let out a soft laugh, biting your lip as you slide your hands up to his shoulders, gripping them just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re really enjoying this, huh?”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression smug. “Oh, hell yeah.” He licks his lips, his gaze dark and hungry. “But I’d enjoy it even more if you quit playin’ and told me what I already know.”

You take a deep breath, your body fully pressed against his, the heat between you undeniable. “Fine,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up the back of his neck, playing with the curls at the base of his skull. “I want you, Jon.”

The second the words leave your lips, his grip tightens, his hands sliding down to your thighs before flipping you onto the couch, pinning you beneath him. You let out a surprised gasp, but it quickly turns into a soft moan as his lips crash against yours again, this time more urgent, more possessive.

“You have no idea how long I been waitin’ to hear that,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips trailing from your mouth down to your neck, his hands roaming every inch of you.

Your head tilts back against the cushions as you breathe out, your heart pounding. “Then why the hell did you wait so long?”

Jon lets out a low laugh, his breath hot against your skin. “’Cause you play too damn much,” he teases, nipping at your collarbone. “Had to let you catch up.”

You roll your eyes, tugging at his hair just enough to make him groan. “And now?”

Jon lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. He smirks, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip before leaning in so close you can feel every word as he whispers, “Now, I ain’t holdin’ back no more.”

Jon’s kiss is slow, deep, and consuming, like he’s savoring every second of finally having you in his arms. His body presses against yours, his warmth sinking into you, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way he feels—solid, strong, right. His hands explore, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before gripping you like he’s afraid you might slip away.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with something deeper than just desire. Possession. Affection. Something real. His thumb strokes your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the heat burning between you two.

“You sure you ready for this, baby?” he murmurs, his voice husky, his breath fanning against your lips.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding, but there’s no more hesitation. The tension, the teasing– it was always leading to this. To him.

You nod, looking into his eyes with a level of certainty that surprises even you. “I’m sure,” you say, your voice soft but filled with passion. “I want this. I want you. Now.”

He groans against your lips, his hands sliding down to the waistband of your pants, undoing them with a practiced ease. Every touch sends a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making it harder to think, harder to breathe. You tug at his sweats in return, eager to get him closer, to feel all of him, and when the last barrier is gone, the world outside completely fades away. 

He doesn’t hesitate. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, and you can feel him, feel all of him, as he enters you. Moans fall from your lips as your walls adjust to his length, entirely consuming you as he slides in deeper. The sensation is intense, overwhelming, and it leaves you breathless as you both adjust to the fit.

You move together, the rhythm natural, fluid, as though you’ve been doing this forever. His groans match your own, every snap of his hips intensifying the connection between you. The way he touches you, the way he kisses you, it’s all so much more than physical. It’s about something deeper, something you both have been unknowingly craving for so long. There’s tenderness in every touch, urgency in every kiss, and beneath it all, there’s that deep, undeniable love that’s starting to take shape.

“God, Y/N,” Jon groans against your skin, his voice strained, as if it’s taking everything in him to keep control. "You feel so fucking good. So perfect.” He presses you closer, if that’s even possible, and you can feel him, feel every inch of his body hard against yours, as if he can’t get close enough. Each touch, each kiss, feels like an explosion of raw, unfiltered emotion, and as you move together, there’s an undeniable sense of belonging that wraps around you both like a cloak. His hands are everywhere, tracing the lines of your body, pulling you closer to him with every breath, every movement.

Your lips are caught in a feverish kiss, hungry yet tender, each one of his caresses sending waves of electricity through your body. His lips leave your mouth only to graze your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, making you tremble beneath his touch. There’s something about the way he kisses you, something intimate and all-consuming, that makes you feel like he’s not just touching your skin—he’s touching your soul.

"You feel so damn good," Jon murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His hands slide down your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the way he's completely consumed by this moment, this connection. His lips find the soft curve of your neck again, pressing kisses there that make you tremble, and you can’t help but moan softly.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, your voice shaky, your body vibrating with need. Every inch of you is on fire, every nerve alive with the sensations he's stirring within you. You want him, need him, and there's no turning back now.

He looks at you then, his eyes dark and filled with raw emotion. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” he breathes, his lips hovering near yours. “You’re mine. I’m all in. Always have been.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity in his words, at the vulnerability he’s showing you. The intensity of what’s between you both only deepens, and you can feel the truth of it, settling between you like a promise.

"I’m all in too, Jon," you breathe, your voice steady now, filled with the certainty of everything you've been feeling. "Always have been."

His lips meet yours once again, and this kiss is different. It's softer, more intimate, filled with everything you’ve both been hiding—desire, love, longing. Every part of you is connected to him now, body and soul. You move together, slow and steady, savoring every touch, every kiss, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

You can feel him, feel the depth of his affection, his love for you, and you respond with the same intensity, giving everything you have to him. The world outside doesn’t matter anymore. It’s just the two of you, here, in this moment, and nothing could ever compare to the way he makes you feel.

“Fuck, Jon…” you moan, your head falling back. “I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he groans in the crook of your neck, “I know.”

And as you move together, your bodies becoming one, there’s a sense of completeness, a feeling that you’ve found exactly where you belong. And when you finally reach the peak of that all-consuming desire, it’s more than just physical pleasure. It’s an emotional release, a release of everything you’ve been holding back, everything you’ve been too scared to say.

When you both collapse into each other’s arms, breathless and sated, you can’t help but smile. There’s no question anymore. What you’ve shared tonight is only the beginning. This is only the start of something deeper, something real. And you know that with Jon, you’ve found exactly where you’re meant to be.

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining, NSFW, human x Na'vi, size difference

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

So basically this part is a full smut. But here we are :')

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer@eliankm, @quintessences0posts, @minjianhyung

Part 18. vol 2: To remember

Part 19: To carry

You drag the brush through your damp hair, wincing slightly when it snags on a knot. Your muscles still ache in the best way possible, a dull throb deep in your bones that makes you feel flushed all over again. It’s been hours since you left the hut with Neteyam, hours since his lips were on you, since his hands—

The door to your quarters slams open so violently that you nearly jump out of your chair.

Kate strides in like she owns the place, eyes locking onto you immediately. Before you can even protest, she shuts the door just as aggressively, spins on her heel, and plants her hands on her hips.

"Spill," she commands.

You blink. "What—"

"Don’t play dumb," she cuts you off, pointing a finger at you like you’re on trial. "I know damn well you weren’t here last night, and I know Neteyam didn’t walk you back like you two promised Norm."

Shit.

Your heart kicks up, heat creeping up your neck. "How do you—"

"Because Norm was confused as hell when you weren’t at breakfast," Kate smirks, crossing her arms. "So I may have told him you got back late, crashed, and overslept."

Your jaw drops. "What?!"

"You’re welcome, by the way," she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Kate!"

"What? Did you want him to know you were out all night getting railed by the chief’s son?"

Your face burns instantly. "Kate! How do~?!"

She grins like the menace she is and flops onto your bed, leaning back on her elbows. "So? Tell me everything."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Oh my God—"

"Uh-uh," she tuts, kicking at your leg. "Don’t act all shy now. I just covered for your ass. The least you can do is tell me how it was. And don’t lie—I can see it all over your face. You’re glowing like one of those bioluminescent plants on your desk. And your neck…" She pointed towards the few lovebites what was left by Neteyam.

You exhale sharply, dropping your hands to your neck. Kate’s not going to let this go. And, honestly… maybe you do need to talk about it.

Because, holy shit.

You clear your throat, still avoiding her eyes. "We… we started heading back."

"And?"

You swallow. "And… we got a little distracted."

Kate squints. "Define distracted."

Your stomach flips just thinking about it. The feel of Neteyam’s hands on your waist, the way his lips traced over your jaw as you kissed him back, lost in each other—

You shift in your seat. "We started kissing and, um… we never actually made it back."

Kate’s eyes widen. "Oh, bitch."

You let out an embarrassed laugh, pressing your cool hands to your flushed cheeks. "Okay, so we were walking back, just like we promised Norm," you begin, setting your brush down as you turn toward her. "But then we stopped for a second—you know, to talk..."

Kate groans, flopping back dramatically. "Oh, this already sounds like the beginning of a bad decision."

"Oh, it was," you laugh, shaking your head. "One second, we were kissing. The next I was on his ikran towards the hut.

Kate’s eyes widen. "Wait, wait. To the hut? Outside? You little heathen."

"Listen, I didn’t plan for it to happen like that!" You defend, laughing. "But, you know, one thing led to another, and suddenly, we were stumbling back to the hunter’s hut instead of the outpost."

Kate smacks your arm. "So, you lied to Norm too!"

"I prefer to think of it as an unspoken change of plans," you tease, winking. "Anyway, once we got inside, it was over for me. He was all over me, Kate. Like, kissing me, touching me, whispering all this shit in Na’vi—I swear, I have never been this turned on in my entire life."

Kate fans herself. "Okay, okay, but tell me the real tea. How was it?"

Your grin turns positively sinful. "Insane. Like, I didn’t know I could come that hard. Whether he was eating me out or fucking me, it was just—Eywa, I think he ruined me."

Kate makes a strangled noise, her mouth open in shock. "Hold the hell up. He went down on you?"

"Oh, Kate," you sigh, shaking your head. "Not just 'went down on me.' He fucking worshipped me. He had me shaking, sobbing, gripping onto his braids like my life depended on it."

Kate looks like she might combust on the spot. "You’re lying."

"I’m not," you say, eyes wide with sincerity. "He had me coming in, like, two minutes. And then he just kept going."

Kate groans, burying her face in your pillow. "This is so unfair. Why do you get the ten-foot-tall sex god?"

"Because I deserve nice things," you quip, smirking.

Kate lifts her head, her eyes gleaming with pure nosiness. "Okay, but what about the main event? Like, how big are we talking?"

You pause for dramatic effect. Then, with a slow, knowing look, you simply say: "Big."

Kate gasps. "Like, scary big?"

You laugh. "At first? A little, yeah. But Neteyam was so gentle. He was holding himself back, trembling above me because he didn’t want to hurt me." Your voice softens slightly as you recall the way he shuddered, the way he pressed slow, reverent kisses to your skin as he waited for you to adjust. "He took his time, made sure I was okay every step of the way."

Kate sighs, clutching her chest. "Ugh, that’s so hot."

"But," you continue, eyes darkening with memory, "once I told him not to hold back? He lost it."

Kate’s jaw drops. "And?"

"And then he fucked me so good, I think I forgot my own name." You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. "I was gripping onto him, telling him how good he felt, and he just—ugh, Kate, the noises he was making? He was so deep, so strong, and when he came—"

"STOP," Kate wails, throwing a pillow at you. "I’m going to die alone, and it’s your fault."

You cackle, catching the pillow as she groans dramatically.

Kate sighs, shaking her head. "So, let me get this straight. You had the best night of your life, your hot alien boyfriend practically worshipped your body, and you’re sitting here acting like a normal person?"

"Trust me," you murmur, stretching slightly as you feel the dull ache still lingering between your thighs. "I am not normal right now."

Kate grins. "Damn right, you’re not. You’re the luckiest bitch alive."

You smirk, leaning back against your bed with a dreamy sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, I really am.”

You stretch your legs out on the bed, still grinning as you let your head fall back against the pillow, the memories of this morning making warmth pool deep in your belly all over again.

Kate, still lying beside you, turns her head toward you, her blue eyes gleaming with anticipation. "You’re holding back on me. I can feel it. What else happened?"

You hum, biting your lip, debating whether or not to keep talking. But then again, when have you ever kept anything from Kate?

So, you smirk. "Okay, so… this morning."

Kate immediately sits up, cross-legged, fully invested. "Yes?"

You sigh dreamily, running a hand through your still-damp hair. "He got up before me, right? And when I finally woke up, he was just sitting there, watching me with this stupidly soft look on his face. Like, full-on ‘you are my entire world’ eyes."

Kate clutches her chest dramatically. "Stop. You’re killing me."

You snicker. "And then—he brought me breakfast. Like, actual food. He went out and got fruit for me before I even woke up."

Kate gasps. "So, he dicked you down and took care of you afterward? Oh, he’s a fucking keeper."

You nod, grinning. "Right? And I thought, oh wow, how sweet of him, he’s letting me eat in peace—but no. That was just his way of making sure I had energy. Because the second I finished eating, he went down on me again."

Kate’s jaw drops. "No. Fucking. Way."

"Oh, yes way." You sigh, shivering at the memory. "Kate, I swear, he was starving for it. Like, I’ve never seen a man so desperate before in my life. It was like years of longing just…” you snap your finger “exploded all at once. Kate, I swear, I have never seen someone eat pussy with that level of dedication.”

Kate groans, flopping back down onto the bed, smacking a pillow over her face. "That is so unfair. So insanely unfair."

You laugh, tilting your head toward her. "I mean, not gonna lie, I thought I was gonna pass out. He just would not stop. I was literally begging him at one point, and he still wasn’t done."

Kate lifts the pillow off her face just enough to peek at you. "Begging him to stop?"

"Yes," you groan, throwing an arm over your face. "Like, I lost count of how many times I came, and he still wanted more.”

Kate lets out an inhuman noise. "I am suffering right now."

You grin, rolling onto your side to face her. "And the noises he was making? Holy shit. He was moaning, growling—at one point, I swear he was purring while his tongue was in me."

Kate slaps the bed. "I need a Na’vi man immediately."

You laugh, stretching your arms above your head. 

Kate is kicking her feet like a schoolgirl. "I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down."

"I need to sit down somewhere else and maybe touch some grass."

You laugh breathlessly. "His face was buried between my legs, and the noises he was making—Kate, I think he blacked out at one point. He kept mumbling shit like 'so sweet' and 'I need more' and 'I could stay here forever.' I was genuinely concerned he was never going to stop."

Kate groans into the pillow. "Did you die? Did you actually die?"

"Oh, I ascended. I left my body. Eywa had to personally send me back because I wasn’t supposed to go yet."

Kate wheezes, but you’re not done.

"And after, when I could finally breathe again, he just—he looked so fucking pleased with himself, all smug and satisfied. So, I was like, okay. My turn."

Kate’s eyes go impossibly wide. "You—"

You nod, grinning. "I went down on him."

Kate shrieks, rolling onto her stomach and kicking her feet against the mattress. "Tell me. Every. Single. Thing.”

You groan, flopping onto your back. "Yeah. And let me tell you—it was a fucking pain in the ass."

Kate frowns. "What? Why?"

You sigh dramatically. "Because of the goddamn mask, Kate. I had to hold my breath every time I pulled it off, and let me tell you—when you’re trying to fit a thick-ass ten-foot-tall Na’vi’s dick in your mouth while holding your breath, it is not easy."

Kate fucking howls, clutching her stomach as she laughs.

You shake your head. "I had to keep stopping to put my mask back on and breathe, but I managed. Somehow."

Kate wipes tears from her eyes. "I can’t—oh my god—you literally risked suffocating just to suck his dick."

You smirk. "And you know what? The noises he made made up for the lung-burning pain.” you continue, enjoying the way she looks like she’s about to die. "And when he came, he growled so deep I felt it in my fucking bones.”

Kate groans. "I cannot believe you’re living my dream right now."

You smirk. "Believe it, baby. It happened. And I can still hear those sounds he made. If I die tomorrow, just know I went out happy."

Kate sighs dramatically. "You’re officially my hero. And also, I hate you."

You giggle, stretching out on the bed. "I regret nothing.”

Neteyam barely steps into the family’s tent before Jake’s sharp gaze locks onto him. His father is sitting near the fire, sharpening a blade, but the moment Neteyam enters, Jake’s expression shifts—his keen eyes narrowing as he takes in his son’s appearance.

“You look like shit,” Jake comments, his tone neutral but laced with something pointed. “Where were you all night?”

Neteyam stills, his body instinctively tensing. He knew this was coming. He had been prepared for it—at least, he thought he was. But now, standing here, the weight of last night still wrapped around him like a second skin, he doesn’t want to ruin it. Doesn’t want to let this moment, this rare sliver of happiness, be tainted by the inevitable disapproval. So, he hesitates.

And Jake notices. His father’s jaw tightens. “I asked you a question.”

Neteyam exhales through his nose, keeping his voice measured. “I was out.”

Jake’s brow furrows, his ears flicking back slightly. “Out where?”

“Just… out.”

Jake sets the blade down with a sharp clank, standing up. “Don’t do that.” His voice is firmer now, carrying the weight of a man who has had to give orders his whole life. “Don’t stand there and dodge my question. I know you didn’t come back last night. So I’ll ask again—where the hell were you?”

Neteyam clenches his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He doesn’t want to fight. Not now. Not when his body still hums with the memory of her touch, not when he can still feel the echo of her breath against his skin. But his silence is its own answer.

Jake scoffs, crossing his arms. “You know, you’ve been a little too distracted lately. First, you’re sneaking off, now you’re staying out all night?” His expression darkens. “You need to be better than this, Neteyam.”

And that—that does it. Something in Neteyam snaps. His whole body goes rigid, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. “Better?” His voice is quiet, but the sharp edge in it makes Jake’s ears twitch.

Jake doesn’t back down. “Yeah. Better. You’re the eldest, Neteyam. You don’t get to screw around like this.”

Neteyam’s fists clench at his sides. His entire life has been spent being better. He has done everything asked of him. And yet—this one thing, this one thing for himself, and suddenly, he’s failing? The frustration that’s been simmering under his skin for years erupts like a storm. “I have always been better!” Neteyam’s voice rises, his breath shaking as he takes a step forward. “I have always done everything you asked, everything you expected of me!” His tail lashes behind him, his ears pinned back in anger. “I kept my siblings safe. I protected them, even when it meant taking the blame for their mistakes! I led the last Iknimaya yesterday without a single mistake!” His chest heaves. “And now—now, when I do one thing for myself, I’m suddenly the worst son ever?”

Jake’s expression hardens. “This isn’t about—”

“Yes, it is!” Neteyam cuts him off, his voice cracking with emotion. His breaths are ragged, his golden eyes burning with something raw, something heavy. “I have given everything to this family! Every damn moment of my life has been spent proving myself—to you, to the clan! And for what?” He lets out a bitter laugh. “So you can tell me I should be better?”

Jake’s tail flicks sharply, his own anger rising. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Then what did you mean, huh?” Neteyam challenges, stepping closer. His whole body is vibrating with unspent energy, his heart hammering in his chest. “Because I am so tired of this, Dad. Of never being enough. Of never getting to be anything other than what you need me to be.” His voice drops lower, filled with something vulnerable, something close to breaking. “For once—I just wanted something for myself.”

The tent is thick with silence, the only sound is their uneven breathing. Jake looks at him, his jaw clenched, his ears twitching as he processes his son’s words. And for the first time, Neteyam doesn’t care if he’s disappointed. Because this isn’t about proving himself anymore. This isn’t about what Jake wants. This is about him.

The silence between them is thick, heavy with words unspoken. Jake just looks at him now, his sharp golden eyes studying his son—really looking at him. And for the first time, he sees not a boy, not the eager child who used to cling to his every word, but a man. A man who is standing before him, chest heaving, fists clenched, his whole body trembling—not with fear, not with uncertainty, but with anger.

A man who has spent his whole life trying to be exactly what Jake expected. And for the first time, Jake wonders if maybe—maybe—he’s been expecting too much. Neteyam swallows, his jaw tight, his ears pinned back as he glares at his father. But beneath the anger, beneath the frustration, there’s something else—something that makes Jake’s stomach twist.

Something that looks an awful lot like hurt.

Neteyam lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You know what really pisses me off?” His voice is raw, strained, cracking at the edges. “It’s not the expectations. It’s not even the pressure.” His golden eyes burn as they lock onto Jake’s. “It’s the fact that no matter what I do, you always make me feel like it’s never enough.”

Jake stiffens.

Neteyam takes a shaky breath, running a hand through his braids in frustration. “I have always tried to be the son you wanted, the leader you needed me to be. I listened. I obeyed. I put my family, my siblings—the entire damn clan—before myself. I never once complained. Not once.” His voice drops lower, rough with emotion. “And you still look at me like I will never be the man you want me to be.”

Jake exhales through his nose, his expression unreadable. “Neteyam—”

“No.” Neteyam shakes his head, his hands balling into fists. “You don’t get to talk your way out of this. Because I see it, Dad. I see it in your eyes every time I make a mistake. The way you look at me, like I’m failing, like I’m not good enough.” He lets out a harsh breath, his shoulders shaking. “And the worst part? I believed it.” His throat bobs as he swallows, blinking rapidly. “I spent my whole life believing that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be the son you wanted me to be.”

Jake’s jaw tightens, something flickering behind his gaze. Neteyam lets out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “Do you know how badly I wanted to make you proud?” His voice cracks. “How much I needed to hear you say that I was enough?”

Jake swallows hard. Because fuck. He thinks back—to every time Neteyam took the blame for his siblings, to every time he stood tall, unflinching, unwavering, carrying responsibilities that Jake put on his shoulders. And now, standing here, looking at his son—really looking at him—Jake sees it clearly.

Neteyam never just wanted to be a good warrior, a strong leader, the perfect heir. He just wanted to be his father’s son. Jake lets out a slow breath, his shoulders easing as something inside him shifts. “Neteyam.” His voice is softer now, calmer.

But Neteyam doesn’t want calm. Not now. His ears flatten, his tail lashing behind him. “What? Are you going to tell me I should be better again?” His lips curl into a humorless smile. “That I should be the perfect son? The perfect leader? Because guess what, Dad—I am trying. I have always been trying.”

Jake’s expression shifts—his ears twitching, his lips parting slightly, like he wants to say something, like maybe—maybe—he’s finally starting to understand.

But Neteyam doesn’t want to hear it. Because he already knows the answer. His chest still tight with emotion, he shakes his head and turns away. “I have training to do,” he mutters. His voice is steady, but his body is rigid, his tail snapping behind him.

Jake watches him go, his face unreadable, his jaw locked. Neteyam doesn’t look back. He walks out of the tent, his breath heavy, his mind racing.

The younger warriors are already waiting for him, gathered in the training grounds. The same place he’s always been. The same responsibility he’s always carried. Once, he might have thought it was just another duty—another burden placed on his shoulders simply because of who he is.

But now?

Now, it’s his. They are his responsibility. His warriors. His lessons to teach.

The duty his father put on his shoulders. The responsibility that has always belonged to him. He is the eldest. The future leader. And no matter what personal battles rage inside him, he will do what is expected.

And as he steps forward to lead them, pushing down the lingering ache in his chest, he reminds himself of one thing— Even if his father will never see him for who he is, he will still stand tall.

The lab is dimly lit, humming softly with the quiet whir of machines, the faint glow of monitors casting long shadows over the walls. The others have long since gone to sleep, but he knows you haven’t.

You never do.

Neteyam moves easily through the outpost, ducking through the doorway and passing through the airlock with quiet familiarity. He’s been here enough times to know exactly where to find you. Past the main workstations, near the back corner where your massive desk is buried under notebooks, equipment, and scattered samples.

And there you are. Hunched over a microscope, completely lost in your work, oblivious to everything else. His chest tightens with something deep, something warm.

He missed you. He hadn’t realized just how badly he needed to see you until this moment. And it’s ridiculous, because he had you last night—finally, fully had you. And again this morning, wrapped up in you, touching and kissing and worshiping you until neither of you could breathe.

But it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough.

Neteyam steps closer, his large frame casting a long shadow over your workspace, but you don’t notice him. Your brows are furrowed, lips pursed in thought, entirely consumed by whatever sample you’re analyzing. He smirks slightly, shifting his weight before speaking. "You never sleep, do you, syulang?"

The sound of his voice shatters the silence. You jump so violently that you nearly knock over the entire microscope, a startled yelp escaping your lips. Your wide eyes snap up to him, your hand flying to your chest. “Holy shit, Neteyam!” you gasp, breathing hard. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Neteyam grins, but it quickly turns into a wince as you hurl the nearest object at him—a small vial of clear liquid. He easily catches it, holding it up with a smirk. "Throwing things at me now, ma’yawne?"

"You nearly gave me a heart attack!" you accuse, still trying to calm your racing heart.

Neteyam chuckles, setting the vial down on the desk before leaning against it, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "You need to be more aware of your surroundings. What if I was a real threat?"

You huff, rolling your eyes as you retrieve your fallen notebook. "The only threat here is me deciding not to kiss you for scaring the shit out of me."

Neteyam gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "No kisses? You wound me."

You squint at him, suspicious. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

His ears flick, the playful smirk still tugging at his lips. "Maybe a little."

You shake your head, sighing. "You are so lucky you’re hot."

Neteyam grins, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours. "Lucky, huh?" His voice drops, warm and teasing. "So you do think I’m hot."

You scoff, trying (and failing) to fight the smile pulling at your lips. "Obviously." You gesture to him, your eyes flicking over his broad shoulders, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement. "You are unfairly gorgeous."

Neteyam hums, smug. "Good to know."

You shake your head, exhaling, and then your expression shifts—your teasing smirk softens, your brows knitting together just slightly as you look at him. Really look at him. "You look troubled, love," you murmur, your voice gentle, but sure.

Neteyam stills. For a moment, he doesn’t move, caught off guard by how easily you see through him. How effortlessly you pick apart the pieces of him, no matter how well he hides them. He swallows, his golden eyes lingering on your face, before he steps forward, moving with quiet intent.

Your chair is small compared to him, the metal wheels scraping softly against the floor as she pushes herself away from the desk when he kneels before you. His massive frame folds with practiced grace, his strong arms sliding around your waist as he rests his forehead against your stomach.

Your breath hitches, but you don’t hesitate. Your hands move instantly to his head, fingers slipping into his thick braids, stroking, soothing. “What happened, my love?” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against the crown of his head.

Neteyam exhales slowly, his grip tightening around you. And finally—finally—he breathes.

You don’t ask again. You just hold him.

Your small hands cradle his head, your fingers threading through his thick braids with slow, soothing motions. The steady rhythm of your touch is grounding, pulling him back from the storm raging in his chest. And then—softly, barely above a whisper—you begin to hum.

The melody is unfamiliar, but it’s gentle, warm, wrapping around him like a lullaby. Neteyam exhales, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as his body sags against you. The tension in his shoulders doesn’t fully leave, but it lessens—just a little.

Your lips press another soft kiss to his head, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t have to tell me,” you murmur, voice quiet, patient. “But I’ll be here if you need me.”

Something in Neteyam clenches at that. At how easy you make it. You don’t push, don’t demand answers, don’t pry at the wounds he isn’t ready to expose. You just hold him, letting him exist in this moment without expectation.

His breathing slows. Your hands begin to move, sliding down from his hair to his shoulders, your small fingers pressing gently against the tight muscles there. Your touch is featherlight at first, testing, before you start working out the tension coiled beneath his skin.

“My strong warrior,” you coo softly, kneading at the knots in his shoulders, coaxing the stiffness away.

Neteyam shudders. A quiet, shaky exhale slips past his lips. He doesn’t know how to say it—how to tell you that this, you, are the only thing keeping him together right now. So he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, pressing his face deeper against your stomach, breathing you in, letting your warmth settle into his bones.

You don’t say anything at first—just let him breathe, let him exist in the quiet safety of your touch. Your fingers continue their slow, gentle movements over his shoulders, kneading away the tension that lingers there. The weight of him against you is grounding, and you can feel the way his body slowly relaxes, melting into your warmth.

But you can also feel the storm still lingering beneath the surface—the way his grip on you is just a little too tight, the way his breathing is steady but not quite even.

So, you do what you know he needs.

You start talking.

Softly.

Gently.

Filling the silence with something light, something safe.

“So,” you murmur, fingers tracing idle circles over his skin, “I finally got some readings back on the plant samples Norm brought in yesterday.”

Neteyam hums against you, a wordless sound of acknowledgment. You smile, pressing another absentminded kiss to the top of his head before continuing, keeping your voice quiet, soothing.

“It’s interesting,” you muse, letting your fingers drag down the strong lines of his back before smoothing over his shoulders again. “The bioluminescence is stronger in the younger samples, but as they mature, it seems to fade. Almost like they outgrow it.”

Neteyam shifts slightly, pressing his forehead a little firmer against your stomach. “Strange,” he murmurs, voice low, rough from exhaustion.

You hum in agreement, continuing your slow massage. “Yeah. We’re thinking it might be a defense mechanism—something to deter herbivores when they’re still small and fragile.”

Another hum from him, deeper this time. Encouraged by the way his body is slowly unwinding, you keep going, letting the soft cadence of your voice distract him, pull him from whatever dark thoughts he’s been trapped in.

“I had to run a few more tests, though,” you continue, smiling slightly to yourself. “And of course, Brian managed to spill half a vial of solution all over my desk, so I had to clean that up before I could even start.”

Neteyam lets out a quiet, tired huff against your skin. “Clumsy.”

You grin. “Right? I swear, for a scientist, that man has zero coordination.”

His tail flicks lazily against the floor, the tension in his muscles fading little by little. You keep talking, filling the air between you with easy, gentle words. And Neteyam—whether he responds with a hum, a quiet murmur, or simply the way his arms tighten around you—just listens.

You keep talking, letting your voice stay soft, soothing, your fingers working methodically over the knots in his shoulders. Neteyam doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt—just breathes against you, his arms locked around your waist as if holding onto you is the only thing keeping him together.

"So," you murmur, letting your fingers trace along the curve of his traps, "Kate noticed something was off with me today."

That gets a reaction. Neteyam’s ears twitch slightly, but he doesn’t lift his head. He just lets out a slow breath against your stomach. You smirk. "Actually, ‘noticed’ is an understatement. More like she interrogated me like a damn FBI agent."

Neteyam hums, barely lifting his head enough to mumble, "What is FBI?"

You grin, fingers kneading into another stubborn knot. "Doesn’t matter. The point is, she knew. The second she saw me this morning, she was all over me, demanding details. You should have seen her, Neteyam. She was relentless."

One of his hands rubs absent circles against your lower back, and you feel his exhale before he speaks. "What did you tell her?"

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. "What do you think I told her? She covered for me with Norm, so I kind of owed her. And, well..." You pause for dramatic effect. "Let’s just say she knows exactly why I was late today."

Neteyam groans, shifting slightly against you. "Skxawng," he mutters under his breath, the sound vibrating against your skin.

You grin. "Oh, come on. Like I could have gotten away with saying nothing? She literally called me out for glowing."

That makes him lift his head—just enough to rest his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a smug, lopsided grin. "Glowing?"

You flick his ear gently, rolling your eyes. "Yes, glowing. Her words, not mine."

Neteyam just smirks, golden eyes gleaming as he watches you. "So, you told her everything?"

You arch a brow. "Maybe." Then, leaning down slightly, you lower your voice to a playful whisper. "Just enough to make her die of jealousy."

His tail flicks lazily behind him, his ears twitching under your touch. "And what exactly did you say, syulang?"

You sigh dramatically, letting your fingers continue their slow, soothing work on his shoulders. "Oh, you know. Just that I could barely walk this morning thanks to someone big and persistent."

Neteyam growls, the sound low and playful, and you can’t help but giggle. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, his tail flicking again. You grin down at him. "My whole body is still sore," you add, flicking his ear again for emphasis. "So, thank you for that."

His smirk deepens, his ears flicking forward in satisfaction. "You are welcome, yawne."

You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes. "I wasn’t thanking you, skxawng. I was complaining."

Neteyam just hums, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Mmm. You didn’t sound like you were complaining last night."

You groan, smacking his shoulder lightly. "Oh my Eywa, shut up."

Neteyam chuckles, his warm breath brushing over your stomach as he squeezes your waist, pressing a lazy kiss just below your ribs. "Never."

And despite the exhaustion still lingering in his body, despite whatever weight had been pressing on him before he walked in here—right now, in this moment, he’s lighter. Because you are here. Because you see him. Because you know exactly what he needs, even when he doesn’t say a word.

You watch him in silence for a long moment, your fingers stilling against his shoulders as you take him in. His massive frame is still kneeling on the hard metal floor, his arms wrapped securely around your waist, his head resting against your stomach.

And it makes you frown.

"Neteyam," you murmur, your hands moving up to cradle his face gently. He barely lifts his head, golden eyes flickering up to meet yours. You sigh, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. "Get up."

He blinks, his ears twitching. "What?"

"The floor is too hard," you insist, pushing lightly at his shoulders. "Too cold. You can't just kneel here all night."

But he doesn’t move. His arms tighten slightly around you, his tail flicking once before going still. Your frown deepens. "Neteyam."

His jaw clenches for a second, but then, with a small sigh, he finally relents. You guide him up with gentle hands, pulling him toward you until he settles, shifting his weight to sit cross-legged in front of you. The moment he’s fully seated, you pull him in again, his head resting on your lap this time.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you run your fingers through his braids, watching how this massive, powerful Na’vi warrior—someone who so many look up to, who carries so much responsibility—clings to you like a lost child.

Your heart aches for him. You lean down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his temple, your fingers still weaving through his hair. "Want to stay with me for the night?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, gentle and careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile moment between you.

Neteyam stiffens slightly, but only for a second. Then, he exhales, melting further against you. His grip on your waist loosens just enough for his hands to slide down, resting against your thighs, grounding himself.

He doesn’t answer right away. But when he does, his voice is quiet, raw. "Yes."

You press another kiss to his forehead, letting your lips linger for a moment before pulling back. Your fingers continue their soothing path through his braids, feeling the tension slowly ease from his body.

Then, your eyes flick toward the wall where the Na’vi-sized exo-masks hang, right next to the airgate.

"Get your mask," you murmur softly, still combing your fingers through his hair. "I know the air here won’t hurt you right away, but you’ll need it."

Neteyam huffs softly, tilting his head to look up at you. "I don’t need it." But looking in your eyes he hums against but doesn’t move immediately. Instead, he nuzzles into your touch just a second longer before finally shifting, his golden eyes meeting yours with something unreadable in them.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he pulls himself up. His movements are slow, unhurried, like he’s reluctant to leave the warmth of your touch, but he eventually stands to his full height, stretching slightly before making his way toward the airgate.

You watch him carefully, your heart squeezing at the way his shoulders sag just slightly, the way his tail flicks in subdued exhaustion. Even in the dim artificial light of the lab, he still looks tired.

Not just physically. But in the way that makes your chest ache. You don’t know what happened today—he hasn’t told you yet. But you’ll wait. You’ll always wait for him.

Neteyam adjusts the exo-mask on shoulder as he walks back to you, his steps slow but sure. His golden eyes soften slightly when he sees you already on your feet, waiting for him. Before he can say anything, you grin, tilting your head playfully. "Come with me. I will show you my palace."

His ears flick in amusement at your teasing tone, but he follows without hesitation as you lead him toward your quarters. The outpost halls are dimly lit at this hour, the hum of machinery the only sound aside from your soft footsteps. Neteyam moves silently behind you, his presence warm and grounding. When you finally reach your door, your fingers hesitate for just a second before you press the keypad to unlock it.

As the door slides open, a sudden, unexpected nervousness creeps in. You step inside and glance over your shoulder at him. "I just realized… you’ve never seen my room before."

Neteyam ducks his head slightly as he steps through the doorway, his massive frame nearly filling the entrance. He straightens once inside, his golden eyes slowly taking in the space. "I know it’s nothing like the kelkus in the village," you murmur, watching him carefully. "But it’s mine."

Your quarters are spacious by human standards, but with Neteyam standing in the middle of the room, he looks comically large. The ceiling is high enough that he doesn’t have to crouch, but the furniture, the layout—everything is clearly designed for someone much smaller.

His gaze drifts around the room, lingering on the shelves lined with books, the soft glow of a lamp casting warm light over your desk, the small personal touches that make this space yours. But when his eyes land on your bed—neat, a bit small by comparison—he glances back at you, a silent question clear in his expression.

How could I fit there?

You see the thought forming before he can voice it, and before he can ask, you answer with a grin. "I’ll make a bed on the floor. So we can sleep together."

Neteyam’s brow furrows instantly. "No. You should sleep in your bed. It is soft. I will be fine on the floor."

Your expression shifts, a knowing look crossing your face as you cross your arms. Neteyam doesn’t even need to hear your reply—he can already see the stubborn determination written all over you.

He sighs. "You are not going to let me win this, are you?"

You shake your head, smirking. "Not a chance."

Neteyam exhales through his nose, a defeated but fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Eywa, he thinks, how did I ever stand a chance against you?

Neteyam watches in quiet amusement as you move around your room, gathering blankets and pillows with an easy familiarity. There’s a softness in your movements, a quiet care as you arrange everything on the already carpeted floor, making it feel like a proper sleeping space instead of just cold metal. He notices the small details—the way you fluff the pillows just a little extra, the way your fingers smooth over the fabric like you’re making sure everything is perfect.

The sight warms something deep inside him. When you finish, you step back, surveying your work with a pleased smile. Then you turn to him, your tiny form sitting cross-legged on the makeshift bed as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

"Now it’s ready." Your grin is radiant. You pat the thick blanket beside you, your eyes twinkling with invitation. "Come here, love."

Neteyam doesn’t hesitate.

He lowers himself onto the blankets, folding his massive frame beside you with surprising grace. The moment he’s close enough, you curl into him, tucking yourself against his chest. His arms wrap around you instinctively, his body relaxing for the first time since he left the village. The steady, comforting weight of you against him is grounding, and he lets out a quiet, contented breath.

For a while, you both just exist like this—wrapped up in each other, warm and safe. He can feel your breathing, the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the gentle way your fingers trace idle patterns against his side.

But then—you start to squirm.

Neteyam hums in mild protest, tightening his arms around you. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You laugh, wiggling against his grip until you manage to slip free. "I need to take a bath."

Neteyam raises a brow, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Now?"

"Yes, now," you insist, pushing yourself up. "I stink."

He tilts his head, a smirk playing at his lips. "I don’t mind."

You roll your eyes, shoving at his shoulder playfully. "Well, I do. But I’ll be quick."

Before he can argue further, you’re already on your feet, bolting toward the door on the other side of the room. Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle, watching you disappear behind it. His golden eyes linger on the closed door for a moment before he shifts onto his back, staring at the ceiling with a soft sigh.

He hadn’t realized how much he needed this—how much he needed you.

Neteyam sits cross-legged on the floor, his sharp eyes quietly scanning your room as he waits for you to return. The unfamiliar space feels strange yet oddly comforting, filled with little details that are so you.

His gaze drifts to your bed first. It’s small, the mattress raised off the ground on some kind of human-made frame. A few soft-looking things rest against one side—round and colorful, with stitched-on smiles. He tilts his head slightly, curious. What are those? Some kind of sleeping companion? He huffs a quiet chuckle at the thought. Humans always have strange customs.

Shifting his attention, his eyes find the opposite side of the room. Your desk. It’s massive compared to the rest of the space, almost chaotic with how many books and small trinkets clutter the surface. The shelves above it are no different, stacked with even more books, old notebooks, and glass vials filled with preserved plant samples.

And then—his eyes catch something else.

A wall of photos.

He leans forward slightly, studying them. There are a few with your colleagues, arms thrown around each other, grinning at the camera. You look happy in them. Carefree. His lips twitch into a small smile at the sight. But then—his gaze lands on an older photo. A much younger version of you stares back at him, standing next to a smaller boy. He is grinning wildly, one arm slung around your shoulders as if the two of you were inseparable.

Neteyam’s chest tightens.

He remembers this boy.

Your little brother. The one who died along with your parents when they were in a car. You never speak about them—not in detail. He knows it still hurts. Knows it’s a wound that never fully healed.

For a moment, all he can do is stare at the picture, taking in the way your younger self leans into your brother, how effortlessly happy you both look. He wonders if you still dream about them. If their voices still echo in your mind when you’re alone. If the weight of their absence lingers in your heart the same way his own burdens weigh on his shoulders.

A quiet sigh escapes him as he forces his gaze away. That’s when he spots it. An old, worn sketchbook tucked among your things. Recognition sparks in him instantly. He knows this book. Three years ago, when you first started visiting the village after your arrival, it was always in your hands. You carried it with you everywhere, constantly flipping it open to sketch the world around you.

He reaches out, careful as he lifts it from its resting place. The cover is slightly frayed from years of use, the edges soft and worn beneath his fingertips. Gently, he opens it.

The first few pages are filled with detailed sketches of atokirina, the small, luminescent woodsprites sacred to the People. He remembers when you showed him one of these drawings, excitement shining in your eyes as you described how you had seen one deep in the forest.

The next pages are filled with plants—Pandoran flora drawn with such careful precision that it’s almost startling. Then, animals. Creatures from the forest and sky, all captured with an artist’s touch, their movements frozen in ink and graphite. As he flips through, a strange warmth spreads through his chest. You were always watching. Always observing. Always admiring everything around you.

Then—near the end of the book—he finds something that makes him still.

A drawing of him.

It’s different from the others. More detailed, more intentional. While the other sketches feel like quick studies, like you were capturing fleeting moments, this one is deliberate. Precise. Every line, every shade of graphite etched with careful attention.

His breath catches slightly.

This is not something you drew in passing.

This is something you studied. Something you spent time on. His younger self stares up at him from the page—strong and proud, his braids falling over his shoulders, his expression thoughtful yet serious. He looks… regal. Almost noble. And suddenly, he realizes—this sketch must be years old. You haven’t carried this book in a long time.

Which means… You were drawing him before you were together. Before you were anything more than acquaintances.

Something warm, something deep and overwhelming unfurls in his chest. How long, ma’tanhi? How long have you seen me like this? His fingers brush over the page, lingering on the details of his face—the curve of his jaw, the careful strokes that form his braids. A small, almost disbelieving smile ghosts over his lips.

He thought he was the one who watched you. Who admired you from afar, who secretly memorized your every movement, your every smile.

But you had been watching him too. And you had been seeing him long before he ever realized it.

Neteyam quickly shuts the sketchbook, hurriedly placing it back where he found it as the sound of the water shutting off reaches his ears. His heart pounds for an entirely different reason now, the warmth in his chest still lingering from what he found inside the old pages.

Just as he settles back, pretending to be focused on something else, the bathroom door creaks open.

He looks up—And immediately forgets how to breathe.

You step out, steam curling around you like a veil, your hair piled into a messy bun on top of your head. Your skin glistens slightly, still damp from the bath, and the only thing covering you is a single, small towel wrapped around your body.

Neteyam’s ears flick back as heat floods his entire face, his blush darkening to a deep shade of purple. His eyes flicker away for a moment, then back—just for a second—before he quickly looks elsewhere, his jaw tightening as he struggles to keep his composure.

You notice instantly. A slow, teasing smile tugs at your lips as you saunter forward, your bare feet padding softly against the floor. His ears twitch again, his tail curling slightly behind him, and you bite back a laugh at how utterly caught he looks.

The mighty warrior, completely undone by you. When you reach him, you lean down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. He stiffens slightly, caught between wanting to touch you and keeping his hands firmly in his lap.

Then—your voice, soft and playful against his lips.

"Do you like me?" A simple question. Innocent, yet filled with mischief.

Neteyam exhales sharply through his nose, his golden eyes half-lidded as he fights the urge to drag you onto his lap, towel be damned. His hands clench against his thighs, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"You know I do," he murmurs, his voice lower than intended, rough with restraint.

Your smile widens slightly. "Are you sure? Because you look like you’re in pain, love."

He groans softly, his head tilting back slightly as he closes his eyes, as if pleading to Eywa for patience. "You are testing me, tanhì."

You hum, feigning innocence as your fingers gently trace over his jawline. "Maybe just a little."

You smile at him, your fingers tracing softly along the edge of his jaw before your gaze flickers downward. His fists are clenched tightly on the thick blanket beneath them, his knuckles taut with restraint.

"You know you can touch me," you whisper, your voice gentle, coaxing.

Neteyam swallows hard, his golden eyes flickering up to yours, something raw and vulnerable swirling in their depths. But still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for you. His body is tense, as if he's afraid that if he does, he won’t be able to stop.

You lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead, the warmth of your lips melting against his cool skin. "I love you so much," you whisper, your breath brushing over his temple as your small hands slide up his arms, tracing the firm muscles before wrapping around his head, holding him close.

The moment you do, Neteyam exhales, his body shuddering as his forehead comes to rest against your collarbone.

Your scent surrounds him—warm, clean, familiar. The lingering freshness of soap clings to your damp skin, mingling with the natural scent of you. He inhales deeply, breathing you in, his arms finally loosening at his sides.

But the storm in his mind doesn’t quiet.

His thoughts are a tangled mess, everything from his argument with his father to the moment he stepped into your room swirling chaotically in his head. It’s too much, too fast. He doesn’t even know what he’s thinking, only that he feels—everything.

The weight of his father’s disappointment. The frustration, the anger, the exhaustion. But also you. The comfort of your presence. The way your hands move over him, slow and deliberate, smoothing over the tension in his shoulders.

"How can I ease your mind?" you whisper, your fingers still combing through his braids, your voice soft and patient.

Neteyam’s lips part, his breath stalling in his throat.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what will quiet the storm, what will stop the twisting in his chest. He doesn’t even know why he feels the way he does.

And so, without thinking, without meaning to—he asks the first thing that comes to his mind.

"What is cat?"

The words slip from his mouth before he can stop them, and the moment they do, he stills.

You blink.

"What?"

"What is a cat?" he repeats, this time with more hesitation, realizing how nonsensical the question is in the middle of all this.

For a second, there is only silence. And then—A small giggle. His ears flick up, confused, until he feels the way your body shakes slightly against his.

"Oh my god," you mumble, your voice filled with amusement as you press your lips together, clearly trying to hold back laughter. "You're talking about last night, aren’t you?"

Neteyam frowns, confused. "Last night?"

"Yes," you snicker. "After sex, when I said you were like a big cat because you were purring."

His ears flatten slightly in embarrassment. "I do not purr."

You lose it. A loud laugh bursts from your lips, full and unrestrained, and Neteyam immediately huffs in protest, his tail flicking in irritation. "Oh, you definitely do," you tease, grinning as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes. "It was the cutest thing. I’ve never heard a Na’vi purr like that."

Neteyam groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, as if that will somehow protect him from your teasing. "You are impossible."

"And you are adorable."

He growls softly, nipping lightly at the skin of your shoulder in retaliation, but his lips curl into the smallest, most reluctant smile against your skin. For a moment, just a moment, the weight on his shoulders feels a little lighter.

Neteyam watches as you step away, walking toward the tall shelf across the room. His ears flick forward, tracking your movements, but when you rise onto your tiptoes, reaching for something on the highest shelf—

Eywa help him.

The towel around your damp body shifts, riding up just enough to reveal the soft curve of your bottom. His jaw tightens, his fingers clenching into fists on the blanket beneath him as he forces himself to look away. But he can’t.

His golden eyes remain locked onto you, his breath catching in his throat, and he has to bite back a groan at the sight. He is already struggling to keep his hands to himself, already battling the fire still lingering from the night before, and now—this? This?

"This is cruel," he mutters under his breath.

You finally grab what you’re looking for, a large, heavy book, and turn back toward him. He forces his gaze up—higher—meeting your eyes just as you grin mischievously. "This," you announce, "is an encyclopedia about Earth’s flora, fauna, and every other thing you could possibly imagine." You saunter back toward him, entirely unaware of how close he is to losing his mind, and sit down next to him on the floor, the weight of the book settling between you.

Neteyam exhales, steadying himself.

"And now," you continue, flipping through the thick pages, "I can show you what a cat is… if you’re brave enough."

That smirk. That wicked, teasing little smirk you give him—

Neteyam lets out a low, resigned sigh, his head tilting back slightly. "You are going to be the death of me, yawne."

You giggle, nudging his thigh with your knee. "Oh, hush. Come on, let's find the cat."

Neteyam huffs, his tail flicking behind him as he leans in, peering down at the book, though in truth, he’s only half paying attention. Because you are sitting so close, your bare skin brushing against his, your scent still fresh and warm from your bath, and he’s painfully, painfully aware that you are only wearing that tiny towel.

And worse? You know exactly what you're doing to him.

Neteyam watches as you flip through the thick pages, his tail flicking idly behind him. His curiosity is piqued, though he’s still acutely aware of the fact that you’re sitting so close—your bare skin brushing against his every time you shift.

"Why do you have a book like this?" he asks, his voice low, his gaze flickering between the pages and your face.

You shrug, not looking up as you turn another page. "I like to read it. And look at the pictures."

He hums in acknowledgment, glancing at the detailed images of creatures from a world he has never seen. His fingers twitch slightly, resisting the urge to trace the illustrations of massive forests, sprawling plains, and strange animals with thick fur and small eyes.

Then, your voice softens. "But most of the animals you’ll see in this book are already extinct."

Neteyam frowns, glancing at you. Your expression has changed—your playful smirk replaced with something sadder, something distant. "Extinct?" he echoes, brow furrowing.

You nod slowly, flipping through the pages with a bit more care now. "Gone. Wiped out. Either because of us—humans—or because their world changed too much for them to survive."

Neteyam watches the way your fingers linger on a page depicting a large beast with curved tusks and thick fur, standing in a frozen landscape. His ears twitch slightly at the way your shoulders sag just a little. "I am sorry," he murmurs, his voice gentle.

You give him a small, sad smile, shaking your head. "It's just... strange, you know? Growing up learning about all these animals, seeing their pictures in books and old holovideos, knowing I’ll never actually see one alive."

Neteyam stays quiet, absorbing your words. He knows what it means to lose something—someone. He knows what it means to be unable to go back. After a moment, you shake yourself out of your thoughts and brighten up again, turning to him with a small grin. "Some Pandora animals actually have Earth siblings, you know."

He raises a brow, intrigued. "Siblings?"

"Not real siblings, but they look alike," you explain, flipping through the pages again. "Like, the pa’li—they look a lot like horses from Earth. Same long legs, strong bodies, and fast runners. See?"

You stop on a page with an image of a sleek, four-legged creature with a flowing mane, standing tall in a vast field.

Neteyam tilts his head. "It does look like a pa’li."

You smile. "And then there were creatures like the Great Leonopteryx—on Earth, millions of years ago, we had things called pterosaurs. They weren’t exactly the same, but they were big, flying reptiles with wings."

Neteyam hums, genuinely intrigued now as you continue flipping through the pages, showing him different creatures that once roamed your world. Some are similar to Pandora’s animals, others unlike anything he has ever seen before.

"And now…" You turn a few more pages before stopping on a particular image, your eyes lighting up mischievously. "Here is your namesake, mighty warrior."

Neteyam leans forward to look— And immediately pulls back, blinking in disbelief. "What—" he scowls slightly, pointing at the small, fluffy creature on the page. "This? This is a cat?"

You burst into laughter at his reaction, clutching your stomach as you lean into his side. "Yes! That is a house cat!"

He stares at the picture, utterly baffled. The creature is tiny—soft-looking, with large round eyes and a short snout. Its ears are pointed, and it has a long, thin tail that curls at the end. "This little thing?" Neteyam gestures at the image, then back at himself. "You compared me to this?"

You are cackling now, shaking your head as you wipe at your eyes. "Well, not exactly this one—there were bigger kinds too! But, I mean, listen—cats purr, they’re sleek, they’re graceful hunters, and they can be moody as hell." You give him a pointed look. "Remind you of anyone?"

Neteyam’s ears flatten as he narrows his eyes at you. "I do not mope like a small, fluffy creature."

You grin, poking his chest. "You totally do."

He huffs, crossing his arms. "I am nothing like this ‘cat’ thing."

You sigh dramatically, resting your chin on his shoulder. "You say that, but you’re literally purring right now."

Neteyam stiffens.

His ears twitch.

His tail flicks behind him.

And then—

He realizes.

The soft, low rumbling in his chest. Just because of your closeness.

He is purring.

Your delighted laughter echoes through the room as Neteyam groans, covering his face with one large hand. You nudge him playfully, your grin wide and victorious. "Face it, my love. You’re a big, sexy cat."

Neteyam sighs heavily, shaking his head—but despite himself, he can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. "You are insufferable, tawtute," he murmurs, his golden eyes shining with amusement.

You beam up at him, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek. "But you love me."

And Eywa help him—He does.

Neteyam watches as you turn the pages with practiced ease, finally stopping on another image. You shift the book toward him, tapping a slender finger against the page. "This is a tiger," you say with a knowing smile. "A bigger kind of cat. See? Even the stripes are identical."

His golden eyes drop to the image. The creature is undeniably powerful. Large, muscular, its body covered in sleek orange fur with bold black stripes running along its frame. Its head is broad, ears slightly rounded, and its gaze—though frozen in the picture—is sharp, intense.

Neteyam glances down at himself, at the deep blue stripes running along his own body. Then back at the image of the tiger. A slow exhale leaves him. "This one… I do not mind."

You let out a triumphant laugh. "I knew it! You are a big cat."

Neteyam huffs, shaking his head, but there’s amusement in his expression. He studies the tiger for a moment longer before looking back at you. "And this creature… was it a great hunter?" he asks, curiosity slipping into his voice.

You nod, excitement flickering in your eyes. "Oh, absolutely. Tigers were apex predators—meaning nothing hunted them. They were strong, fast, and incredibly smart. They could take down prey much bigger than them and were known to be patient hunters, stalking for the perfect moment to strike."

Neteyam tilts his head slightly, intrigued. The more you speak, the more he finds himself admiring this Earth creature.

"They were also solitary," you continue, your fingers tracing over the tiger’s image. "Unlike lions, which lived in groups, tigers preferred to roam and hunt alone. They were independent, proud, and deeply territorial."

Neteyam hums, his ears twitching slightly. "So… strong, intelligent, skilled hunter… and prefers solitude." He casts you a sly glance. "Now this, I can accept."

You grin, leaning in close, your chin resting against his shoulder. "See? I wasn’t wrong."

He chuckles, the low sound vibrating against your skin. "Perhaps not, yawne."

Your fingers reach up, brushing idly over the stripes on his bicep. "And tigers were beautiful," you murmur. "Just like you."

Neteyam’s chest tightens, warmth blooming in his core at your soft, genuine words. He turns his head slightly, looking down at you, his golden gaze warm and filled with something deeper—something reverent. "I only care to be beautiful in your eyes," he murmurs, his voice softer now, more intimate.

You smile, your lips brushing against his skin as you whisper, "Then you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Neteyam exhales slowly, his heart thudding steadily beneath his ribs. And, as he watches you grin up at him, eyes bright with affection, he decides—

If being your big cat means he gets to hear you say things like that… He can live with it.

A soft gasp escapes your lips as Neteyam suddenly scoops you up, lifting you with effortless ease. "Neteyam—!" you squeak in surprise, but the sound is swallowed by a breathy laugh as he settles you onto his lap.

His long legs remain crossed as he pulls you flush against his chest, his massive arms wrapping around you securely. The heat of his skin seeps through the damp towel still wrapped around you, and you melt into his embrace, instinctively tucking yourself closer.

"You like to talk," he murmurs against your temple, his lips brushing against your skin. "And I like to listen. But I want you here while you do it."

A warmth spreads through your chest at his words, and you sigh, relaxing into him. You shift slightly, adjusting the book still in your hands, before grinning. "Alright, mighty warrior," you tease. "Then let’s see how much you can handle."

Neteyam huffs a quiet chuckle. "I have faced palulukan and nantang in the forest. I think I can handle a few Earth creatures."

You smirk, flipping the page. "We’ll see about that."

Your finger trails down to an image of a large, grey, wrinkled-looking creature with massive ears and long, curved tusks. "This is an elephant," you say, tapping the picture. "One of the largest land animals that ever lived on Earth. They were gentle but incredibly strong. They lived in herds and had deep family bonds. They were also really intelligent—able to remember things for years and even grieve their dead."

Neteyam hums, golden eyes studying the creature. "It is… strange-looking," he admits, tilting his head. "But wise. Like the angtsìk of Pandora."

You nod. "Exactly! The angtsìk are kind of like elephants, but with more legs and, you know, the whole six-eyes thing."

He smirks at your casual tone, watching as you eagerly flip to another page. "And this," you continue, "is a wolf. They hunted in packs, much like your nantang. They were incredibly loyal to their groups, working together to take down prey. But they were also affectionate, forming deep bonds with their families. Some were even domesticated by humans, evolving into dogs."

"Dogs?" Neteyam echoes, frowning slightly.

You laugh, flipping to another page with an image of a fluffy-looking canine. "Yeah. They became one of our best companions. Humans and dogs formed bonds so strong that they were considered family. Some were trained to help with hunting, others to protect. But mostly, they were just… loved."

Neteyam’s ears flick, considering this. "Strange… that a predator could become a companion."

You shrug, smiling. "Not so strange. You’re a predator, and I love you."

His breath catches slightly, and you glance up at him, smirking.

"See?" you tease. "Not so different."

Neteyam exhales through his nose, shaking his head in amusement. "You twist words too easily, yawntu."

"It’s a gift."

He chuckles, pressing a kiss against your damp hair before nodding toward the book. "Show me another."

You flip through the pages, continuing to tell him about creatures long gone, their stories preserved only in ink and memory. And as Neteyam listens—his arms holding you close, his deep voice rumbling with thoughtful questions—he realizes he could stay like this forever. Just you, your voice, and the warmth of your body against his.

Your voice is soft as you continue flipping through the pages, reading aloud about the animals that once roamed your home planet. Neteyam hums in response, his deep, steady breathing warm against your skin as he listens, his arms still wrapped securely around you.

But then—he shifts.

You barely notice at first, too focused on the book in your lap, but the way his hold on you tightens ever so slightly makes something stir in your stomach. His lips brush against your bare shoulder—just a whisper of a touch—but enough to make you falter for a split second.

You clear your throat, pretending to ignore it. "And this," you murmur, tapping another picture, "is a red panda. They were small, mostly found in trees, and—ah!"

A soft nip lands at the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Neteyam—" you huff, tilting your head slightly to look at him, but he’s already smirking, his golden eyes gleaming mischievously.

"Pay me no mind," he murmurs against your skin, lips grazing your shoulder again. "I am simply listening."

You narrow your eyes at him but choose to let it slide. With a small huff, you turn back to the book, flipping to another page. "Fine. Here—foxes. Now, these little guys were known for their cunning and intelligence—"

Another kiss. This time at the base of your neck. You inhale sharply, fingers tightening slightly on the book. "—for being clever and tricky. They were smaller than most predators but used their wits to survive—"

His nose nuzzles into your hair, his lips grazing just below your ear. "Neteyam," you warn, but your voice wavers slightly, betraying you.

He chuckles softly, the sound sending a thrill through you. "Go on, syulang. I am listening."

You exhale, pressing forward, determined to get through this. "Always causing trouble," you continue, voice a bit breathless. "Always outsmarting those bigger than them. And very, very beautiful."

Neteyam hums approvingly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before whispering against your skin, "Then it is like you."

You blink. "What?"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression warm and full of teasing affection. "The fox," he repeats. "Cunning, clever, small. Always causing trouble. Always outsmarting those bigger than them. And very, very beautiful."

Your breath catches, warmth blooming in your chest at his words. You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. And Neteyam—satisfied with the way you suddenly look so flustered—grins, tightening his arms around you as he presses another slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

"What is it, syulang?" he teases, voice thick with amusement. "Did I render you speechless?"

You huff, rolling your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrays you. "Shut up."

Neteyam chuckles, resting his chin on your shoulder. "As you wish," he murmurs.

But the way his fingers slowly trace circles against your hip tells you that he’s far from finished.

Neteyam smirks faintly every time your voice falters—every time his lips find the right spot on your skin, making you pause mid-sentence. He enjoys how easily he can alter your thoughts, how just a few well-placed kisses are enough to make you forget the words you were reading aloud.

But what amuses him even more is that you have the same effect on him.

Your weight in his lap, the warmth of your body pressed against his, the soft rise and fall of your breath—it’s enough to pull him from the turmoil in his mind, grounding him in the present. The tension from earlier in the day, all fades into the background as you continue speaking, flipping through the pages of the book.

And yet—his thoughts begin to shift. He feels the way your thighs press against his, the way your damp towel clings loosely to your now dry skin, teasing him with glimpses of the softness beneath. His gaze flickers down, watching the delicate curve of your collarbone, the damp tendrils of hair clinging to the nape of your neck.

You wouldn’t say anything, but he knows you feel it—feels the way your breath hitches slightly, the way you shift just a little when you notice how hard he’s growing beneath you. Neteyam exhales slowly, his hands resting on your waist before sliding beneath the towel, his fingertips brushing over the soft skin of your stomach. You gasp softly, your fingers gripping the book a little tighter, but you don’t stop him.

Encouraged, his hand moves higher, his large palm spreading over your ribs before cupping your breast fully, his fingers flexing gently against the soft swell. And just like that—you go completely silent.

The book in your hands trembles slightly as your back instinctively presses against his chest, your body molding into him, as if surrendering to the slow, deliberate way he’s touching you. Neteyam hums in quiet satisfaction, his lips ghosting over your temple. "You were saying?" he murmurs, his voice deep, teasing.

But you don’t answer. And from the way his smirk deepens against your skin, you know he’s very, very pleased with that.

Neteyam tilts his head down, brushing his lips over the side of your neck, slow and deliberate. The warmth of his breath fans against your skin, and he’s pleased when you instinctively tilt your head, exposing more of your throat to him—silent permission, an unspoken invitation.

His lips press against your pulse, then lower, trailing slow, lazy kisses along the curve of your neck. He savors the way your body shivers slightly against him, the way your breath comes just a little faster. His fingers flex against your breast, his thumb dragging in slow, teasing circles over your already-hard nipple.

You bite your lip, looking away, your fingers curling slightly against the pages of your book. "It’s sensitive," you mumble quietly, your voice barely above a breath.

Neteyam hums in amusement, his lips curving into a small smirk against your skin. "Sensitive?" he repeats, his deep voice vibrating against your throat. His thumb brushes over the peak again, slower this time, just to see how you react.

You inhale sharply, your body twitching slightly in his lap, but you don’t stop him. "Hmm," he muses, kissing just below your ear, his voice filled with faux thoughtfulness. "You say that… but you’re not stopping me."

You let out a small, frustrated sound, squirming in his hold, but he only tightens his arm around your waist, keeping you still. "Neteyam," you sigh, half a plea, half a warning.

He chuckles against your skin, his nose nuzzling the spot just below your jaw. "What, sevin?" Beautiful. "Am I distracting you?"

You exhale sharply, rolling your eyes. "Obviously."

His thumb flicks over your nipple again, just to hear the small, unintentional gasp you let out. "You were telling me about these… foxes," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "But now you’ve fallen awfully quiet, little one."

You swallow, trying to regain some sense of composure. "Maybe if a certain someone wasn’t touching me like this, I could actually finish my sentence."

Neteyam only hums in response, entirely unbothered, his thumb continuing its slow, teasing strokes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You hesitate. And he lives for that hesitation. "That’s what I thought," he chuckles, pressing another slow kiss to your shoulder, enjoying the way your body melts against his.

The book snaps shut so suddenly that Neteyam barely has time to react before you toss it onto the bed. Before he can ask what you're doing, you're already moving—turning in his lap, shifting until you're straddling his thick thighs. The towel that had barely clung to your body in the first place slips away completely, pooling onto the floor, leaving you bare before him.

Neteyam barely breathes.

Your warm, soft skin presses against his, your smaller frame fitting so perfectly against his massive form. His hands instinctively move to your waist, fingers tightening as if he needs to hold you there, needs to ground himself.

And then—you kiss him.

Hard.

A desperate, heated press of your lips against his, all urgency, all need. His breath stutters as he responds immediately, his large hands sliding down your back, gripping your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your lips move together in a hungry dance, your fingers tangling into his braids, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth.

"I fucking missed you," you whisper against his lips, your breath hot and uneven. "Since you brought me back to the outpost, I haven't stopped thinking about you."

Neteyam exhales sharply, his golden eyes darkening as he grips you tighter. "I know, sevin," he murmurs, his voice rough, strained. "I missed you, too."

Your hands slide over his broad chest, feeling the way his heart pounds beneath your fingertips. You trail your lips down the sharp line of his jaw, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. Tiny bites follow each kiss, your blunt teeth scraping against the sensitive spots you know drive him crazy.

Neteyam growls low in his throat, his grip tightening on your waist. And then—you grind against him.

Slow.

Deliberate.

Your bare, dripping heat presses against the hardness beneath his loincloth, and a sharp, strangled sound rumbles from his chest. His ears flatten against his skull, his jaw clenching as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. "Tanhi," he exhales, his voice wrecked, strained with need.

Your lips curve into a smirk against his neck. "Yes, ma'Neteyam?" you purr, rolling your hips again, feeling the way his body tenses beneath you.

His control hangs by a thread. And you—his clever, beautiful, deadly little human—are about to snap it.

Neteyam exhales sharply through his nose, his grip on your waist tightening for a fleeting moment before he forces himself to loosen it. You're so soft against him, your warm, bare skin pressing against his in a way that should be comforting—is comforting—but his mind is still tangled in the remnants of the day.

Your nails graze over his shoulders, tracing along the strong muscles that are still taut with tension. "I want to help, love," you murmur, your voice soft, barely above a whisper. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, breathing him in like his scent alone can soothe you.

Neteyam shudders. "You’re so tense," you continue, pressing a gentle kiss to his throat. "Ever since you walked in. You still didn’t tell me what happened. I don’t like it when you are so burdened." Your small fingers find his forehead, tracing over the deep-set furrow there, smoothing over his frown like you can erase the weight he carries with a touch alone. And Eywa, he wishes you could.

"Let me make you feel good," you whisper, tilting your head to press another soft, lingering kiss to the corner of his lips.

Neteyam swallows hard. His chest rises and falls in a slow, measured breath, but the heat of you—your scent, your warmth, the way your body molds so perfectly to his—it’s unraveling him piece by piece. His hands slide up your back, his fingertips dragging lazily over your spine, feeling the way you shiver beneath his touch. His voice is deep, strained when he finally speaks. "You already do," he murmurs. "Always."

But you’re not satisfied with that answer. You shift in his lap, rolling your hips with purpose, making a quiet, breathy sound when his hardness presses right against your soaked folds. Your nails dig in slightly against his shoulders, your lips brushing against his in a barely-there kiss.

"Then let me show you," you whisper.

Neteyam lets out a deep chuckle, his golden eyes glinting with amusement as he watches you fumble with the knots of his loincloth. Your fingers, so small compared to his, tug at the fabric in frustration, your brows furrowing in concentration.

"Need some help, syulang?" he teases, his voice rich and warm, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

You huff, shooting him a playful glare before nodding begrudgingly. "It’s not fair," you say with a pout, your fingers pausing as you let him take over. "Yours are always tied so damn tight."

Neteyam laughs, shaking his head before effortlessly loosening the knots with a few deft movements. You barely have time to react before his loincloth is discarded behind you, his hardened length finally freed. Your breath catches slightly as you glance down, and Neteyam catches it instantly. His smirk grows.

"What?” he murmurs, tilting his head, his ears flicking forward in interest. "Intimidated, yawne?" You scoff, rolling your eyes before shifting forward, letting your slick folds drag along his length in a slow, teasing grind. Neteyam groans, his hands tightening on your hips, fingers pressing into your soft skin as he watches you with dark, hooded eyes. "Eywa..." he breathes, his voice rough, strained.

You bite your lip, smirking as you press a slow kiss to his lips. "You’re so big," you murmur against his mouth, your breath warm, teasing.

Neteyam’s grip flexes, his tail curling behind him, the restraint in his body evident. His golden eyes burn as they flicker between your face and where your bodies are pressed together. "And yet," he growls, his voice low and full of challenge, "you take me so well, yawne."

A shiver ripples through you at his words, your fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. "Then let me take you again," you whisper, your lips ghosting over his, your voice filled with nothing but hunger.

Neteyam groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he feels the desperate roll of your movements against him. Your slick folds glide along his hard length, coating him with your arousal, the friction making his breath hitch. "Please let me..." you practically purr, your voice dripping with need as you slowly reach down, your delicate fingers wrapping around his thick length.

His breath stutters as you lift yourself slightly, guiding him toward your entrance. His ears flick back, a flash of concern flickering across his face. "Syulang," he murmurs, his large hands bracing your waist, holding you still. "You’re still sore from this morning. If you go too fast—"

You silence him with a deep, lingering kiss, your lips soft but insistent against his. He melts into it instantly, groaning as your fingers tighten around him, lining him up with your dripping entrance.

And then, slowly, you sink down. Neteyam grits his teeth, his whole body tensing as you take him inch by inch, your warm, tight walls stretching around him once more. A strangled moan escapes your lips as your head falls forward, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

You’re still so sensitive—still raw from his love earlier—but you don’t stop. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you push past the lingering ache, determined to take all of him. You bite your lower lip, your brows furrowing as you adjust, as you stretch wide to accommodate his size.

Neteyam curses under his breath, his fingers flexing against your waist as he watches you, utterly transfixed. The sight of you—your face flushed, your lips parted, your body trembling as you take him so deeply—nearly undoes him.

"Ma’tanhi..." he breathes, voice rough with restraint, his ears pressing flat against his head. "You are—"

"Perfect," you whisper, finishing his sentence with a small, breathless smile. And then, you rock your hips.

Neteyam lets out a strangled whimper as your hips roll over him, the slow, torturous drag of your tight heat around him making his head spin. His grip on your waist tightens, blunt nails pressing into your soft skin as if trying to ground himself, to hold back the instinct to thrust up into you.

His golden eyes flicker toward the door for just a second, concern flashing across his face.

You notice. A small, knowing smile tugs at your lips as you lean in, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your movements don’t stop—your hips continue their slow, teasing grind against him, the delicious friction sending shivers down both of your spines. "Every room is soundproof," you whisper, your breath warm against his lips.

Neteyam groans, his whole body shuddering at your words. His restraint is already hanging by a thread, and the knowledge that no one will hear—that he can finally let go, fully and completely—makes something inside him snap. His hips twitch up involuntarily, sinking deeper into you. You moan—loudly.

The sound echoes in the small room, unfiltered, raw, and it sends a sharp wave of heat through both of you. Your eyes widen as a deep flush spreads across your cheeks. "Oh, fuck—"

Neteyam exhales sharply through his nose, his ears twitching, his expression darkening with pure need. His hands slide up your back, gripping you tighter, keeping you close as he leans in, his voice a low, rough murmur against your ear. "Again," he growls. And then, he thrusts up into you.

Your whole body trembles as you take every inch of him, your moans turning into desperate, broken cries with each deep, punishing thrust. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, your nails dragging across his blue skin as pleasure crashes through you in relentless waves.

"F-Fuck—Neteyam—"

He groans at the way you say his name, his ears flicking back, his golden eyes blown wide with hunger as he watches you fall apart above him.

"That’s it, yawne," he murmurs, his voice low and wrecked. "Take it. Take all of me."

His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements, making sure you feel every inch of him as he fills you completely. Your body is so soft, so pliant in his hands, like you were made for him. And fuck, the way you squeeze around him—he swears he might lose his mind.

Your thighs burn from the effort of moving, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not when he’s pressing into every perfect spot inside you, dragging pleasure from you so intense it borders on unbearable.

"You feel so good, ma’syulang," he groans, his head tilting back, his grip on you tightening. "So perfect around me—"

Your whole body jolts as he angles his hips just right, and you choke on a gasp, your hands flying to his braids for something—anything—to hold onto. "Oh, fuck—!"

Neteyam smirks, the sight of you writhing, completely at his mercy, sending a deep, primal satisfaction through him. "Right there?" he teases, rolling his hips again, hitting that spot with devastating precision.

Your breath shudders, your fingers tangling in his braids as you try to ground yourself, try to hold back the release building too fast in your core. "Neteyam—too much—" you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to slow down, to edge yourself, to drag this out— But you can’t.

"Don’t fight it," he growls, his voice thick with need. "Let go for me, yawntu."

"I—I can’t—"

"You can," he insists, thrusting up into you harder, deeper, keeping you exactly where he wants you. "Come for me."

The coil inside you snaps. A sharp, broken cry tears from your lips as pleasure crashes over you, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into his shoulders as you shatter completely.

"That’s my girl," Neteyam groans, feeling you tighten around him, your walls pulsing in the aftershocks. "So fucking beautiful when you come."

He doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking into you, chasing his own release, his movements growing rougher, more desperate as he uses your soft, trembling body to push himself over the edge.

"You can give me one more, syulang," he pants, his breath hot against your neck. "One more—just for me—"

"Nete—I—!"

But you can’t fight it. He’s too deep, too perfect, pressing into every spot that makes you fall apart, and before you can stop it— Your whole body seizes as another orgasm rips through you, white-hot and overwhelming.

"Fuck—yes," Neteyam groans, his hips stuttering as he finally lets go. He buries himself as deep as he can, pressing your hips down against him as he fills you, his release spilling inside you, hot and thick.

The sensation pushes you over the edge one last time, your body clenching around him, milking him for everything he has. Neteyam lets out a deep, shuddering moan, his grip on you unyielding as he presses his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard. His tail curls tightly behind him, his whole body still trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breaths, your body still wrapped around him, completely spent.

Then— A breathless laugh tumbles from your lips as you slump forward against him, pressing your forehead to his.

"You—" you gasp, still trying to catch your breath.

Neteyam chuckles, still trying to steady himself. "You’re the one who climbed into my lap, yawne."

You roll your eyes, your fingers lazily tracing over his damp skin. "You were brooding. I had to fix that."

Neteyam hums, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. "And you did," he murmurs, his voice softer now, full of something deep, something endless.

You smile against his lips, nuzzling your nose against his. "Good."

Neteyam leans back against the edge of your bed, his broad shoulders resting against the frame, his arms still wrapped securely around you. You’re draped over him, completely boneless, your cheek pressed against the warm skin of his chest. He’s still buried deep inside you, not moving, but still throbbing with each slow beat of his heart. The heat between you is sticky, your bodies tangled together in the aftermath of pleasure.

You murmur something against his skin, but it’s too soft for him to catch.

Neteyam hums, running a hand lazily down your spine. "What was that, yawntu?"

You exhale, nuzzling against him, too content to move. "I said…I feel so blessed."

He stills for a second, his arms tightening around you slightly before he lets out a deep, satisfied chuckle. "As you should, my love."

You roll your eyes, but the lazy smile on your lips betrays you. "I meant blessed to have you, skxawng."

"Mmm." He nuzzles his nose against your hair, inhaling your scent, still thick with sweat and sex. "I think I am the blessed one."

You hum softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns over his chest. "Then we are both lucky."

Neteyam grins, tilting his head down just enough to press a kiss to your temple. "Maybe. But you seem more exhausted than I am, yawne."

You let out a breathy laugh, tilting your head up to look at him. "I think you broke me."

Neteyam smirks, his fingers sliding down to cup your ass, pulling you just a little closer against him, pressing himself even deeper inside you. "After only one round?" His voice is pure sin, deep and teasing. "Tsk, tsk. And here I thought my little human could keep up with me."

You groan, burying your face against his chest. "Fuck off, Neteyam."

"No, no." He grins, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the curve of your hip. "You started this, syulang. Now I’m just wondering… how many more rounds would it take to get me to your level of exhaustion?"

You flush hard, your fingers tightening against his skin. "You’re insatiable."

"Only for you, ma yawntu," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hairline. "Maybe I should test your limits."

Just to prove his point, he rolls his hips ever so slightly, not enough to be deep, but just enough to feel you clench around him. "Fuck—" You gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Neteyam groans at the feeling, his golden eyes darkening as he watches your reaction. "Oh?" he purrs, his smirk growing. "You liked that?"

You swallow hard, trying to keep your body from reacting, but it betrays you. You shift slightly, and the movement sends another pulse of pleasure through you, making you clamp down around him again. Neteyam hisses between his teeth. "Mmm, syulang…" His grip on you tightens, his voice thick with amusement. "You keep doing that, and I’m not going to let you rest."

"Then stop talking dirty to me," you mumble against his chest.

He chuckles, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Oh, but I love seeing you react like this." His large hands slide down your back, kneading your soft skin. "So sensitive, so responsive. All mine."

You groan in frustration, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. "You’re the worst."

Neteyam just smirks, his golden eyes glinting mischievously. "And yet, you’re still sitting on me."

Your face burns. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t." He grins, rolling his hips again, drawing another sharp gasp from your lips. "You love me."

You squeeze your eyes shut, your nails raking lightly against his shoulders as another shiver runs through you. "Fuck—"

"Want me to prove it to you again, yawne?" His voice is pure temptation, his hands already shifting, ready to flip you onto your back.

And, Eywa help you…

Neteyam moves before you can even react. With effortless strength, he flips you onto your back, his massive frame hovering over you as your body melts into the soft blankets. Instinct takes over—you immediately try to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

His ears flick at the movement, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. "So eager," he teases, his voice deep and husky as he settles between your thighs.

Your face burns, and you turn your head to the side, avoiding his gaze. But that only gives him the perfect opportunity to dip his head, his warm lips finding the sensitive pulse at your neck. His teeth graze your skin before he presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss there, reveling in the way your breath stutters.

"Where is my reckless scientist?" Neteyam murmurs against your neck, his breath hot, teasing. "The one who talks back, who teases me without fear?"

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses another kiss lower, his hips rolling forward in the same moment. The slow, deliberate slide of him inside you makes you gasp, your fingers tightening against his shoulders.

"Mmm, there she is," he purrs, nipping at your jaw before lifting his head to look at you properly. "I thought I lost her for a second."

You bite your lip, breathless, but a small, teasing smile tugs at your lips. "She’s here, but she’s a little… preoccupied right now."

Neteyam chuckles, a deep, warm sound that vibrates against your skin. "Good."

And then—he starts to move. His hips rock against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, savoring the way you stretch around him, the way your body welcomes him so perfectly. He grunts softly, feeling how impossibly tight you still are, and you arch against him, pressing your chest flush to his as a breathless chuckle slips past your lips. You –this little demon in human skin– was laughing.

"What’s so funny?" he murmurs, pressing his forehead to yours, his golden eyes burning into yours as he keeps up his slow, devastating thrusts.

"You, my mighty warrior," you whisper, breathless. "All gruff and strong now… Where was this confidence before, hmm?"

A smirk curls on Neteyam’s lips. "What do you mean?"

You mock a pout, your fingers trailing up to tangle in his thick braids. "Where is my aloof Neteyam? The one who got all flustered when I touched his tail for the first time?"

Neteyam stills for just a fraction of a second—before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his lips.

"Oh, syulang," he purrs, his voice dropping into something dangerously low. "That Neteyam is gone." He growls playfully, his tail flicking behind him. Instead—he picks up the pace. Your teasing dies in your throat, replaced by a sharp gasp as his hips snap forward, driving into you harder, deeper. The new angle has you seeing stars, your legs tightening around him as you gasp his name.

"Ah—Neteyam—"

He grins against your cheek, pressing kisses along your jaw as he keeps up his relentless rhythm. "What was that?" he teases, his voice thick with pleasure.

You can’t answer. You can’t even think. Your body tightens around him, the pleasure hitting you too fast, too hard. "Oh, fuck—" you whimper, your nails digging into his back as your release slams into you, sending waves of ecstasy crashing through your veins.

"That’s it, yawne," Neteyam groans, feeling you tremble beneath him. "Come for me."

You do. You fall apart completely, clinging to him as pleasure wracks your body, leaving you panting and gasping against his chest. But Neteyam doesn’t stop—he’s chasing his own release now, and the way your walls flutter around him only pushes him closer to the edge.

"Fuck—so tight," he grits out, his movements growing more erratic, more desperate.

It should be too much. You should be too sensitive.

But the way he fucks you through it, the way he holds you so close, the way he fills you so completely— It’s too good. And before you can stop it, another orgasm tears through you. "Neteyam—" You barely manage to choke out his name before your body convulses again, pleasure crashing over you for the third time tonight.

"Eywa—" Neteyam curses, his entire body tensing as your walls squeeze around him. "Fuck, yawne—" He groans, burying his face against your shoulder as his hips stutter, and then—he spills inside you, his release warm and thick as he groans your name like a prayer. His arms shake as he holds himself above you, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, his heart hammering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing, your bodies still tangled together, still trembling from the intensity of it all.

Neteyam finally lifts his head, his golden eyes locking onto yours, still hazy with pleasure but filled with something deeper—something warm, something unspoken. He smirks, still panting as he braces himself on his elbows above you. "Three times, yawne?" he muses, brushing a strand of damp hair from your face. "I think that’s a new record."

You groan, covering your face with your hands. "Oh shut up."

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. Neteyam’s smirk softens into something unbearably tender, and he leans down, kissing you slow and deep, as if sealing the words between you.

Neteyam lets out a slow, steadying breath as he finally pulls out of you, his muscles still tense from the aftershocks of pleasure. His golden eyes flicker down, watching as his seed slowly drips from your thoroughly used core, and something primal stirs inside him at the sight. But instead of acting on it, he shakes his head with a soft chuckle, leaning back to search for the discarded towel.

He spots it a few feet away, abandoned where you threw it at the start of your heated night. With a satisfied sigh, he reaches for it and gently begins to clean you up, making sure his movements are slow and careful, not wanting to overstimulate your already trembling form.

You giggle softly, your body still humming with pleasure, and you stretch lazily beneath him, grinning like an idiot. "It was so good," you sigh, voice hazy with exhaustion and bliss.

Neteyam smirks, shaking his head as he wipes away the last traces of your joined pleasure. "Of course it was," he murmurs, his tone teasing but full of warmth. "I always take care of you, don’t I, ma’yawne?"

You hum in agreement, then reach up, your fingers curling around the back of his neck as you tug him down toward you. "Kiss me," you whisper, your breath ghosting over his lips, eyes half-lidded and pleading.

Neteyam doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours in an instant, the kiss deep and slow, full of something tender. He takes his time, savoring the moment, feeling the way your body relaxes further beneath him as you melt into his touch.

When he finally pulls away, he shifts beside you, lying down next to you on the nest of blankets and pillows you made together. You sigh contentedly, your hand reaching out, searching blindly for something on the floor next to you. Neteyam watches with a raised brow as you grab his mask, pulling it closer before pressing it into his hand. "You should breathe in it," you mumble sleepily, your eyes fluttering closed as you push the device toward him.

Neteyam hesitates for a second before taking it, his fingers curling around it as his ears flick at your quiet words. "I always worry about you when you don’t wear it here in the outpost," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

His chest tightens at that—at the way you always think about him, always care for him, even when you’re barely awake. He presses a soft kiss to your temple before lifting the mask to his face, breathing in the filtered air. "I know, syulang," he murmurs, his voice full of something deep and unspoken. "I’ll be fine."

But as he watches you drift off beside him, your small hand still resting against his chest, he realizes—being here, with you, breathing the same air, lying tangled in your warmth—this is the only place he ever wants to be.

Neteyam holds you close, his arms wrapped securely around your smaller frame, his long fingers tracing idle patterns along your bare back. The warmth of your body against his soothes something deep inside him, and without realizing it, a soft, contented purr vibrates through his chest.

You fit so perfectly against him—so small, so fragile, yet strong in ways that never ceased to amaze him. He breathes you in, his nose brushing the top of your head, his tail lazily curling and uncurling as the lingering tension in his body slowly fades.

He thinks you’ve already fallen asleep. But then—

"What happened today, Neteyam?" Your quiet whisper breaks the silence, soft and hesitant, but it still sends a ripple through him. His fingers pause against your back for just a second before resuming their slow caresses. "Why were you so tense?"

You don’t press him, don’t demand an answer—just ask, and wait, giving him the space to speak when he’s ready.

Neteyam exhales slowly, his eyes staring at the ceiling of your small room, his mind drifting back to the conversation with his father, to the weight of expectations, to the frustration that had been simmering in his chest all day.

He swallows hard. "It’s nothing," he murmurs, though even he doesn’t believe the words.

Your fingers, which had been resting lightly on his chest, move—tracing up, pressing gently against his jaw, tilting his face down just enough for him to see the way you’re watching him, even in the dim light.

"Neteyam," you whisper, "don’t do that. Not with me."

Something in him cracks.

Neteyam stares at you, his golden eyes searching your face, his jaw tight as if he’s still debating whether to let the words escape or swallow them down like he always does.

"You are not alone anymore," you whisper, your voice soft but firm, your thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. "You don’t have to carry everything alone. Tell me, please."

His throat bobs, and for a moment, you think he might shut you out again. But then—he exhales sharply, closing his eyes, as if something inside him finally gives way. "My father…" His voice is rough, strained. "He asked where I was last night. He saw that I was… happy. And still, the only thing he could do was scold me."

Your brows furrow, and you stay silent, letting him continue.

"He told me I should be better," Neteyam says bitterly, his jaw clenching. "That I should always be better." His ears flatten slightly, and his fingers twitch against the blankets. "I have spent my entire life doing everything he asked. I have never disobeyed him, never given him a reason to doubt me. I protected my siblings, even when it meant taking the blame for things they did. I have done everything he wanted—" His voice cracks for a second, but he swallows it down. "And yet, the one time I want something for myself… suddenly, I am the worst son."

Your chest tightens.

"Neteyam…" you whisper, reaching for him, but he shakes his head.

"It’s never enough," he breathes, his voice raw, exposed. "I will never be enough." The pain in his voice, the frustration—the deep, aching wound that has clearly festered for years—it nearly breaks you.

"That’s not true," you say, firm but gentle. "You are already enough, Neteyam. You always have been."

His ears twitch, but he doesn’t respond.

You take a breath, carefully choosing your words. "When I was in the village with the other scientists, I always heard about you." You reach out, threading your fingers through his braids, grounding him. "The other Na’vi speak of you with such admiration. They see you, Neteyam. They see how hard you work, how strong and kind you are. They respect you, they look up to you. You are everything they could hope for in a future leader"

Neteyam blinks, his eyes searching yours, like he wants to believe you but doesn’t know how.

"And your father?" you continue, brushing his hair back from his face. "I know he loves you."

Neteyam scoffs, but it’s weak, half-hearted.

"He does," you insist. "I know it might not feel that way, and maybe he doesn’t always show it the way he should. But you are his firstborn. His son. And I promise you, Neteyam, he loves you."

His breath shudders slightly, his face unreadable. You don’t push him to answer. Instead, you reach for him, gently pulling him closer. And after a moment, he lets you.

His massive body shifts as he wiggles down, pressing his head against your chest, his arms circling your waist, holding onto you. From an outside perspective, it must look ridiculous—the strong and powerful Na’vi, curled up against someone half his size, clinging to you like a lost child. But to you, it is the most natural thing in the world.

You cradle him close, your fingers slipping into his hair, massaging the base of his skull as you feel the weight of his body against yours. He exhales slowly, his breath warm against your skin, his tension finally beginning to ease.

You press a soft kiss to the top of his head, whispering, "You are doing a good job, my love. You always have."

Neteyam doesn’t respond, but you feel it—the way his arms tighten around you, the way his breathing steadies, the way his entire body melts against yours. And when you continue running your fingers through his braids, still holding him close, you hear it again—his soft, contented purr vibrating against your chest.

I guess I just wanted to write a fluff smut part before the pain

¯\_( ◉ 3 ◉ )_/¯

Part 20: (Soon)

[whimsicalpolitical]

what about girlie who isnt in a good realtionship goes to ross after a fight and ross just takes care of her

you‘re standing in front of ross’s flat, your breath unsteady, your eyes burning from the tears you swore you wouldn’t shed.

your fingers shake as they curl into fists inside the sleeves of your hoodie, the one you grabbed in a hurry when you stormed out of your apartment. the hoodie still smells like him—faint cologne and something inherently his—and it makes your stomach churn. you should’ve left it behind. should’ve stopped letting yourself get wrapped up in him, in the cycle of apologies and venom, in the fights that end with doors slamming and words that cut deeper than they should.

your mind replays it all like a broken record. the yelling, his face twisted in something halfway between anger and indifference. the way he scoffed at your tears like they were an inconvenience.

"you're so fucking dramatic."

"maybe if you weren’t so fucking insecure, we wouldn’t be here again."

"you’re lucky i even put up with this."

and then, like always, he left. walked out first this time, leaving you standing in the middle of your own living room, heart in your throat, hands trembling. you hate yourself for how quickly you followed—grabbing keys, slipping on old sneakers, barely thinking before your feet took you here.

to him.

to ross.

it’s the second time this month. maybe the fifth time in two months. maybe the tenth time this year. you’ve lost count, and you know he’s keeping track for you. he never says it out loud, never throws it back in your face, but you see it in his eyes when he opens the door—again?—and in the way his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing down the words he really wants to say.

your fingers hesitate over the door, hovering just above the chipped paint. you don’t have to knock. you know that. he’s told you before—you don’t have to ask, just come in—but it feels wrong to walk in like you belong here when all you ever do is show up when you’re falling apart.

the lump in your throat swells.

you take a shaky breath.

and then you knock.

the door swings open after just a few seconds, like he already knew you were standing there.

ross is wearing sweatpants that are hanging loose on his hips, the sleeves of his black sweater pushed up to his elbows. he blinks at you, eyes flicking over your face—red, blotchy, puffy—and you can see the exact moment it registers.

his expression softens.

"oh, love...,“ you let out a sharp, broken breath and it all just hits you. the fight, the words, the door slamming shut behind him. you’re still shaking, still crying, and when you open your mouth, all that comes out is a choked, "sorry, uhm… am i bothering you?"

ross shakes his head immediately, "no, not at all." he frowns, his brows drawing together. "what’s wrong, love?"

you bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, but it’s useless. you can’t get a single word out, your throat closing up, burning with everything you’re feeling but can’t say.

he notices. of course he does.

"come here," he murmurs, reaching for you. his hands are warm when they settle on your arms, guiding you inside, and the second the door clicks shut behind you, you fall forward into him.

ross catches you easily, arms wrapping around you without hesitation, pulling you close like it’s the most natural thing in the world. one hand cradles the back of your head, fingers slipping into your hair, while the other moves to your back, rubbing slow, gentle circles.

"‘s alright, i got you," he mutters, his chin resting lightly on top of your head. his sweater smells like fabric softener and something uniquely him, something grounding, something safe. "you’re okay."

you shake your head against his chest, gripping the fabric of his sweater with trembling fingers. "i hate him," you whisper, voice barely audible.

"i know."

"he’s such an asshole, ross."

"i know, love."

you fist your hands tighter into the fabric, a sob tearing through you before you can stop it. ross sighs softly and tightens his arms around you, his hand smoothing up and down your back, steady and soothing.

"did he—" he starts, then stops. when he speaks again, his voice is even softer. "did he do something? did he hurt you?"

"no, not like that…" your voice wobbles, breath hitching. "he just—he just says shit, ross, and i know i shouldn’t care, but i do, and it’s so fucking stupid, and i hate feeling like this, and i—"

"hey, hey, stop." ross pulls back just enough to look at you, one hand moving to cup your cheek. his thumb brushes away a tear, his gaze searching yours. "it’s not stupid, alright? don’t do that. don’t blame yourself for caring."

you close your eyes, swallowing hard. "i don’t know why i still let him get to me."

"because you love him," ross says simply.

you let out a shaky breath, fresh tears spilling over.

"but he doesn’t love me," you whisper.

ross’s jaw tenses. "not too sound to rough but would that even matter?" his thumb swipes another tear from your cheek. "someone who loves you should not treat you like that.“

“right,” you whisper.

his arms tighten around you, warm and solid, his chin tucking over your shoulder this time.

"you deserve better, you know that, yeah?" his voice is right against your ear. "you know that, right, love?"

your breath shudders out of you, but you nod, even though you’re not sure you believe it yet.

ross exhales, and you feel it against your skin. "he’s a fucking idiot," he mutters.

you let out something that’s almost a laugh, but it catches in your throat, still too raw.

ross pulls back just enough to look at you again, his hands still holding you close. "you wanna stay the night?"

you don’t even think before you nod.

"alright," he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. like of course you’re staying. like it was never a question.

he lets his hands linger for a second longer, then gently nudges you toward the living room. "come on, let’s get you sat down, yeah?"

you follow him in, your legs feeling a little heavier now that the worst of the crying has passed. the exhaustion is settling in, weighing down your limbs, but you don’t want to think too much. you just want to be here.

ross disappears for a moment and comes back with a glass of water. he holds it out to you, nodding toward it. "drink, love."

you take it from him, your hands still trembling slightly. he watches as you take a slow sip, and when you lower the glass, he nods approvingly.

"good," he murmurs.

you hold the glass of water in both hands, staring down at it, watching the way the surface trembles slightly from the unsteady grip of your fingers. you take a slow sip, just to give yourself something to do, but it doesn’t stop the way your chest still feels too tight.

ross sits down next to you, close enough that his knee knocks against yours, and then he reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. he tugs it down and spreads it over your lap, over his own legs too.

"i’m scared."

ross stills for half a second before turning his head to look at you. his brows pull together, and he shifts slightly, giving you his full attention. "why?" he pauses, "of what?"

you swallow, fingers tightening around the glass. "what’s going to happen if i break up with him?"

ross goes quiet. not in a bad way, not in a way that makes you feel like you shouldn’t have said it. he’s just thinking, processing, like he wants to make sure he says the right thing.

"first of all, i’m glad you’re even thinking about breaking up with him," he says, "because you should. because he’s treated you like shit, love, and you don’t deserve that."

you exhale shakily, staring down at the water again.

ross nudges your knee with his. "but what’s got you scared, hm? what do you think is going to happen?"

"i don’t know." your voice is small. "maybe nothing. maybe everything. i just…" you trail off, shaking your head. "i guess i’m also scared of being alone."

ross lets out a breath through his nose, and it sounds almost like a quiet laugh, but there’s no humor in it. more like disbelief. more like he’s mad at the idiot who made you feel like this.

"you’re not gonna be alone," he says firmly. "not for a second, alright?" he shifts even closer, pressing his knee against yours again like he wants to make sure you feel it. "you’ve got me. you’ve always got me."

he offers you a warm smile.

"if he gives you any shit," ross continues, jaw tightening, "i’ll do something about it, yeah? i don’t care what. i’ll fucking—" he stops himself, exhales sharply through his nose, then shakes his head. "point is, you don’t have to be scared. i won’t let him make you feel like that anymore."

his words settle over you, warm and solid, sinking into the cracks of everything you’ve been feeling.

you take a slow breath, gripping the blanket between your fingers. "thank you," you whisper.

“of course.”

you let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension in your chest ease—not all of it, not yet, but enough. enough for now.

"alright, how about a distraction," he says, "would you like to watch something? eat something?"

you sniff, shifting under the blanket. "movie’s fine, i guess."

ross nods and grabs the remote from the coffee table, then hands it to you without question, like he already knows you’ll want to pick.

"alright, go on then," he says, leaning back against the couch.

you scroll through the options, your eyes flicking over the titles until one catches your attention. you press play, and as the opening credits roll, you glance over at ross.

“10 things i hate about you?" he asks, one brow raised, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips.

"yeah," you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around you. "comfort movie, i guess."

ross hums, eyes flicking over your face for a moment, “i’ll be excited then. should be good.”

“it is.”

the movie starts, but before you can settle into it, you turn your head toward him again.

"thank you, ross."

he glances over, his brow furrowing slightly. "what for?"

you swallow, shifting slightly. "for always being there. for letting me come here, for listening, for just…" you gesture vaguely. "being you. i don’t know what i’d do without you, honestly."

ross just looks at you for a long moment, like he’s searching for the right thing to say. his lips part, then press together again, like he’s holding something back.

then he just shakes his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips.

"don’t have to thank me for that, love," he murmurs. "you’re my safe space too, you know."

you can’t help it—you smile. it’s small, barely there, but real. warm.

ross notices. of course he does. his eyes flick to you again, catching the way your lips curve just slightly, the way your shoulders aren’t so tense anymore. his own smile lingers for a second before he tilts his head toward you.

"come here," he murmurs.

you hesitate for just a second, but only because it still feels strange sometimes—letting yourself take comfort in someone who actually wants to be there. someone who doesn’t make you feel like a burden for needing them.

but it’s ross.

so you shift, moving closer, and he lifts his arm slightly to make space for you. you tuck yourself against his side, resting your head on his chest, and his sweater is soft against your cheek, warm from his body heat.

he doesn’t hesitate. just wraps his arm around you.

you let out a slow breath, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. the sound of his heartbeat is there too, quiet but strong, steady enough to calm the lingering mess in your head.

he rubs a slow, absentminded hand up and down your arm, his fingers tracing light, soothing patterns.

"is this alright?" he asks.

you nod against him. "yeah."

ross doesn’t say anything else, just lets you settle against him as the movie plays.

and for the first time all night, you feel something close to okay.

[solaceseven]

you storm out in the middle of an argument

pairings: gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader

GOJO - the second you stormed out, gojo was right behind you.

you heard his footsteps almost immediately, quick and determined. of course, he wasn’t going to just let you go—not without a fight.

“leave me alone, gojo,” you snapped over your shoulder, picking up your pace.

“nope.”

you groaned. “i need space.”

“i need you to not walk around alone at night,” he countered, effortlessly keeping up.

you whirled around, frustration bubbling over. “i can protect myself.”

gojo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i know you can. you’re strong, way too strong for me, honestly—i think about it all the time, actually, how you could probably throw me into the sun if you really tried—”

“gojo.”

“right, right, focus.” he exhaled. “i know you can handle yourself. that’s not the point. i just—please, come back home.”

you clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. gojo loved your stubbornness—adored it, actually. but right now, he just wished you’d listen to him.

when you didn’t say anything, he groaned dramatically, throwing his hands up. “come on—don’t make me get on my knees.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“oh, i would. right here. in the middle of the street.”

you rolled your eyes, turning to keep walking. when you finally took in your surroundings. without even realizing it, you’d walked all the way to a 7-eleven.

gojo followed your gaze, then brightened immediately. “oh? a sign from the heavens?” he turned to you with a grin. “ramen?”

you sighed, and gojo, ever the opportunist, pressed on. “my treat.”

“you always pay,” you deadpanned.

“exactly! so, technically, i didn’t even have to say that—but i did, because i’m a generous and loving boyfriend.”

you exhaled, shaking your head. “…yeah, okay.”

gojo beamed like you had just accepted a marriage proposal. “knew you couldn’t resist me.”

you shot him a glare, but he just threw an arm around your shoulder, steering you inside like you hadn’t just been arguing minutes ago.

as he grabbed entirely too many snacks, sneaking extras into your basket with a shit-eating grin, you felt the weight in your chest ease just a little.

you weren’t done being mad at him—not completely. but as he stood beside you at the register, arms full of junk food, nudging you with his elbow like a lovesick fool, you realized—

yeah. you’d be okay.

GETO - suguru doesn’t stop you.

not because he doesn’t care—no, quite the opposite. he watches as you grab your coat, as you storm out, and he lets you go. he knows you need space, and he respects that.

but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to find you.

you don’t know how long you’ve been walking, the frustration from your argument still lingering, but eventually, you find yourself stopping by a quiet street corner. you sigh, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to steady your thoughts—

and then you hear it. a smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

“you’re really making me work for it tonight, huh?”

you whip around, only to see geto standing there, hands tucked casually into his sleeves, watching you with that unreadable expression of his.

you glare. “how did you even find me?”

he tilts his head, amused. “you’re predictable.”

you huff, crossing your arms. “if you’re here to drag me home, don’t bother.”

geto steps closer, slow and easy. “i’m not dragging you anywhere.”

you raise an eyebrow. “then what do you want?”

he exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “you’re upset. i get it. but you know i hate leaving things like this.” he steps beside you, hands still tucked into his sleeves. “so, i figured i’d come find you.”

you don’t answer right away, staring at the ground. then, without warning, your eyes begin to sting. you blink rapidly, willing the tears away, but it’s too late—geto sees it instantly.

his expression shifts, the tension in his shoulders vanishing in an instant. before you can turn away, he’s already in front of you, his hands cupping your cheeks with the kind of gentleness that makes your chest ache.

“hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, tilting your face up to him. “don’t cry.” his thumbs brush lightly under your eyes, catching the first traces of tears. “look at me.”

you do, even though it only makes your throat feel tighter.

his brows furrow, guilt flashing across his face. “i’m sorry, okay?” his voice is soft, sincere. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you swallow hard, blinking up at him. “…you were being an ass.”

a small, breathy chuckle leaves him. “yeah,” he admits. “i was.”

you sniff, and he immediately wipes away another tear before it can fall, his touch warm and steady. “but i didn’t mean to be,” he continues. “you know that, right?”

you nod.

geto exhales, relief evident in his expression. his hands don’t leave your face, his thumbs still tracing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“come home?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you glance away, mumbling, “still mad.”

“i know.” his lips quirk into a small smile. “you can be mad at me at home, too.”

a pause. then, finally—

“okay.”

he doesn’t say anything, just lets his forehead rest lightly against yours for a moment before taking your hand in his, squeezing it once before leading you back home.

NANAMI - the argument had left a bitter weight in your chest, one that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you wanted to. the walls of your shared home felt too tight, too suffocating, so you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed your coat and walked out.

you didn’t have a destination in mind, just the simple need to move, to put some distance between you and the words that had been thrown too carelessly.

at first, you thought you were alone. but then, a few blocks in, you heard it—steady, familiar footsteps trailing behind you.

you sighed. “kento.”

a pause. “hm?”

you turned slightly, just enough to glance over your shoulder. sure enough, he was there. hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, but present nonetheless. he didn’t try to walk beside you, didn’t call your name or tell you to come home—he was just there.

“you don’t have to follow me,” you muttered.

nanami exhaled slowly, adjusting his tie as he kept his pace behind you. “i know.”

and yet, he didn’t stop.

you didn’t push him away, either.

the night air was crisp, the streets quiet save for the occasional car passing by. you walked, and he followed. neither of you spoke. the argument still lingered between you, raw and unhealed, but for some reason, his quiet presence made it easier to breathe.

eventually, your feet carried you to the park. it was empty this late, just dimly lit by a few scattered streetlights. you found yourself heading toward the swing set, your steps slowing as you lowered yourself onto one of the swings. the chains creaked slightly under your weight.

nanami hesitated for only a second before taking the swing next to you. he didn’t say anything, just sat there, hands resting on his thighs, eyes fixed ahead.

the silence stretched, not uncomfortable, just… there.

after a long moment, you broke it.

“we’re going to be okay, right?” your voice was quieter than you intended, but you didn’t correct it.

nanami didn’t answer immediately. he let out a slow breath.

“yeah,” he said, firm, certain. “we’re going to be okay.”

and for the first time since the argument, you let yourself believe it.

SUKUNA - the door had barely swung shut before you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

you had barely made it down the front steps when a clawed hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you to a stop.

sukuna’s grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unrelenting. “where do you think you’re going?” his voice was low, edged with something unreadable.

you didn’t turn to face him. “i need to cool off.”

his fingers twitched against your skin. “tch. you can cool off inside.”

you exhaled sharply, attempting to pull away, but he didn’t let you. his grip remained steady, grounding. “i don’t want to be inside right now, sukuna.”

“and i don’t want you wandering off alone.”

you finally turned, eyes burning with frustration. “i can take care of myself.”

his expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his crimson gaze. “i know you can.” his tone softened, just barely. “that’s not the point.”

silence settled between you, tense and heavy. the night air was cool against your skin, the world around you quiet. your breathing was uneven, your heart still pounding from the argument. you wanted to be stubborn, to keep walking just to prove a point.

but sukuna didn’t let go.

for a long moment, he just looked at you. not with anger, not with amusement—just quiet, unreadable intensity. and then, after a sigh that sounded almost reluctant, his grip loosened. his hand slid down to take yours, fingers wrapping around yours in a way that felt less like restraint and more like holding on.

“come back inside,” he muttered. his voice wasn’t commanding, not like before. it was something else. something almost pleading.

you hesitated, still upset, still wanting to fight. but his hand was warm, solid, there. the fight had drained out of you, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

after a long pause, you sighed, giving his fingers a small squeeze before turning back toward the house.

sukuna didn’t say anything, just followed beside you, his hand never leaving yours. when you stepped inside, he made sure the door was locked behind you, his movements slow, deliberate. neither of you spoke as he guided you toward the bedroom, the silence no longer suffocating but something quieter, softer.

the argument wasn’t over. you weren’t ready to let it go. but as sukuna’s grip lingered, steady and sure, you knew—

you two were going to be okay.

TOJI - toji doesn’t follow you. at least, not right away.

he watches as you storm out, jaw clenched, arms crossed, your anger still crackling in the air like static. he lets you leave, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t chase you down. he just sits there, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh.

but after a few minutes, he clicks his tongue, grabs his jacket, and heads out after you.

he knows you—knows you’re stubborn, knows you need space, but he also knows it’s late, and he’ll be damned if he lets you wander around alone.

it doesn’t take long to find you. you’re sitting on a bench at some quiet little bus stop, arms hugged around yourself, your knee bouncing impatiently. toji exhales, shoving his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.

you glance up when he steps in front of you, glaring. “go away.”

“not happening,” he says flatly.

you scoff, turning your head. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”

“good,” he deadpans. “cause i ain’t here to talk.”

you blink, caught off guard, looking at him. he just shrugs. “you needed space, so i gave it to ya. now i’m just gonna sit here and shut up.”

and with that, toji plops down onto the bench next to you, spreading his legs wide, leaning back like this is the most natural thing in the world.

you stare at him. “you’re kidding.”

“nah.” he closes his eyes, tilting his head back. “go on. be mad.”

you are mad. but suddenly, it feels a little ridiculous.

the two of you sit there in silence, the sounds of the city buzzing faintly in the distance. the weight of the argument still lingers, but toji’s presence, solid and unshaken, makes it feel smaller. like it’s not going to swallow you whole.

after a while, he cracks an eye open, side-eyeing you. “you done sulking yet?”

you huff. “i’m not sulking.”

“yeah, yeah.” he stretches, rolling his shoulders. “c’mon. let’s go.”

you hesitate. “i dunno…”

he stands up, glancing down at you. “i’ll buy you food.”

you squint. “bribery?”

toji smirks. “call it what ya want. just get up.”

you sigh, but when he holds a hand out to you, you take it. his grip is warm, steady, and when he tugs you to your feet, he doesn’t let go.

“where are we going?” you mumble.

“dunno.” he shrugs. “we’ll figure it out.”

and somehow, that’s enough.

[tojisbbg]

gang baby

❝she told you she celibate, but she told me i can nail her shit!❞

♡ sylus, caleb, rafayel, zayne, xavier ♡

sypnosis: you're just a girl. yeah, you can't decide between five hot LI's presented to you in the popular otome game, love and deepspace, but that's okay. who said you can't have them all? literally.

wc: 11k (lots of smut beware)

a/n: valentines day special!! guys, don't question it, ok? i wrote this with my whole pussy. ok bai. (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: all lads LI's x fem!reader (yes, you read right), gangbang, slight plot, reader gets transported in lads universe, smut (no details, find out hehe), all acts are consensual, not edited. disclaimer: not based off tomorrow's catch-22!!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

"fuck!" you yelled out in frustration, chucking your phone off your bed as the poor device fell on the floor with a loud thud. you could hear your best friend giggling from your laptop, making you shoot her a sharp glare.

"shut up." you sneer, but it only fueled her laughter more.

"damn, infold really hates you, bro." she pokes further at your miserable failure, making your shoulders slump in defeat as you grumble.

"i can't believe it. i've been grinding for two months straight to save up fifteen thousand diamonds for the valentines day banner! i was sure i'd pull them all, and you're telling me i only got two out of the five?? this is a fucking joke." you ranted, making your friend hum as she understood your anger.

"yeah, i'd be mad as hell too. but hey, at least you got sylus and caleb. just watch the rest on twitter or something." your best friend tried to comfort you, but it only made you pout.

"but i want them all." you sulked, making her roll her eyes.

"you're such a whore." she sighed, making you grin.

"duh, why choose one when i can have them all." you nonchalantly responded.

"yeah, yeah, forgot you had no shame." she shook her head in disbelief.

"man, i don't know what else to do. i literally milked the game dry, there's no other way i can get more diamonds for more pulls before the event ends. this is so unfair." you whined, fingers tangled in your hair.

"you can always-"

"no. i'm not giving those greedy hoes my money." you cut off her suggestion, your tone stern.

you were a poor college student who worked part-time at a stationery supply store (living the aesthetic life while crying over classes and fictional men); money's tight, and you're not about to spend hundreds on this because you know it'd become a horrible habit sooner or later.

despite being broke, your spending habits were outrageous.

"yeah girl, then i don't know what to tell ya. i'm chilling with my rafayel card. oh shit, it's almost three in the morning, bitch. we have class tomorrow, go to sleep." she yawned tiredly.

"you're leaving me just like that? after i went through so much pain and trauma? is this how deep our ten years of friendship runs? just say you hate me and want me to die a slow painful death." you dramatically rambled, making your best friend rub her temple in faux annoyance as she groaned at your stupidity.

"when i see you tomorrow, i'm gonna slap you. goodnight, hoe." with that, she hung up.

you closed the lid of your laptop and placed it on charge, stretching before standing up to go pick up your phone. you noticed the small cracks on your screen as you walked back to your bed.

you unlocked your phone, noticing how the lads server kicked you out. you exited the app, clicking on it again as you were met with caleb's face.

so l-long for longe-ge-... before fa-fa...dust

so long for-for-.... fading-fa..-dus..

so-so...lo...ng-..fading...

your eyebrows furrowed as you watched the app glitch horribly, the audio was choppy and produced crackling noises. the graphics were disoriented and there was a pop-up notification saying you needed to upgrade your memory.

you could feel your irritation rise once again, getting tired of this shit as you decided to deal with it tomorrow or something. however, every time you tried to exit the app, it wouldn't let you.

your phone literally froze.

"great. just fucking great." you sarcastically murmured.

not only did you not get the limited cards you wanted, you were broke (in the real world and in lads), you're screwed for your morning classes and your phone is currently on its last breath.

also, you were hungry as fuck right now, craving for some five guys.

"fuck this." you sighed in defeat, settling your phone next to you before laying down to sleep. you figured that eventually your phone would turn off once the battery died, so until then you just turned to the other side and ignored the device.

soon enough, fatigue took over your body as you were slipping away into a deep slumber.

unaware, your phone screen turned off momentarily, before flickering on once again as the screen crackled and glitched before stopping.

data retrieval complete, memory upgrade...

successful.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

you stirred in your sleep, eyebrows pinched together as you felt a cold breeze run across the bare skin of your thighs and arms.

nonetheless, you don't remember leaving your window open, it was the middle of february. you groaned, eyes still shut tight as your hand reached down, trying to locate your blanket.

"comfortable, sweetie?" you heard an oddly familiar, deep voice suddenly speak.

did someone break into your house? and why the hell did your mattress feel so hard and cold?

your eyes shot open, adjusting your blurry vision as you realized you were not in your bedroom. you were laying on the cold, dirt ground and it made you panic.

you helplessly sat up and noticed the long pair of legs in front of your body, making you look up as you saw the towering figure of a man. the night sky was dark, making it hard for you to make out his face.

"who are you? and what the hell am i doing out here?" you asked, but your voice barely came out as a whisper.

a deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, before he bent down to come eye-level with you. as soon as you met the bright, ruby red orbs of his foxy eyes; your jaw dropped in horror.

no. fucking. way.

"shouldn't i be the one asking you those questions, sweetie?" sylus smirked, head tilting as he keenly watched your facial expressions.

"you're not real. i'm dreaming, yeah, just a dream that feels too real." you blurt out, a breathy laugh scratching your dry throat, trying to calm yourself from freaking out as your heart leaped to your chest when he directly looked at you.

"a dream, you say? hmph, you're a strange one." he shook his head before grabbing your wrist, bringing your palm to his lips. the warmth of his rough hands, which were definitely double the size of yours, made you shiver due to the contrast of your cold ones. he bit the side of your palm before gently sucking on it, making you jolt from the sudden sensation.

sylus watched you with pure amusement glinting in his eyes.

"you're like a scared little kitten, so expressive." sylus commented, making you swallow harshly.

well, this definitely was not a dream, thanks to sylus's help for that confirmation.

but the question was.... how the hell did you end up here?

suddenly, there was rustling in the distance, making his eyes twitch as he became alert. sylus slightly shifted closer to you, now scanning the area for the intruder.

"miss bodyguard?" with a dramatic gasp, you heard rushed footsteps approach you. it was hard to miss the hues of indigo, pinks and blues in his eyes along with the striking dusky purple hair that was a little more visible thanks to the moonlight.

"r...rafayel?" it felt odd saying his name out loud, it almost made you feel a little schizophrenic.

just a bit.

"duh, who else would it be? what are you doing here in the N-109 zone at this hour. also, the hell are you wearing? so not creative or fashionable." rafayel questioned, of course, not forgetting to throw in his snarky little insults along with it.

"what's wrong with what i'm wearing?" you glared at him.

"it's the middle of february and you're dressed like it's a hundred degrees outside." the lemurian smirked down at you.

you cursed at yourself for going to bed in shorts and a thin shirt. well, to be fair, it's a cute snoopy set. also, who in the hell could've predicted this to happen!?

"she wanted to have a little sleepover with the wanderers that lurk around here." the dragon teased, making your face heat up.

"i did not." you mumbled under your breath.

"uh-huh, you're not really in the position to defend that claim." rafayel egged further.

"whatever, what are you doing here? you usually don't go out of your way to come to the N-109 zone." you tried to change the subject, remembering from his anecdotes that he usually has third party people as his "networks" to gain intel.

"just some business you shouldn't sweat your pretty little head over, cutie. but, you know, we should really talk about what your business is with the leader of onychinus." he cocked an eyebrow, his eyes flickering between you and sylus.

"it's nothing, uh, i don't even know him." you chuckled nervously, making sylus look at you with a sharp look.

"is that so, kitten? you wound me. and here i thought we had something more than just... acquaintances. i guess those nights of naughty touches, kisses and naked glances mean nothing to you, right?" sylus shamelessly bullet-pointed, his tone dropping an octave lower as your cheeks grew warm.

on the other hand, rafayel's eyes widened at the revelation.

"you fucked the leader of onychinus?! woah, woah, woah, pause. what about everything that happened between us?? we had sex in my bathtub, the hotel and don't forget-" he was flabbergasted, only to be cut off by sylus.

"you were messing around with this half-baked fish, sweetie? i'm disappointed in your taste. if you planned on two-timing, you could've selected a better opponent for me. this is just... offensive." he snarked, his red eyes beaming with irritation as he looked at rafayel, who's face grew dark from his brash words.

"what did you say to me, you fucking crow? half-baked fish? i'm the god of tides, a majestic lemurian. you dare to speak to me like that?" rafayel's voice became husky, languid footsteps towards the other man.

"h-hey, hey, let's all calm down. there's a very logical and reasonable explanation, i swear." you tried to mediate between them, but it didn't seem like they planned on giving a flying shit about what you had to say any time soon.

"y/n? there you are. i've been blowin' up your phone for hours. thought a wanderer got to you and i got worried about how i'd pay the rent by myself." xavier walked from the shadows, his words laced with a gentle joke as he approached you and the other two men.

holy fuck, this was not good.

"and who are you guys?" the ash-blonde male asked, eyes narrowing before looking down at you.

"xavier." you meeked, not even knowing what to say anymore.

"why are you seeing other guys, y/n? am i not enough? you know i don't like it when you hide things from me. i thought you learned your lesson after i punished you for choosing lumiere over me." xavier now towered over you, his voice laced with envy as you gulped.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

"xavier, i promise i can explain. this is all just a-" you tried to somehow pull an excuse out of your ass, but your brain was fogging up.

"pipsqueak?"

"y/n? what an odd place to be at during such an odd hour, you left your patient copy in my office."

two other figures emerged from the sides, making your eyes close in disbelief, wishing that you could somehow disappear from the face of earth right now.

why the fuck are they all here.

at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me." you covered your face with the palm of your hands.

"caleb? i thought you were dead." zayne spoke in a monotone, glancing at his childhood friend.

"wow, i missed you too, zayne." caleb rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his words. however, the small spark of tension barely lasted before caleb looked back at you.

"care to explain why you're in such a dangerous zone at this time? you know you can't hide from me, pipsqueak. what connections do you have here? who are you seeing? was locking you up in the attic not enough for you?" caleb lectured, his voice gruff before zayne decided to add on to the fire.

"you're utterly reckless, your heart condition isn't getting any better." zayned pushed the frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

all five on them now circled you, bickering and arguing with each other along with bombarding you with questions. you balled your fists in annoyance and frustration.

"shut up! oh my fucking god, i don't know, okay?! i don't know how i ended up here, so stop asking me. fuckin' hell, i can't even get a moment to breathe or think because all of you little shits won't shut up for a second!" you snapped as you stood up, making all of them look at you with surprised eyes.

you gulped, feeling a little cornered as you have five insanely tall, broad and buff men look down at you; like helpless prey.

caleb was the first person to break the momentary silence, grabbing your arm to pull you towards him.

"let's go home, pipsqueak. i'll cook your favorite tonight since it's valentines day." he smiled, only for your other arm to be tugged backwards as you yelped.

"home? her home is with me, we're roommates. i think you got the wrong person." xavier calmly replied, but his words were laced with venom.

"she's going nowhere with either of you. she's my bodyguard and i need her to come back with me to my studio. y'know, in case some scary wanderers are lurkin' around." rafayel pushed xavier to the side, intertwining his fingers with yours before giving you a charming smile as he attempted to walk off; only to bump into someone.

"i don't think so. she's been out here for so long, i might need to give her an exam to make sure she's okay." zayne cleared his throat, pinching the bridge of his nose.

you felt like you were the rope being tugged in tug-of-war. sylus deeply sighed at the situation and before you knew it; in one smooth swoop you were now in the strong arms of the leader of onychinus.

"what fools. she's in the N-109 zone for a reason. for me, of course. come on, sweetie, you must be freezing. let's go inside." sylus look down at you with a gentle smile playing on his lips.

you groaned, squirming out of his hold as sylus let you, watching you get back on your feet.

"this is ridiculous! you all are acting like a bunch of kids, fighting over me like i'm some kind of toy. none of you own me!" you stood your ground.

"fine, then why don't you choose?" sylus scoffed, crossing his arms. you grew quiet, looking at each of them before averting your gaze to the ground.

"i... i can't." you whispered.

"you can't? or you don't want to?" xavier snickered.

"you're the one who's been toying with us. we deserve an explanation, no?" rafayel grinned.

"explanations are too time-consuming, actions speak louder than words. so, how are you gonna fix it, y/n?" hazel eyes peered at you with intensity through the glass lenses.

oh, you're so fucked.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

everything happened so fast, you didn't know who swiped your panties off or unclasped your bra.

you felt betrayed at how they evilly plotted against you, telepathically agreeing to punish you for your unfaithfulness. what happened to hating each other? so, here you were now, splayed on the soft mattress in sylus's room; like art on a display.

they drank in the sight of you, perky tits spilled out as the smooth glaze of your skin glimmered under the dim lighting of the room. their eyes were full of hunger, eye-fucking you as you grew shy under their intense gazes.

"s-stop staring at me like that." you whined, looking away as your face reddened at the attention.

you felt someone stroking your thighs, making you shudder as you looked in front of you, seeing caleb gripping the supple fat of your plush thighs.

"never knew you were such a dirty little slut, princess. all these years of knowing you... and to think you were capable of this? how naughty." caleb smirked, prying your thighs open as you gasped.

but, your lips would soon be sealed with zaynes as he kissed you roughly. his pillow-soft lips molded with yours, the smacking sound of saliva filled the room. a big, veiny hand came up to cup your cheek gently as he slid his tongue inside your mouth, licking the wet muscle before sucking it.

caleb used his thumb to spread your soaked folds apart, watching the lewd string of your arousal connect them both. your clit was puffy from being neglected, a sheen of wetness covering your cunt; making his mouth salivate. he leaned down, mouth hovering above your pussy.

"fuckin' beautiful." caleb swore under his breath, the warm air fanning above your aching cunt, giving you goosebumps. you moaned into zayne's mouth, feeling caleb's warm and wet tongue lick a fat stripe up your cunt.

"hope you didn't forget about us, cutie." rafayel pouted, licking at your nipple before wrapping his lips on the swollen pebble. sylus soon followed his footsteps, greedily kneading at your other tit before leaning down and pressing open-mouthed kisses on the soft mound.

meanwhile, xavier's lips were buried in your neck as he punished you with licks and bites on the expanse of your unmarked flesh.

"ngh~ xavier!" you whimpered against zayne's lips, the doctor now nibbling on your bottom lip.

he licked the side of your neck before softly clamping his teeth down, suckling and leaving a purplish bruise. as a soothing apology, xavier kitten-licked the fresh mark before moving down to your collarbone with wet kisses.

caleb continued to lap at your wet cunt, his saliva mixed with your juices dripped down his chin. the tip of his tongue circled your clit before suckling on it, making your legs tremble as a moan ripped out of your throat as you tried to close your legs.

"f-fuck.. hnghh.." you cried out, feeling him plant his palms on your inner thighs, forcing you to keep them open. caleb peered up at you from between your thighs, amethyst eyes glaring at you as his lips were glossy.

"don't interrupt me when i'm eating." he huskily spoke before slapping your dripping pussy, producing a wet 'pap!' noise. you yelped because of your increased sensitivity, not having enough time to recover before he dove back in.

with one last wet smooch, zayne released your lips before crawling down right next to his childhood friend. they exchanged a quick look, a mischievous smirk dancing on the colonel's lips.

"oh? was my tongue not enough for you, princess?" he lowly spoke, pinching your inner thigh as you bit your bottom lips.

"ahh... need z-zayne to help... please?" you begged, making him scoff. zayne couldn't help but grin with pride, your words stroking his ego a little.

"you heard her, move." zayne pushed caleb a little to squeeze himself between your legs, taking off his glasses before throwing them to the side. caleb, utterly betrayed, seethed with jealousy.

"so that's how you wanna play? fine." caleb accepted it as a challenge, but of course, he won't let neither of you get the last word.

zayne ignored his little childish outburst, digging in as his scarred hands rested on your lower stomach before his fingers stroked the expanse of it, gently moving to the side to hold your hips; caressing your smooth skin while tracing the faint stretch marks decorating it.

your puffy clit peaked out of your wet slit, making zayne lean down to press a wet smooch on it. you shuddered, mouth gaping open as your breathing quickened. zayne dragged his tongue up your sopping folds slow and languidly, the tip of his tongue digging into your wet pussy. the difference in how zayne and caleb ate you out was clear. caleb liked to eat your honeyed cunt like a starved dog, as if it was his last meal; unlike zayne, who liked to take his time and savor the taste of your sweet cunt.

"mhmmm.... zaynee~" you slurred his name, drunk in pleasure as he took his time to lap at your pussy, suckling and nibbling on your clit. amethyst eyes bore into the back of zayne's head, fuming with anger and envy.

caleb's fingers dug into your thighs, making you wince in pain but soon it deliciously simmered into the pleasure you were getting from zayne's tongue. the colonel snickered, watching how slick your pussy was from saliva and your juices, deciding to toy with you as revenge.

you felt the pads of caleb's middle and ring finger brush against your hole, probing the tight opening. you groan, feeling him push in both fingers at once.

"c-caleb!" you stuttered out, feeling him scissor his fingers in and out of your tight hole; the thickness and length of his digits rubbing you in all the right places.

suddenly, xavier roughly grabbed your jaw, squishing your chubby cheeks in his hands; forcing you to look at him. the expression on his face was dark, eyes clouded with lust and possessiveness.

"you seem to be enjoying yourself, dirty girl. you like having four other guys touch you, hm? this mouth is fucking filthy, maybe i should clean it, yeah?" he smirked, blue eyes sharply peering down at you.

"x-xav.." you were cut off by his grip tightening just a little more, making you wince.

"shhh... not another word, my dumb little girl. now i just wanna hear you gagging on my cock, 'kay?" xavier unbuckled his belt before unzipping his pants. he pulled the waistband of his boxers down, making his hard cock spring against his abs, your eyes widening at the sight.

his dick didn't have a lot of girth, but fuck it was long. xavier tapped the blush pink tip of his leaky cock on your lips, spreading his precum all over them like it was your own personal gloss. his thumb rested on your chin before pulling it down, forcing your mouth to open as he slid his cock in; the ash-blonde male let out a shaky sigh.

both sylus and rafayel continued to paw at your tits, biting and sucking on your nipples. with a lewd 'pop!', they released your swollen bud, eyeing their shared masterpiece as your tits were littered with hickies and trails of saliva.

"why don't you return the favor, sweetie? these cute little hands of yours seem empty." sylus gives you a toothy grin, bringing your hand to the tent forming on his pants, making you palm him through them. a deep groan escaped his lips as your hand stroked him through the rough fabric of his leather pants.

rafayel now sat on his knees by your other side, grabbing your wrist before bringing it up to his lips. he kissed the soft, warm flesh of your wrist; inhaling the scent of your skin as he let out a moan.

"you smell so fucking good. god, it's driving me insane." he breathed out, licking your pulse point before gently biting down on it. rafayel continued to sniff and kiss your wrist, using his other free hand to undo his pants and pull his aching cock out; stroking it as it throbbed in his palms. he teased his slit, spreading the sticky precum all over the tip.

your eager hands fumbled with sylus's belt as you tried to undo it, a little difficult because your mouth was still full of xavier's cock and forced you to maintain eye contact with him; as if looking at anyone else in this room would make his existence perish. but, sylus decided to be kind enough and help you because who is he to deny you?

you dug your hand inside his boxers, eyes widening as you realized that you couldn't even fully grasp his dick. he was fucking hung, thick and long, not lacking in any area. a guttural moan escaped his lips, feeling your soft fingers caressing his balls.

you took out his cock from the confinement of his boxers, stroking the shaft of it as your fingers teased the throbbing vein that ran on the underside curve of his dick. sylus threw his head back in pleasure, a soft whimper heard as his chest heaved.

"feels so fuckin' good, sweetie." he praised, your hand still lazily moving up and down his thick meat.

you felt the tip of zayne's nose nudging your clit, providing more stimulation as he continued his assault on your sopping wet cunt; his tongue flicking at a leisurely pace between your folds. caleb matched the rhythm of zayne's tongue, finger-fucking you with deep and hard strokes.

your moans were muffled by xavier's cock as he drove his hips into your mouth; your cheeks hollowing as you tried to not graze the skin of his dick with your teeth. you could hear the soft grunts and whimpers falling from his lips, eyes closed in bliss as he still had your cheeks firmly squished between his fingers.

"fuck yeah... you were made for this, takin' my cock so well." xavier breathed out, slender fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head closer.

you could feel the pressure of zaynes tongue slurping your clit along with caleb's fingers abusing your cervix collide. the familiar knot began to settle in your lower stomach, making your thighs tremble as your eyes screwed shut, toes curling in pleasure.

caleb could feel your walls contracting, you were definitely close and as much as he would love to see you cream all over his fingers; you've been cruelly unfair to him.

xavier lazily opened his eyes, cerulean orbs looking down at you half-lidded. he scoffed, watching your face flush as saliva trickled down the corner of your mouth. you opened your eyes briefly, he watched as they rolled back from the pleasure you were recieving from your childhood friends.

he pulled his cock out of your mouth, glaring down at you.

"nghhh~ p-please..!" you mumbled against his tip, crying out in pleasure as you tried to kick your leg forward to get away from the two men ravaging your pussy. however, both caleb and zayne pinned your legs down.

"focus on me." xavier scowled, and in one swift and hard thrust, his cock slid down your throat as far as you could take him. your eyes blew wide open, as you gagged on his dick. he was being nice earlier, but now you really pissed him off.

you had the nerve to think about those two when he was being kind enough to rinse that dirty mouth of yours with his cock?

"fuckin' ungrateful brat, ignoring me when i'm stuffing this filthy mouth full of my dick." he panted, fucking your face as tears streamed down your face and drool dripped down your chin.

zayne and caleb continued their combined attack, making you scream as your felt zayne sucking on your clit harder while caleb's fingers continued to rub against your walls at a faster pace.

suddenly, all sensation was lost as caleb pulled out his fingers while simultaneously grabbing onto the back of zayne's head with his free hand; yanking his hair back to unlatch his mouth from your weeping cunt. your eyes widened as tears streamed down your face, your hole pulsating at the feeling of nothing.

"only good girls get to cum." caleb darkly chuckled, zayne wincing in slight pain as he swatted the hand that yanked his hair.

"do that again and i'll fucking kill you." zayne murmured, making caleb roll his eyes.

"mmphh...!" your cries were muffled as xavier continued to use your throat as his personal fuckhole. he continued to shove his dick deeper, a small bulge forming on your throat as he pressed against it.

"there we go." xavier grinned sadistically, continuing to chase his high.

"h-hahhh... fuck, gonna cum." he panted, face flushing as he threw his head back, driving his hips forward. you could feel his cock twitch in your mouth, before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you towards his lower stomach; shoving his cock deep in your throat one last time as your nose was buried in his soft pubes.

"shit.. shit- hnghh... take it- fuck, take it all." xavier moaned, his thick cum painting your throat as he came so much. your mouth became overloaded with his cum, leaking through the corner of your lips as you tried to swallow as much as you could. he pulled out, watching your gasp for air as you coughed.

"what do you say, slut?" he darkly asked.

"t-thank you." you breathed out, voice croaking.

"good girl." xavier smiled wickedly, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb, your tongue peeking out to lick it.

with the intense throat-fucking session with xavier and the cruel denial of your orgasm, you forgot about sylus who was still painfully hard in your hand.

"come on, sweetie, i know you could do better. want some help? yes, no, maybe so?" sylus whispered huskily, leaning down to bite your ear before kissing your temple.

"s-sorry.." you sniffled, still extremely sensitive.

"poor baby, don't cry. i'll help you." he cooed, grabbing your hand before spitting on it. the warm feeling of his spit made you shiver, he brought your hand to his cock; guiding you as you used your spit coated hand to grab his dick again.

this time, his hand firmly stayed on yours, tightening the grip. the silver haired male moaned, moving your joined hands up and down his throbbing cock; fucking your wet fist.

"hnghh... yeah, f-fuck..." sylus panted, thrusting his hips into the makeshift hole he made using your hand. his foxy eyes narrowed, bright ruby orbs rolling back as he rasped out swears from the absolute pleasure he was feeling.

rafayel hovered above your naked torso, his pretty cock resting on the valley between your tits. he grabbed his dick, giving it a few strokes, whimpering at his own touch before looking down at you.

"you're so beautiful." the lemurian whispered through labored breaths, face flushed as his mixed indigo eyes peeked at you through a half-lidded lust-filled stare.

rafayel swallowed harshly, guiding the tip of his leaky cock to your nipple; circling the hard bud as his precum coated it. your breath hitched, watching him use his hard cock to paint streaks of his precum all over the expanse of your hickey-littered chest.

he then spat on his hand, rubbing his spit all over his dick to lubricate it before settling it between your soft tits. using both of his hands, he squished your tits together to squeeze his warm cock between them. the whimper leaving his mouth was almost embarrassing from how loud and needy it was.

without a second more of hesitation, rafayel began to rut his hips forward, thrusting between your tits. he stroked your nipples before using his thumb and index finger, pinching the swollen buds and rolling them between his fingers.

"ahhh~ rafayel! f-feels good...!" you moaned, watching the blush pink tip of his cock peek through your cleavage every time he motioned his hips forward.

"hnghh... love your tits so much, cutie. so soft... so tasty and cute." he breathes out a small chuckled, eyebrows pinched in pleasure as he continued to thrust his cock between your boobs. his precum coated the valley of your tits, making it easier for him to slide between them.

while he continued his ministrations of using your titties to fuck himself, you focused on making sylus cum. you increased the pace of your hands, feeling his hand tightening the grip on yours, the vein on his cock pulsating as frequent deep whimpers left his lips. your thumb caught his slit, teasing it as he could feel his balls tighten.

"hmm... gonna make me cum, kitten." he groans, continuing to pump his cock using your hand until you felt the warm, thick wads of his cum dribble down your fingers. his hands slightly trembled, chest heaving as he tried to compose himself.

"fuck, that was... so hot." sylus chuckled, releasing your hand as he watched you bring your cum covered fingers to your mouth; licking his release as you hummed in approval.

he could feel himself get instantly hard again from such an erotic sight.

"you're mean, darling." he shook his head, making you grin.

you broke away your gaze from sylus, watching rafayel fall apart as he desperately groped your tits.

"h-hahhh... need y..-your help, cutie! please?" he pathetically begged, swallowing harshly as his hips stuttered. rafayel grabbed your wrist once more, smelling your scent and licking your flesh; groaning at how intoxicated you made him feel. the tip of his tongue traced your fingers before encasing them with his soft lips, sucking and biting on your digits; indigo eyes looking at you with a pleading look.

you smirked, knowing that it'd be easy to tease him. you were basically at all of their mercy, but knowing you still had just a little bit of power against him at least; it made your heart beat in your pussy.

"you poor thing, need my help?" you pouted, faux sympathy written all over your face. the others watched in amusement and rafayel's horny-fucked brain couldn't even have the dignity to feel embarrassed.

"p-please... promise i'll be good, so good." he breathed out and you smiled in satisfaction, sitting up before pushing him back. rafayel now sat on the mattress, hungry eyes watching you sit back on your knees.

you leaned down, squishing his cock between your tits before sliding them up and down. rafayel's eyes screwed shut in pleasure, countless of goans and whimpers slipping out of his tongue; showering you endlessly with praise.

"y-yeah cutie, just like that... nghhh~ gonna make me cum." rafayel shamelessly moaned, mouth gape open as his breathing was uneven. you stuck your tongue out, lapping at his tip before wrapping your lips around it; suckling on it as if it was a lollipop.

you rubbed your tits together on his shaft, using your mouth to suck the rest. your drool trickled down from his swollen tip to the squishy tight slit created by your tits; making his cock slide with ease. the sounds produced was obscene, shlick shlick shlick. rafayel could feel his body tremble in pleasure, stroking your hair as his balls twitched.

"gonna cum! h-hahhh... p-please, cutie!" his lips were swollen from how much he bit them. soon enough, his hot cum was painting your tits, dripping down your nipples as his cock throbbed.

"fuck.." rafayel sighed, stroking your cheek as he glanced at what he did.

mentally clicking a picture to remember for the rest of his life when he fucks his fist to the thought of you.

"better?" you innocently batted your eyelashes, looking up at him with a dazed expression.

"you little minx." his breath hitched as you turned your face to the side, catching his thumb between your lips to give it a small suck before biting it playfully.

"you seem to be enjoying yourself a little too much, brat." you heard a daring voice break the moment, looking up to see a mean caleb glowering down at you.

you swallowed harshly, looking at rafayel for some help, but the cheeky lemurian only grinned at you; eyes twinkling with trouble as he moved away.

"you like being used like this, don't you? have you forgotten who's in control here?" now, xavier came into view as he scoffed, taking in your pitiful state.

"i think it's time that you learn your place." caleb suddenly pushed you towards the ash-blonde haired male, making you gasp as you were now sitting on his waist; hands pressed against his bare chest. you could feel the curve of xavier's hard cock press against your ass, making you unknowingly grind against the throbbing length of it to seek for some friction.

"tch, look at you. you're like a fuckin' bitch in heat." xavier snickers, holding down your hips with a bruising grip, making you wince. you felt the tip of his dick slip between your wet folds, his hands maneuvering your hips to help you glide on him. a breathy whimper leaves your lips, feeling his sticky tip caress your achy clit.

you hear the clinking sound of caleb's belt being undone and in what felt like mere seconds; you could feel his warm body heat radiating behind you. his lips grazed your nape, the tip of his nose gliding on your skin. he left wet kisses all over your neck and shoulder, trailing down the deep passage of your spine; making you arch forwards from your increased sensitivity.

xavier on the other hand fondled your tits, pinching and twisting your nipples. his fingers moved down, brushing against your hips. suddenly, you felt his tip prodding your tight hole, making you gulp.

they were all so fucking big and thick, you were wondering how you'd take them all. god, you couldn't even use process of elimination to figure out who'd be less painful to take in.

however, all that thinking flew straight out of your ears as xavier planted his feet on the mattress; harshly thrusting upwards into you. a croaky moan ripped out of your throat, your head lolling back to caleb's chest as you breathed heavy.

although xavier wasn't that thick, he was long as fuck; he couldn't even bottom out fully inside your cunt. you could feel his tip kissing your cervix. while caleb continued to place bite marks and lick at his work, xavier paid no mind to his counterpart; fucking you at a brutal pace.

"hnghh~ a-aahh... xav! w-wait!" you tried to slow him down, but that only made him go faster. he grabbed your hands which were resting on his lower stomach, pulling you forwards as you fell on his chest; away from caleb's touch.

the colonel scowled at the loss of your skin, glaring at the ash-blonde male in front of him. xavier didn't care, his hand finding purchase to the supple fatty flesh on your ass, spanking you hard as you yelped in pain and pleasure. your eyes squeezed shut, trying to form coherent words.

"you know i hate it when you don't look at me while i'm fucking you. open your eyes, y/n." he tapped your face, forcing you to look down at him. you bit your lips, trying to prevent another moan from flying out of your mouth, feeling xavier's cock rub your wet velvety walls just right.

his tip continued to bruise your cervix, his thrusts were deep and hard as he made sure you felt every inch of him in you. a ring of cream began to form at the base of his shaft, your juices dripping down to coat his heavy balls as you felt your thighs burning.

"hope you didn't forget about me, princess." caleb whispered, hovering behind you as you felt him grope your ass cheek. your eyes widened as you felt him spread them, his index finger gently grazing your other untouched tight hole.

"nghh.. wait, caleb! h-hahhh, never did it there before." you confessed, making him chuckle.

"well then, i'm glad to be your first here. don't worry, i'll make sure you're ready for me." caleb's words did seem genuine but rather because of the fact that he was about to touch you and feel you somewhere no one ever has.

you nodded at his words, too fucked out to even care about anything else. you were more focused on cumming, your cunt puffy and weeping from being neglected the last time your orgasm was denied; thanks to caleb.

so, you definitely didn't wanna get on his bad side again.

caleb spat on his fingers, bring it down to your ass before spreading the sticky spit on your hole. you soon felt his wet digit push through the tight ring of muscle, making you wince in pain as you breathed heavily.

"f-fuck... hurts.." you whined, but it would soon dissipate as xavier continued to drill into your pussy, distracting you from the pain of having caleb's finger in your ass.

it took some time but eventually the colonel was able to finger-fuck your ass with two of his fingers, meanwhile, xavier thrusted up into your leaky pussy that sheathed his throbbing cock. the ash-blonde haired male rubbed your clit to provide some more stimulation, your body trembling once you felt caleb withdrawing his fingers from inside you.

caleb sat on his knees, spreading your ass once more before leaning in, the tip of his tongue dragging from where you and xavier were connected; all the way up to your ass hole.

"ah! caleb!" you cried out, feeling him land a glob of spit on the tight hole before pulling away. caleb grabbed the base of his cock, his tip was a reddish-purple; angrily weeping precum as he stroked himself a few times. you could hear him groan behind you before feeling his wet tip squish against your hole.

"c'mere." caleb commanded, a hand coming down to gently grab your jaw, pulling you back to him. he tilts your head up, making you look into his eyes; leaning down to press his lips on yours in a searing kiss.

that's when you felt the burning stretch of his fat tip pushing past the tight ring of muscle in your ass, a pained cry leaving your lips, only to be muffled as he swallowed it; not letting go of your lips. tears pricked your eyes, feeling him slowly feed his cock into your tight ass, inch by inch.

the kiss with caleb was rough and messy, full of tongue and spit. the wet smacking sound of his lips clashing with yours as he drinks in your moans was so erotic. as his cock was now thrusted deep in your ass, he was kind enough to let you adjust to his size. his hand still firmly grabbing your jaw in place to not break away from the kiss while the other played with your tits.

meanwhile, xavier continued to give you nice slow and soft thrusts in your cunt, paying close attention to stimulate your clit. you were so full of both of their cocks, your mind was blank.

all you thought of was dick, dick, dick.

it was embarrassing and greedy, how full they made you feel, how good the burn felt as they both stretched out your holes.

it was definitely a pornographic sight.

as you grew used to having both of them inside you, caleb was the first to quicken his pace, pistoning his hips into you as his cock began to rub your walls. following in suit, xavier tried to match his rhythm, fucking your cunt with more rigor. your mouth gaped wide open, unable to respond to caleb's kiss anymore as you were too cock drunk.

"a-a..ahh! nghh~ feels so good!" you cried out in pleasure, feeling them both rub against the thin barrier that separated the two. you could feel your lower stomach churn in pleasure, your eyes rolling back as you began to drool from the corner of your mouth.

"what a dumb little slut, fucked your brains out already?" you heard xavier darkly chuckle, pinching your clit as you yelped at the sudden sharp sensation.

"p-please... wanna cum so bad! x..-xav.." your throat was parched as you tried to control your breathing, your lower stomach tightening as you could feel the familiar build-up of your orgasm.

"tch, you're moaning his name when i'm stuffing you full of my dick? where are your manners, pipsqueak?" caleb's tone was gravely, glaring at you with a look that could only make your knees grow weak, his grip on your jaw tightening just a little to remind you he was still here; balls deep in you.

"s-sor.. hgnhh.. sorry! please, c..caleb.." you stammered out, feeling the alternating push and withdraw of their cocks syncing together; turning your brain into mush.

displeased with your switch up, xavier yanked you forwards by your arm, squishing your cheeks together.

"you deceitful vixen, running to him when you don't get what you want? i'm the one taking care of this slutty pussy and you have the nerve to beg him? the fuck is wrong with you." xavier seethed with anger, his hips bucking into yours with more intensity; making you wail out in pleasure.

"i'm sor-" you tried to helplessy apologize again, only to be pulled back by caleb; the start of a tug-of-war as if you were a toy.

"don't fucking apologize to him, princess. you're mine, so when i say that you can cum, then you cum." caleb whispered, making you shiver as you sniffled out a cry.

"please.. fuck, please- i can't! t..too much.." you whimpered, making them both scoff.

"you can take it." both caleb and xavier sneered, making you whine.

"ungrateful brat, wanting us both and now you're saying it's too much?" xavier slapped your clit, making you jolt. you felt caleb bite down on your shoulder, the cold metal of his dog tag pressed against your warm, flushed skin.

you felt them twitch inside you, throbbing thick cocks rubbing against your insides. caleb and xavier continued to slide in and out of you, making your body grow hot.

"fuck, fuck, please! s-so close..!" you breathed out, feeling xavier's thrusts grow sloppy as with one final hard thrust; he emptied his balls inside you. his thick, warm cum filled your cunt as you quivered, his hips still rolling back in you.

your head was spinning, both of their scents were intoxicating. their hands were groping, slapping and stroking every bit of skin exposed to their lustful eyes. both caleb and xavier's thrusts held no mercy, battering your cunt and ass as your thighs felt like jelly. you squealed, feeling your walls tightening as you desperately squirmed, trying to lift yourself off and escape.

"where are you going? don't run away, i'm not done yet." caleb yanked you back to him. caleb's grunts and groans got louder by your ear, his arm wrapping around your stomach to hold you down in place; his cock fully in your ass as he shot fat wads of his sticky cum.

before you could process anything, they sadistically exchanged a cruel smirk, pulling out of you as your holes gushed out an obscene amount of their mixed cum.

"n-no! no! hnghh.. w-why.." you sobbed at the loss of contact, the fullness of their cocks gone as your orgasm was destroyed for the second time.

"since we weren't enough, why don't you go ask the others." caleb pushed you to the side, making you collapse on the mattress as tears ran down your cheek.

you looked up and noticed sylus and rafayel looking down at you, an unwavering glint pinned on your ruined form as they waited for your next move. it was humiliating, how you were begging them to let you cum; but it was too much.

you were going insane, needing some relief.

you weakly crawled to sylus and rafayel, sniffling as your body began to shake. your thighs were dripping with xavier and caleb's cum, your messy holes pulsing and aching.

"sy.. raf.. please, make me cum. i-i... i promise i'll be a good girl." you desperately pleaded, fat teardrops running down your flushed cheeks; making them both groan as your pathetic state only made their cocks harden.

"poor little kitten, they were so mean to you, weren't they?" sylus cooed as he wiped your tears away, tone honeyed with gentleness but with an undertone of mischief.

you nodded helplessly, leaning into his touch as you nuzzled your cheeks into his palm. you kissed the inside of his hand, licking the warm and rough skin.

just like a kitten.

sylus grinned at your antics, amused at how compliant you were. however, he wasn't that mean; he'd humor you.

"need us to make her feel better, cutie?" rafayel teasingly spoke, long fingers running across your slit as you whimpered; the tip of his digits circling your clit.

"mmphh, y-yes... please.." you bit down on your lip, tasting the metallic taste of blood.

"alright, sweetie. we'll help you." sylus chortled, leaning against the headboard. he grabbed your hips, spinning you around in one fluid motion, your back now facing him. he then lifted you up before placing you on his waist, as if you weighed nothing.

you yelped as sylus hooked his beefy arms under your thighs, pulling them up to your head; putting you in a mean full nelson. the sudden pressure and stretch made your cunt gush out more of the cum that was fucked into you earlier, soaked pussy lips spread apart as you were now exposed and on display in a very vulnerable position.

"s-sylus!" you shyly meeked, making him hum.

"what? don't be selfish, sweetie. you know the fish is an artist, let him see this masterpiece." sylus bit your earlobe.

rafayel settled between sylus's legs, now in front of you as he shamelessly stared at your messy folds. he salivated as it took everything in him to not just lean down and makeout with your tempting cunt.

"stop lookin'." you whined, feeling how intense his gaze was. however, rafayel just gave you a breathy chuckle.

"why not? she's sooooo pretty." he licked his lips, flashing you a boyish grin, making your heart leap into your throat.

the lemurian lowered his head, pressing gentle kisses on your soft stomach, dragging his lips up your navel until he reached your tits. he sighed in bliss, smoothering his face between your boobs as he kissed and licked the mounds of flesh.

his dick rested on top of your pussy, sticky tip parting your folds as he rutted his hips; sliding the length of his cock against your slick covered cunt. his tip repeatedly nudged your clit, rubbing it as you moaned in bliss from the heavenly contact.

your hand found purchase in his dusky, purple hair; carding your fingers through his soft locks. you tugged on his hair, making him moan as the vibration rumbling from his lips were felt on your nipple as he sucked; making you choke out a moan.

the silver haired male kissed your temple, smiling.

"come on, sweetie, need you to hold your legs up for me so i can take care of you." his voice was groggy, releasing your legs before grabbing your hands to help you lift them as you obeyed.

"there you go, good girl." sylus praised, grabbing the base of his cock, swiping it a few times between your messy folds, nudging his tip on your hole. you moaned at the feel of his cock deliciously rubbing against your aching pussy.

"p-please... nghh- no more teasing." you were breathless, feeling rafayel once again capture your nipple in his mouth, suckling as if his purpose in life was to worship your tits.

"if you say so, sweetie." sylus compliantly shoved his inches in you, feeding your greedy hole his hard dick. your jaw dropped, eyes rolling back as his fat girth stretched your cunt; sliding in with ease because of your arousal along with xavier and caleb's shared cum.

rafayel watched your hole eagerly swallow up sylus's cock, gulping at the sight as his dick was painfully hard; globs of precum dripping onto your clit.

"so tight even after all that? how cute." sylus lets out a huff, slowly moving his hips upwards to give you some slow and deep strokes; tip squishing against your cervix.

"h-hnghh... fuck... feels so good, sy." you moaned, turning your head to the side to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. he happily accepted, sucking on your bottom lip before swiping his tongue against it for permission to explore your mouth.

his hands firmly grabbed your hips before planting his feet on the mattress, grounding both himself and you before pounding upwards into your dripping cunt. your mouth flew open from his sudden shift in pace, and he took that chance to shove his tongue in your mouth; exploring every cavern and crevice. both of your tongues mingled and tangled, sucking and licking as drool trickled down your chin.

"fuck, cutie... you look so hot like this; it's tempting. i can't let the crow have all the fun now, can i?" rafayel's fingers stroked your thigh, leaning down to kiss your plush thighs, gently biting the soft skin.

"ahhh... raf.." you whimpered, biting your lip as you feel his tip poke your ass hole. you released one of your legs, pressing your foot on his chest to stop him.

"hm?" the lemurian tilts his head in confusion at your sudden action, stopping his advances.

"n-not there... need you and sy at the same time.." you licked your dry lips, words barely coming out as a whisper. rafayel's eyes widened at your request, sylus's ruby orbs mirroring the same bewilderment.

"naughty girl, you want us both in this sweet cunt of yours? you think you can handle it?" sylus teased, a cocky smirk painted on his lips.

you nodded frantically, your foot running down rafayel's chest as you looked up at him with a cheeky smile; eyes barely open as you gazed at him with a dazed look.

"i can handle it, p-promise." you assured, making rafayel grin.

"well you heard her, crow. make some space." he grabbed the base of his shaft, now aligning his cock with your hole that was already occupied with sylus's thick cock. the silver haired male scoffed, rolling his eyes before momentarily stopping his thrusts; letting rafayel ease into you.

a screamish-moan ripped out of your throat, your walls clamping instinctively on both of their cocks; both men grunting in response as the space became tighter. your eyes swelled with tears, the salty warm fluid streaming down your cheeks as you tried to adjust to the painful stretch of having two giant cocks lodged in your cunt at the same time.

"shh... there, there, pretty girl. it's okay." rafayel tried to console you, his words barely making it to a full sentence before his voice betrayed him; a strangled whimper slipping off his tongue.

"i gotcha, sweetie." sylus mumbled against the skin of your nape, his hand snaking around your waist, fingers finding your clit as he began to rub soothing circles on the bundle of nerves to distract you.

the both of them allowed you to adjust to their cocks, providing additional stimulation to help you relax so that your walls aren't as tense. rafayel's teeth grazed your nipples, teasing and flicking the pebbled buds while sylus's fingers worked their magic to affectionately pinch and stroke your clit.

"nghh~ feels good... hnnghh- need more." you whined, moving your hips on your own accord, wincing as you could feel both of their dicks rubbing against your velvety wet walls.

"ya sure you're ready, cutie? we have all night." rafayel let out a shaky laugh, half-joking.

"moveee." you bucked your hips, making sylus chuckle.

"someone's impatient, not that i mind." with that being said, sylus once again began to slowly thrust into your pussy. he grunted, feeling his cock graze against rafayel's, the sensation feeling a little weird but he ignored that fact.

rafayel moaned at the sudden friction, his hand wrapping around your calf to push it by your head; mirroring your other leg which you still held up obediently. rafayel leaned closer, pressing against you before latching his lips onto your; kissing you senselessly.

you moaned into his mouth, feeling the both of them pistoning into your tight, dripping hole. rafayel hissed as he felt your fingers tug his hair, angling your jaw to deepend the kiss.

the room was full of wet skin slapping followed by the lewd sound of your pussy gushing out your juices; coating their cocks in your arousal as it dribbled down to their balls. rafayel's lips continued to suck and kiss at your swollen and bitten once; his tongue suckling with yours before pulling away as a string of saliva connected you two.

he pushed himself off of you, bringing the leg he held for you towards him. he kissed your ankle, running the tip of his tongue down to your calf before kitten-biting the flesh of it.

"mmphh... you taste so fucking sweet." rafayel swore under his breath, thrusting his cock deeper into your weeping hole. sylus followed in suit, both of their tips bruising your cervix.

"shit... you're taking us both so well, sweetie." sylus praised, now matching the movement of his fingers that were once leisurely rubbing your clit to the pace of his thrusts.

in seconds, everything shifted.

their gazes darkened, clouded with need and hunger. you squealed, feeling both sylus and rafayel thrusting in and out of your cunt with no mercy as their movement didn't falter.

not once.

they were so perfectly synced together, as if they were one.

"a-ahhhh~... f-fuck! please, please, please! so close... god! i'm gonna cum!" you choked on your tears as you sobbed, the pleasure you were feeling was intense.

your eyes rolled back, toes curled as you were gasping for air. both men grunted and moaned; focusing on chasing their high.

"how bad you want it, kitten?" sylus groaned, fucking his hips upward as you whimpered.

"so bad, fuck, need it so bad!" you desperately answered, convinced that you wouldn't survive another ruined orgasm.

"yeah? ask nicely, where are your manners, cutie?" rafayel snickered, driving his hips into your; pelvis meeting yours with brutal thrusts that made your body jerk.

"h-hahhhh... oh my god...- please, please, please. let me cum? i promise i'll be good, so fuckin' good. please raf... sy... need it so bad." you threw out every last ounce of dignity within yourself to beg them with your last bit of voice.

both men, clearly satisfied with your answer, feed your cunt with their cocks using an unforgiving pace of thrusts. rafayel's hips were a bit sloppier, but they were fast and needy, like he was scared that you'd disappear. in contrast, sylus's pace was slow but his thrusts were hard and deep; making sure his tip met your cervix with every movement of his hips.

"fuck, fuck, fuck..." the silver haired male let out a guttural moan, eyes screwed shut as he could feel his cock pulsate; vein twitching as blood flowed with adrenaline.

rafayel shamelessly moaned on top of you, panting like a dog as he continued to fuck his dick into your wet hole.

"open your mouth." he demanded and too fucked out to even decipher his intentions, you obeyed. rafayel spat into your mouth, the thick glob of spit coating your tongue before you swallowed it.

"good girl." rafayel grunted, feeling his balls tightening as he was close to cumming as well.

your stomach knotted, the build-up of your orgasm even more stronger as your gummy walls clamped down on their cocks viciously.

"auughh~ i'm cumming! fuck.. hnghh..." you choked out a moan, eyes screwed shut as hot liquid squirted out of your cunt; coating rafayel's lower abdomen. you creamed on their cocks, body twitching as you feel both of them creampie you; shoving their sticky and gooey cum deep into your womb.

your juices and their cum dripped down your thigh, coating sylus's balls as you could hear his breathing become uneven from the aftermath of such intense pleasure. rafayel collapsed on top of you, still mindful to not crush you with his entire weight.

"so tired..." he childishly whined, biting your nipple playfully as you huffed.

"you're heavy, raf, get off." you grumbled, making him pout as he smoothered his face between your boobs once again.

"nah, you're too soft." he argued, making you roll your eyes.

"i feel sticky and gross.." you mumbled, noticing how the room was a bit more quieter. xavier was passed out on the couch and caleb left the room a few minutes ago for whatever reason; zayne watching the whole scene intently from the edge of the bed.

you locked eyes with him, noticing the slight blush on his face. he cleared his throat, looking away.

"perhaps a hot shower might be nice." he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"yeah, it does sound tempting." you hummed.

"need some help, sweetie?" sylus offered, but his tone had a hint of mischief.

"i got it." zayne suddenly spoke up, walking over to where you were sandwhiched between rafayel and sylus. he pushed the groggy lemurian over, making him groan.

"hey! i was comfy." rafayel complained, making the doctor roll his eyes.

"it's my place, surely i know my bathroom better." sylus snickered, making zayne narrow his eyes.

"if i could perfom hundreds of heart surgeries, i'm sure i can figure out how to work your damn shower." zayne snarked back with an equal amount of bite, making the silver haired male smirk.

"touche, she's all yours, doc." sylus chuckled.

zayne sighed, scooping you up in his arms before heading into the bathroom; locking the door behind him.

"you look... fucked." he blurted out, making you laugh at his dry comment.

"wow, thanks, i didn't know." you playfully rolled your eyes, making him crack a small smile.

"that was... intense. after you shower, i could get you some painkillers to help with any soreness. can you stand?" zayne asked with a flicker of concern in his hazel orbs, settling you on your legs and lightly loosening his grip; only for your knees to wobble as you held onto his bicep for support.

"i guess not." he answered his own question, making you chuckle.

"mind helping me out, doc?" you asked, peering up at him with a girly smile. zayne felt his heart skip a beat, heat creeping up to his neck.

it's not like this would be his first time being intimate with you, but you still made him feel incredibly nervous.

"if you insist, then i don't mind." his tone was soft and gentle. you smiled at his agreement, taking off his glasses. you leaned onto the sink for support, watching him undo his tie before unbuttoning his shirt; revealing his chiseled chest.

fuck, his physique was like a greek god.

he undid his belt, zipping down his pants before kicking them off together with his boxers; his cock springing to life as his pinkish tip was a little swollen while dripping with precum. you leaned forwards, now pressed against him as your bare chest rubbed against his.

zayne groaned at the intimate skinship, his cock rubbing against your soft thighs. your hand reached down, grabbing the shaft as you experimentally gave it a few strokes.

"let me take care of you." your voice was a bare whisper, making him shudder. but, to your surprise, he shook his head.

"no, you don't have to do this for me, i'll get myself off or something. just ignore it, okay?" zayne tried to convince you, but it only made you frown.

"but i want to... i've been wanting to feel you the whole night." you pressed soft kisses along his jawline, making him swallow harshly as you saw his adam's apple bob.

"then let me make it up to you since that bastard pulled me away from you. i'll make you feel good, baby." he lifted your hips, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as his cock was now nestled between your folds.

he walked inside the shower, pulling the glass doors to close it before turning on the water; adjusting the temperature. you cupped his face, pulling him closer to yours to seal his lips with yours.

zayne moaned into your mouth, molding his lips with yours as he softly kneaded your ass. your tongue poked his bottom lip, seeking for entry which he happily granted. you kissed him with a needy vigor, sucking his tongue as you stroked his wet jet black hair.

pulling away breathlessly, zayne looked down at you with swollen lips. he attacked your neck with kisses, making your whimper as you felt his tongue graze your flesh, softly tracing the hickies left on your skin with the tip of his tongue. he moved down to your tits, sucking your nipples as your hand held the back of his head; pushing him closer as you moaned.

"mhmm... feels so good, zayne." you praised, watching him tug your nipple between his teeth before giving it a deserving suck. he soon lets go of your swollen bud, hazel eyes meeting yours.

"i'll be gentle, okay?" he assured, making your chest feel warm and fuzzy as you nodded; wrapping your arms around his neck.

zayne grabbed the base of his cock, tapping your clit a few times, making you jolt. he smirked at how responsive your body was, aligning his tip with your hole. with a firm grip on your hips, he begin to sink you down on his hard cock, slowly shoving his inches inside you.

your mouth formed an 'o' shape as your eyes shut tight, feeling full as he bottomed out.

"s-so full.." you moaned, feeling him slowly thrust inside of you as the curve of his dick molded so perfectly in your wet walls. you clenched down on him, making him grunt at the sudden tightness.

"you feel so good, babygirl." zayne whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your cheek and temple before sliding you up and down his dick. you rested your head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent as you kissed his neck.

this felt so new compared to what happened just minutes ago. the others fought over you like you were some piece of meat to claim; but zayne treated you like you were made of glass.

he was so gentle with his touches and strokes, you could almost cry.

zayne's tip nudged your cervix with every push of his hips, now having you pressed against the wall to have a better hold of you so that he can drive his hips into yours faster. your cunt weeped with arousal, gummy walls coated with his precum.

his thrusts were sharp yet slow, making sure it applied the right amount of pressure and friction to make you feel like you were seeing stars. his balls slapped against your ass, your nipple between his lips.

"hnghh.. love your cock, zyane. g-gonna cum.." you let out a shaky breath, clenching down on him as your increased sensitivity betrayed your body, not allowing you to hold onto your orgasm for too long.

"it's okay, baby. you can cum." he grunted against the wet skin of your tits and you didn't realize how intimate and erotic the whole sight was.

a choked out whimper escaped your throat, your cunt clamping down on him as you squirted all over his cock. your body twitched and trembled at your orgasm, panting as you leaned against his chest.

"shit, please... i need you to fill me up." you begged and that's all it took him to bust a fat load of his thick, hot cum inside your hole.

"fuck.." he swore and god it sounded so hot coming from his mouth.

the bathroom was filled with the sounds of uneven breathing and the running showerhead.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

you stirred awake, groaning as you now laid on your back. sunlight beamed into your room, making your eyes burn as you tried to crack one of them.

"fuckin' hell.." you cursed under your breath, adjusting your vision as you sat up on your bed. your head was swirling as you held it in pain, wincing.

it was all a dream.

you slapped yourself, not believing how delusional you became to believe that whatever the hell that was could be reality.

"yeah, i'm losing it." you sighed deeply, scratching your head. you tapped your phone screen, reading the time as your eyes blew wide open.

fuck, it was well past noon, meaning you missed your morning classes already.

"you're kidding me." you huffed out in annoyance, leaning back on the headboard as you unlocked your phone.

you saw the many, many, many missed calls from your best friend; making you snort.

as you swiped through your applications, your eyes fell on the love and deepspace icon. memories of your strange dream replayed fresh in your memory, your body weirdly aching.

you brushed off those thoughts, clicking the icon as you wondered if infold fixed those weird bugs and glitches by now. you were surprised to see the app back into shape, running in good quality as you logged in with ease.

"huh, weird." you mumbled to yourself, calmly collecting your daily’s.

until you realized you had five undread messages.

hey pipsqueak, hope you're not still mad at me for being a bit mean to ya. i'll cook for you when you come back :p

hope you're not missing me too much, sweetie. come back and i'll take you for a joyride.

cutieeee! i miss you already :C come back soon, okay? need my personal pillow back.

if your throat is still sore, come back so we can have hotpot together. it'll be my treat.

have you taken those painkillers like i told you to?

your jaw was wide open, not believing your eyes. these texts seemed way too real to be automated.

"what the fuck." you quickly opened your front camera, only to see the faint purplish marks decorating your neck.

holy shit, all of that was real.

a smirk etched on your face as you quickly tapped the facetime app, ringing the only person you knew could stand this news and have a silver of faith in you to be convinced.

"finally decided to call me back? thought you died in your sleep or something." your best friend nagged at you, making you chuckle.

"you won't believe what happened last night." you giggle, making her roll her eyes at you.

"let me guess, you had a dream about all the lads guys fucking your brains out." she responded with a bored voice.

"even better."

---

a/n: hehe, if you made it to the end, kuddos to you cuz rereading through this was a pain the ass. if you couldn't tell by now, this was very self-indulgent, so i got carried away. hope you guys enjoyed it tho!!

[screampied]

toji realizes he’s in love with you when he lets you shave his face for the first time,

he’s got the biggest grump of a scowl plastered on his naturally crooked lips. as he’s glowering, he’s also trying to prevent himself from smiling because you looked so cute. your touch with him was gentle—like it always was. after you wiped his face with a dampened face towel, you rub your hands against the lower part of his jaw. “soooo,” you utter, breaking the dead silence as he’s just peering down at you. “tell me ‘bout your day, toji.”

with the palms of your hands tenderly caressing against his chiseled jawline—you smear every part of his chin and cheekbones with shaving cream. even the secluded areas underneath his nose. as you do so, toji tchs. “day was fine, baby. ‘n i told ya i can shave myself.”

“i know i know,” you hum, creating a circular motion with your hands before gently making sure every sector near the lower part of his face was lathered with nice frothy amounts of shaving cream. “wowww, you’ve got such soft skin. skin routine when?”

“ugh, y’er insufferable,” he rolls his eyes. although, his skin was surprisingly clear. toji only had a bit of a stubble, hardly any facial hair but it was growing the more he aged. you took it upon yourself to ask to help him shave and he said yes, not realizing how much he’d soon grow to like it. the feeling of your delicate, warm hands rubbing against his face was somewhat . . soothing. with a deep, heaving sigh, toji’s hooded jade eyes meet yours. he spots your pout and his shoulders lower. “alright fine, i’ll teach you one day. only if ya stop poutin'..”

with a cheeky grin, your little pout falters and you smile. “okay,” and you wait for about a good three minutes to allow the spumous cream to souse everywhere on his pores. it takes a while—and as you wait, you take a moment to stare at his features. toji was definitely easy on the eyes up close. naturally long black lashes of his flicker as he returns your loving gaze, and he avoids eye contact for a moment. perhaps you were making him a bit . . nervous. darkened eyebrows of his arch into an almost sheepish raise while he watches your adorable curious simper stretch further. “don’t be so stiff, what are you, nervous?”

“not nervous. jus’ don’t want ya to cut my face off.” he grumbles in a hoarse tone, ogling intently at you opening the bathroom cabinet for his razor. “you know what y’er doin’ right? i’d like ‘ta keep my face.”

“oh, don’t be dramatic,” and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. toji’s got a growing smirk tugging against his lips as he gawks you carefully start to shave in the exact sectors of where his facial hair resides. you did lots and lots of research—he knew this because he caught you reading various wikiHow articles on how to shave a guy’s face correctly. toji would never in a million years tell you, but he found that fact entirely adorable. you made sure you knew how to avoid burns and razor bumps. as you’re fixated on his chin, you mumble, “you’ll keep your pretty face, don’t cry.”

“aw, think ‘m pretty?” toji says, and you see the playful glint in his eyes. he’s easing up a bit, and he acknowledges that you were right. right about his stiffness, he was a bit tense. shoulders raised and all, but now—as of late, he’s starting to calm down a bit the more you talk to him. “i’d prefer the term 'handsome' but that works too, i guess.”

you deadpan, continuing your trail against his face—the razor sings out a shrieking tiiiing the more you gingerly shave with soft, gentle strokes.

it’s somewhat relaxing with the way the edges of the instrument adapts to the chiseled contours on his face. the foam starts to come off within each downward stroke and you’re very slow and precise. “okay, don’t be cocky,” you titter, and he feels his heart flutter a bit at how you’re just so dedicated. you’re so focused that your tongue briefly sticks out of your mouth, trying to make sure you do it perfectly. you tried your hardest not to cut him—you were so careful and that simple detail alone could have been enough for him to propose. “you should let me do this more. ‘s kinda fun.”

“eh. maybe,” toji shrugs, his voice coming out in a rough rasp. he doesn’t even realize it but his expressions significantly soften. he was only this way around you. to him, the thought of that was kind of scary. after you start to edge with the precision trimmer and reach underneath his nose and chin, you wrap it up. successfully discarding all of the foamy cream from his face, spotting his now clean jawline, you break away to rinse off the now grubby blades in the sink. “all done?”

“wait— don’t look yet,” you gasp, preventing him from gazing at himself in the mirror. “i still have to do the uh . . what’s it called again?”

toji snickers. “aftershave, baby.”

“aftershave,” you repeat. “right right,” and you’re so cute, kneeling down towards the wooden cabinet directly underneath the sink. you take out the mini bottle, pouring a nice goopy amount into your palm. you let toji wash his face with cold water first, patting it dry, and then you start to bedaub the facial balm in all the sensitive areas against his skin. he adores the mushy texture of your hands making contact with his face as each second passes. toji’s eyeing you, an almost grunt leaving his lips as a thumb of yours gently tickles against his infamous scar. the scar that slants itself near the right side of his lip. “thereee we go,” you give him a soft smile, the aromatic scent of tea tree oil setting against your nostrils. up close, his pores were now all so clear and you stare in awe for a bit at just how charming he was. the moisture that lays against his skin feels a lot more smooth. you grow silent for a moment before your own face softens. “okayyy, ‘m done.”

toji finally glances into the mirror, seeing his freshly new spotless face and he sees your proud toothy grin in the mirror’s reflection behind him. he cranes his neck to the side, feeling the once rough texture of his jawline now soft. he then lets off a tiny exhale. “looks good. y’er a natural,” and he turns to face you, he’s pondering on what to say. oh, your eyes sparkled with such admiration from his praise that it was just adorable. “thank you, sweetheart. for y’know . . takin’ care of me. y’er really . . sweet.”

and with that, his lips inch down to press a warm kiss against the crown of your head. your heart immediately swarms up with a frantic school of butterflies and so does his. toji prepares speak again and it’s an almost inaudible mumble. you could barely even register what he said at first because it was so hushed, but toji gruffs in a low tone. “i … love you..”

“h- huh?”

scoffing, he hides the burning embarrassed flush against his face by pulling you into his broad chest. you giggle at how he just abruptly snatches you close into his warm body before he slings a beefy arm around you. “i said, let’s uh.. do our skin care together later t’night.”

“awww i love you too toj—”

“oh my god, s-shut up..”

[sunsburns]

imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted

i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)

but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.

wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.

sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.

and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.

but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.

"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.

"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."

you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."

"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."

you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.

wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."

"wade?"

"yes, cupcake?"

"do you like me?"

"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"

"yeah, i know but-"

"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."

that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.

wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."

"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."

"okay, great. i was just making sure."

[chleem]

Mr & Mrs Starkey

One shot: husband drew x wife yn 

Summary: In which your 5 year-old son catches you kissing santa claus, oblivious to the fact that it's just drew under the costume.

Genre: fluff, smut (shower sex , read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ merry xmas! | mistletoe | halloween

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You lean against the doorframe of the shared bedroom, watching ‘Santa Claus’ place wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree. 

Drew’s movements are very sloppy, due to the big red suit he’s wearing. 

“Seems like Santa needs to lose some weight,” you tease, not even trying to hide how funny you find his situation. 

Recently, your son, Ben learned about Santa Claus and how he brings presents to kids, and like any curious five-year-old, he's completely captivated by the idea of ‘catching’ Santa. The details of his plan are a little hazy to you—he mentioned it about a month ago, but you forgot the specifics.

You told Drew that no costume was necessary; just eat the cookies on the table and put the presents in place. But Drew insisted. And now, here he is, awkwardly fumbling around in a full Santa suit. 

Placing the last gift under the tree, he turns around, his white beard and hat threatening to slip off. His blue eyes meets yours with annoyance, lips pressed in a thin line. “Well, usually my elves do this.”

You giggle, finding Drew’s dedication to the part funny and cute. “Okay, Mr Claus,” you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “take a break and have some cookies, huh?”

The annoyance in his eyes fade away, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. “You could’ve been my elf,” he murmurs, hands wrapping around your waist. 

“But I’m Mrs Claus, remember? I stay home, do dishes, yadayada,” you joke, rolling your eyes dramatically. “leave the heavy work- important work to you.”

Drew parts his mouth, looking down at you with a knowing look. 

“I did wrap the presents, didn���t I?” You continue to say. “Doesn’t that count for being an elf? I picked out the gifts, payed for it, set the tree up with Ben-“

Drew’s lips aggressively thrusts itself into yours; tongue fighting for access. You gasp into his mouth; taken aback by the abrupt action. That allows the slip of his tongue, tangling in with yours. 

The cheap fake beard makes it hard to concentrate though; the rough hairs getting in between. 

You pull away from him; eyes hooding with a soft smile on your lips. “Rude.”

“You talk too much sometimes,” he murmurs, a hand going up to cup your face. 

“Isn’t that why you married me-“

He plants his lips on yours again, and you giggle against his lips. 

Drew laughs too; the warmth between you two palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment almost too perfect. Drew’s hand, still cupping your face, gently tugs you closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek in that way that always makes you melt. The kiss deepens, slow and soft, as if he’s savoring every second of it. 

When you finally pull away, both of you breathless, you find yourself caught in his gaze. It’s that look—the one that makes your heart race, the one that feels like he’s seeing straight into you. You smile, your heart fluttering a little more than it should.

“Maybe I do talk too much,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks, his fingers tracing along the line of your jaw. “You can talk as much as you want... as long as it’s with me.”

The attempt to sound sweet and lovely is ruined by your incapability of staying serious; because how could you, when Drew’s fake beard is crooked and he’s got this silly red suit with the big belly on? 

“What now?” Drew murmurs, eyeing the silly grin on your face.

“I’m kissing Santa Claus,” you chuckle, reaching up to give his beard a playful tug.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes looking at you with a mischievous glint to them. 

“You naughty girl,” masked with a chuckle, a seductive tone is laced in his words, matching the smirk that’s hidden beneath the white beard. Drew leans in again, catching you in another kiss. 

This time, however, his hands start to roam around your body, feeling the material of your thick hoodie. 

His lips travel down your neck, kissing wherever is exposed. 

You let soft moans escape your mouth; the erotic feeling building in your lower stomach. With a hitched and breathless voice, you ask, “hey Drew?”

He lazily hums against your skin, hands resting just above your ass. 

“Wanna help me shower?” you whisper seductively into his ear, tugging the Santa hat off his head.

Drew pulls back slightly, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. “Y’know you don’t need to ask…”

You plant a kiss on his jaw, soft but deliberate, before moving away, your hand tugging at his sleeve as you make your way toward the bathroom. But Drew doesn’t follow, a thoughtful look painted all over him. 

“Stockings…” he murmurs, looking over his head at the fireplace, with the stockings that he needs to fill as ‘Santa Claus’.

You sigh, knowing exactly where this is going. After all, both of you are suckers for your son, always willing to put everything aside just to see his smile. You glance at Drew, trying to look annoyed, but the soft smile on your face betrays the affection you feel for him—and the family you’ve built together.

“Fine. I’ll shower alone,” you start, readjusting the fake beard he has on. “And I’ll leave Santa to his duties.”

“Thank you,” he sourly replies, his frown evident though the thick beard. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your lips matching the expression he has. You pat his shoulder, before turning around, making your way to the bathroom. 

You make sure to add an extra sway to your hips, a lame attempt to convince Drew to ditch his costume and join you. 

But nope. Not even when you start stripping, leaving the door open for him to peek. 

——

The bathroom was thick with steam, the fog clouding the mirror as the water poured from the shower head.

You stand underneath the spray; getting ready to wash your body next. 

When you reach for the soap, a much larger hand takes hold of yours, stopping you. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, Drew, who presses his body close. 

“Hi,” you flirtatiously start, which comes out more hitched. 

Feeling the soft press of his tip against your back, the breathing gets much harder to steady. 

The temperature in here is definitely rising- not because of the shower. 

“You mad?” Drew’s voice comes out low, a soft smile on his lips as he turns you around to face him. 

You don’t miss the quick glance down to your tits; his gaze lingering longer there than it should be. 

You cock your head to the side, pretending to think it over, but the teasing glint in your eyes gives you away. His hands move to your waist, rubbing circles over your skin, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer.

Your lack of response serves as an invitation for Drew to start planting kisses along your neck, lingering longer on your sweet-spots. 

“Drew…” you softly moan, the thoughts forgotten as he starts sucking the skin on your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer than he already is. His hands find themselves traveling down your body, squeezing your waist, ass, thighs, anywhere he likes. 

“I like this,” he murmurs against your skin, as his hand squeezes your ass again. 

“Mhm,” you lazily hum, running your hands through his wet hair, feeling his aroused dick brushing against your pussy. Shit.

His hands hook under your thighs; lifting you up effortlessly. And because of all the times you've done this, you instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pinning you against the tiled wall. 

This position causes his dick to brush against your inner thigh; your tits brushing his chest. 

“I like….”

Leaning against the wall, your gaze locks with his hooded blue eyes, feeling the weight of his stare on your lips. “…the way you take me in.”

You chuckle at Drew’s attempt at talk dirty, something you’ll always find amusing throughout your marriage with him. Okay, you liked it, but who were you if you didn’t play along with it? “Well, show me how much you like it.”

A dorky grin Drew fails to suppress shows on his lips, his hands’ gripping tightly on your flesh. His eyes flash down look at the closed proximity you both are in; before quickly flickering back up. 

That makes the blood rush to your cheeks, a flush creeping over your skin. 

“Gonna-“ he leans in and catches your lips in a messy kiss, his teeth pulling on your bottom lip. “-fuck your brains out.”

You breathlessly giggle at that too, your eyes softly focused on Drew, a smitten look in them. 

Without another comment, Drew adjusts his hips, and you feel his cock slowly entering you. Glancing down, your breath hitches as he thrusts in; deeply nested inside. 

“Fuck,” you moan out, tilting your head to rest against the wall.

The showering water that flows down might as well serve as lubricant- yet your walls still feel tight.

Your eyes close for a moment; and you feel Drew’s lips on your neck again- kissing hard enough to leave hickeys. He eventually trails down, lips coming in contact with your breasts. 

He groans as your hands travel down his neck, before tightening around his shoulders. Your nails dig in, averting the pressure there. 

“Drew…” you whine, hoping he starts moving, your eyes flustering open. 

He pulls away, his mouth opened slightly with the same smitten look in his eyes. “…looking at you like this-“ he delivers a thrust to your core; the shock of it causing a loud moan to escape your lips. He chuckles at that, before finishing his words, “makes me wanna put another baby in you.”

“Shit,” you breathe out, as his hips start to roughly slam into yours; one of his hands coming up to play with your tits. The sensation of his thick cock thrusting into you is enough to blur out his words. 

Your body bounces with each rough push his hips drill into your pussy- matching the moans escaping your mouth. He grunts, the sound matching the rising heat in the room, each exhale thick with the intensity building between you.

“F-feels so good,” you mumble.

“Feels good, yeah?” He chuckles lowly, repeating your words. You watch as a grin tugs itself at the corner of his lips, his blue eyes staring lustfully into yours. “Buried with my cock- you look pretty, babe.”

His words, the fast pace, his hands roaming all over sends an alarm to your core, your orgasm building and threatening to explode. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your walls clenching around him as he readjusts you; allowing his dick to thrust into the familiarity of your g-spot. “I’m, c-close”

“Yeah?” Drew kisses the corner of your lips, his moves never stopping. “Right on my cock, baby.”

His lips catches yours again, kissing you clumsily and swallowing the soft sounds you produced. 

The knot in your stomach goes undone- and you feel the warm liquid erupting out of you, over Drew’s cock. You clench around him again, as he continues his pace to chase out his own high. 

His moves become sloppier, his lips pulling away as his dick twitches inside of you, his cream painting your walls white. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out to leave the tip inside you, just to push fully back in again. 

You chuckle tiredly at that, as he shoves his cum deep into your cunt. “Oh, Drew…” your tone comes out almost like a whine, your throat going hoarse. 

You don’t even try to hide how limp your body is, muscles giving out on holding onto Drew. 

“My beautiful wife,” he almost purrs, blue eyes staring into yours in a smitten way that makes the butterflies in your stomach to fly widely loose. He sets you down on the floor slowly, helping you regain your balance. 

You let his warm hands brush away the hair sticking to the side of your face, the shower head pouring warm water over both of you.

You stand in silence, staring into each other's eyes, both trying to regain your composure from the intensity of the sex. 

“Love it when you talk dirty to me,” you suddenly say, your tone a mix of teasing and heat, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Drew catches onto that; his lips curving into a smirk. His hands slips back to your waist, settling there as if it belongs. “I’k what my girl likes.”

“Geez, what a man,” you tease, your breath catching as his fingers trace over your skin. “Knows what his girl wants.”

You lean in and kiss him briefly, yet pouring your emotions into it. He returns it; bringing one hand up to cup your face, angling it to allow access to his tongue. 

Fuck.

After six years of marriage, he can still easily turn you on like a switch—effortlessly, every damn time. 

You pull away, catching the fucked-out look in Drew’s eyes, the blue beaming down at you. “I’m sleepy,” you murmur, which was your meaning of ‘fuck me in bed, I’m tired’.

“‘Kay,” he murmurs, rubbing circles along your jaw, “let me, give you the princess treatment first, yeah?”

You snort at his words, as he reaches behind you to grab the soap. You don’t miss his low chuckle, even finding his own words funny. 

You relax, and let Drew give you the luxurious ‘princess treatment’, cleaning you up and ready for bed. 

——

Christmas morning

“Ben’s acting weird…”

You whisper to Drew, as you place the dishes into the sink. You spare subtle glances over at your son, sitting on the couch. 

His attention is fixed on the TV, his new toy in hand—opened first, his excitement obvious.

Drew leans against the counter, sipping on the third cup of coffee he made this morning. Last night, well, both of you didn’t get much sleep. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, before shrugging. “No?”

“Um, not to you,” you keep your voice low, standing next to Drew as you both watch the living room.

During breakfast, Ben had been shy, avoiding your gaze and giving short answers to your questions. But he seemed perfectly fine when you tucked him into bed yesterday. “Did I do something last night?”

Drew snickers, and when you glance at him, he casually unzips his jacket. With a smug grin, he reveals the hickeys you’d left on his neck last night. 

Shit. This man is a dad, and he can’t seem to be serious at all during times like this.

His grin escalates into laughter when you roll your eyes at him, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. Ask him for me, will you?”

“Alright, alr- I’ll do it.”

Drew doesn’t move, taking another sip of his coffee. 

You send him a glare, along with aggressively zipping his jacket back up. 

“You mean now, got it,” he chuckles, putting the cup down. You shake your head at him, a smile reappearing on your lips as he walks away. 

You busy yourself by scrolling through your Insta, liking posts you don’t care about. The soft whispers you hear are barely audible, drowned out by the TV and the occasional rumble of Ben’s toy.

It’s about two minutes in when you hear Drew’s throaty laugh through the house, Ben hurriedly yelling, “daddy! Quiet!”

“You got anything to support that?” Drew’s voice comes through, his attempt at keeping quiet failing miserably.

You glance up just in time to see Ben jump off Drew’s lap, rushing toward his room.

Meeting Drew’s gaze, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. You walk over and sit down beside him, waiting for an explanation.

“You’ll see. It’s hilarious,” Drew says with a grin, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. You give him a sideways glance, not buying it for a second. 

Ben runs back, his familiar blue eyes meeting yours for a split second before he quickly looks away.

“Wanna show Mommy what’s in your hand?” you chirp, your gaze landing on the toy camera you bought him a few months ago, now clutched tightly in his small hands.

He ignores you; walking straight into Drew’s arms. 

“Well that’s rude,” you murmur, but both father and son remain oblivious, their attention now fully on the toy camera.

As you try to sneak a peek, Drew leans away with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying whatever he’s looking at. Ben, on the other hand, glances at it nervously, his small brow furrowing in worry. 

Your curiosity grows by the minute, heightening when Ben says, “is mommy in trouble?”

His big, doe blue eyes meets yours again, and he looks like a sad puppy (much like his dad sometimes). It melts your heart; again proving you could never be mad at this kid. 

His dad, on the other hand, you might choke him to death if he doesn’t explain what’s going on right now. 

“Why don’t you tell mommy?” Drew teases, his hand rubbing Ben’s stomach in an assuring way. 

You can see the thought process on Ben’s face, the pout deepening as he concentrates. His small brows furrow, eyes narrowing in serious contemplation.

Finally, Ben points his little finger at you, his voice loud and clear. “Mommy kissed Santa Claus!”

Your mouth drops open in shock as your mind races through the events of last night. Shit. You kissed Drew, who was dressed as Santa. Then the shower together- But how did Ben catch you? Was he out of bed? Did he—

Drew flips the small toy camera’s screen toward you, revealing a paused video. There’s no mistaking it: it's you, mid-kiss, with Drew in his Santa costume.

Oh. So this was his great plan of catching Santa Claus. A hidden camera.

Your face flushes as you look back at Drew, who’s struggling to suppress his laugh. You quickly cover your mouth, trying to hide the matching smile creeping onto your lips.

“Oh, Ben, honey,” you start, your voice sweet but a little flustered. His eyes glance up at you, eagerly awaiting your response. Relax, he’s only a five-year old kid. “Santa needed help with the presents…and mommy helped him.”

You flash a small smile, hoping he’ll understand. Ben looks up at you with a puzzled face, clearly not buying it. 

Dammit, five-year olds are getting too smart these days. 

“Don’t worry; mommy’s on the good girls’ list,” Drew adds on, clearly enjoying this. 

You shoot him a glare - really? “Ben, mommy would never kiss Santa,” you say firmly. “I was hugging him- see?”

“But you kiss daddy like that all the time,” Ben loudly comments, fidgeting nervously. 

A soft laugh leaves Drew’s mouth, absolutely no help to his situation. Great, just another reminder to yourself to maybe keep the affectionate touches to a minimum around Ben in the future.

“Okay,” you start, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Yes, Mommy and Daddy kiss sometimes, but Santa—he's just, well, he’s just here to deliver the gifts. That’s all.”

You glance at Drew, who’s still trying (and failing) to hide his grin. “Right, Drew?” you add, shooting him a look that says get it together.

“Right, right,” Drew says quickly, trying to sound serious. 

“So, Ben,” you turn your gaze back to your son, holding his tiny hand. Gosh, he’s adorable. “Santa's just doing his job to make Christmas magical. Okay?”

Ben nods slowly, his tiny face scrunching as he seems to take it all in. “Okay, mommy.”

You smile fondly at him, reaching your arms out.

He lets out a laugh that’s eerily similar to Drew’s, a lighter sound as he buries into your embrace. The sound of his laughter fills the room, bringing a sense of joy to your heart.

Somehow, with all its goofiness, it’s moments like this that make everything feel so right.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, as he snuggles against you, you can’t help but think—god, he’s basically a mini version of Joseph Andrew Starkey.

“Mommy loves you,” you say, as Ben pulls away. 

“I love you too, Mommy,” he mumbles, his voice soft but genuine. Like every kid, though, his attention span is short. His eyes drift over to the Christmas tree, where a few presents remain under the glittering lights. “Can I open the rest?”

You nod at him, and Ben takes off immediately, racing towards the Christmas tree. You can't help but smile as you watch him grab the first big present in front of him, tearing it apart. 

Although, your smile falters as your eyes drift back to Drew. He’s lounging on the couch, a lazy smile on his lips as he watches Ben, clearly amused.

Without thinking, you slap his stomach a bit roughly, causing him to flinch in his seat.

"Hey!" Drew protests quietly, his eyes widening in surprise as he looks at you. "What was that for?”

“Really? ‘Good girls’ list’?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him.

He scoots himself closer to you, his smirk deepening, “you definitely took it like a good girl last night.”

Fuck. 

You freeze, his words hanging in the air, sending a shockwave through your chest.

"God, you're impossible,” you groan, slapping his hand away, the one trying to slip under your cardigan. 

Drew’s throaty laugh escapes again, wanting to further tease you when Ben interrupts the short conversation. 

He proudly shows off the present he got from ‘Santa’; a toy truck that he’s been begging for since forever. His small hands grip the toy truck, eyes wide with excitement.

The warmth of the moment radiates off you, and everything else fades away. Ben’s joy fills the room, and for a moment, it’s as if time stands still. 

The Christmas tree lights flicker softly in the background, casting a gentle glow, and the world outside feels distant, as if nothing else matters.

What a jolly merry Christmas. 

-------------------------------

word count: 3.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i want drew's kids. and i hate kids. but i want his.

other | mistletoe | hallow's eve

[rafecameronssl4t]

Happy house || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: just a cute fic of the Cameron family being one big happy family and infatuated with you and Rafe’s daughter 🥰

Warnings: breastfeeding (?) apart from that this is all fluff

Word count: 1388

A/n: this was so cute to write 🥹🥹 loved writing the fact that the Cameron family is tight-knit and love one another

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider be @yoonitos

“Got everything?” Rafe glanced back at you, his hands full with bags laden with mostly Mabel’s things. You hummed contentedly, one hand gently adjusting the bucket hat on Mabel’s head while her plushy little hands playfully reached for your face, her giggles filling the air.

“We’re not late are we?” You called out as the two of you boarded the Cameron’s luxurious yacht. “Hmm? Not really, they can wait,” Rafe grinned, glancing around as you shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “They’re here! They’re here!” Wheezie’s voice echoed excitedly from above deck, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps rushing towards you.

You shared an amused glance with Rafe as he shook his head affectionately. “Wheezie, slow down!” Sarah’s voice called out in a mixture of exasperation and amusement, just before Wheezie came bounding around the corner, closely followed by Sarah, Rose, and Ward.

“Hey!” You greeted them warmly, arms open for hugs all around. Wheezie and Ward gravitated towards you and Mabel, their faces lighting up at the sight of the youngest Cameron family member.

Wheezie squealed, bouncing up and down in excitement as she gently pinched Mabel’s cheek. “Hey, easy there,” Rafe interjected firmly, earning a glare from his younger sister, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s okay, Rafe, she’s being gentle,” you reassured him with an affectionate smile, his protective nature endearing as always. “Wanna take her, dad?” you offered to Ward, who nodded eagerly. “May I?” he asked softly, reaching out to cradle Mabel in his arms.

“Of course you can, she’s your granddaughter,” you chuckled, leaning in closer as Mabel reached out to Ward, her little arms outstretched in anticipation. You moved closer to Rafe’s side, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice low with admiration as he whispered, “They all look so happy.”

Jesus, Sarah. Stop shoving your phone in her face,” Rafe groaned, his tone edged with mild annoyance as he watched Sarah snap yet another 0.5 photo of Mabel. You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the sight, knowing that it was always Sarah’s candid photos of Mabel that Rafe eventually looked back on with a chuckle.

“Send them to me,” you mouthed to Sarah, who winked in response, both of you giggling like schoolgirls. “What are you giggling about, hmm?” Rafe asked, looking down at you with a smile, his irritation quickly fading. “Nothing, nothing,” you said, your smile widening. “Just excited to get to the island and have lunch together as a family again.”

Rafe’s smile softened, appreciating how much you valued these family moments. Before he could say more, Rose chimed in, glancing at her watch. “Okay, I think we should move this upstairs, don’t you think?” she suggested. Everyone agreed, and the group began making their way up to the spacious upper deck. The Bahamas sun was bright overhead, casting a warm glow over the yacht.

“You know, if you ever need a babysitter, I’m right here,” Wheezie offered, linking her arm through yours as you ascended the stairs. She batted her eyelashes playfully, making you giggle at her antics. Rafe, close behind, scoffed. “Yeah, as if I’m letting you look after my kid by yourself.”

Wheezie rolled her eyes dramatically. “And why not?” Rafe gave her an incredulous look. “Remember the time you almost burnt down the house because you wanted to heat up chicken nuggets in the microwave?” Wheezie huffs, “That’s not fair!” She protests, her cheeks flushing. “I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to put metal in the microwave!”

Your jaw dropped in mock horror as you imagined the scene. “Exactly,” Rafe said, patting Wheezie’s head with a teasing smile. “You’re not looking after Mabel by yourself. End of story.” He walked away, leaving Wheezie pouting with her arms folded. You squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Maybe you can help out when I’m around,” you suggested, trying to lift her spirits. Wheezie perked up a bit, her eyes brightening at the idea. “Deal!” she said, grinning.

~

“Guys! You have to tan with me, the UV rays are insane right now!” Sarah called out from one of the outdoor loungers, her phone in hand as she checked the weather app. “I’ll be right there!” you shouted back, finishing up changing Mabel’s clothes. You handed her to Rose and Ward, who eagerly took over entertaining their granddaughter with coos and smiles.

Rafe trailed behind you, intrigued by the idea of getting some sun. He settled next to you on the lounger, stretching out and letting the warmth of the sun wash over him.“How are your boobs not saggy?” Sarah suddenly blurted out as she watches you tie up your hair, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Sarah!” Rafe hissed, shooting her a disapproving look.“Shit, sorry. Is that a bad thing to ask?” Sarah’s face flushed slightly, realizing the bluntness of her question. You couldn’t help but laugh, finding the situation amusing. Sarah joined in, her laughter a bit more nervous.

“I’m just asking. All my friends said that your boobs begin to sag because your baby is always sucking on them,” she explained, pushing her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “Which one of your friends has a fucking baby at your age?” Rafe interjected, his expression one of pure disbelief.

“None of them. They were just saying that,” Sarah shrugged nonchalantly. You giggled, reaching over to rub sunscreen on Rafe’s face where he’d missed a spot. “I think it’s different for everyone. I mean, I hope mine don’t sag,” you said, glancing down at your chest and giving them a light, playful touch.

“You have such nice tits, it’s really unfair, ” Sarah sighed dramatically, leaning back and closing her eyes against the sun. Rafe raised an eyebrow, clearly done with the conversation. “I’m putting my AirPods in,” he announced, inserting them with a huff as you and Sarah chuckled.

~

“Mabel, come here,” Rafe clapped his hands with a gentle yet encouraging tone. Mabel babbled happily, steadying herself before taking a few small, determined steps towards you and Rafe; you were nestled against his chest as you cheered her on.

“Keep coming, sweetie,” you cooed softly, your hands ready to catch her. Eventually, Mabel reached you and crashed into your waiting arms with a squeal. You kissed her chubby cheek affectionately, “Good job, baby girl!” You lifted her up in the air, as she squealed with joy.

Rafe took the moment to take a photo, capturing the pure happiness on both your faces. As Rafe looked through the many photos already taken, you couldn’t help but notice how Mabel lingered close to your chest.

“Are you hungry, bels?” You asked gently, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Glancing at your phone, you noticed it was about time for Mabel’s next feeding.

With Rafe still focused on his phone, a small smile gracing his lips as he looked through the photos of you and Mabel, you adjusted your bikini top and began to nurse Mabel.

Noticing the quietness, Rafe briefly looks down, his eyes widening slightly. “Jesus, kid,” he muttered under his breath, quickly reaching behind him to grab his shirt.

“What? Mabel was hungry,” you said innocently, as Mabel peers up to the both of you. Rafe didn’t mind you breastfeeding in public, if his baby girl was hungry, she was hungry. But he always made sure to help you cover up with a blanket when you puly down your top, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe’s gaze darted around, making sure no one was watching. “You should’ve let me know beforehand so I could’ve helped you cover up,” he murmured, adjusting the shirt and to peek at Mabel.

You chuckled softly, appreciating his concern and love. Mabel watched the two of you with wide, curious eyes as she nursed contentedly. "Next time I will," you assured him, reaching over to pat his thigh affectionately.

yourusername

Liked by itssarahcameron, christoper_thorton, rosejcameron and 85,208 others

@/rafemfcameron we’ve got the cutest baby 🥰

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rafemfcameron: damn right mamas

↘️ eloise_cameron: I just puked 🤢

↘️ rafemfcameron: throwing u off the boat

itssarahcameron: SQUISHY

↘️ rafemfcameron: are you calling my kid fat?

↘️ yourusername: HAHAHAHAHA

christoper_thorton: guys let me babysit her again

↘️ yourusername: you tried offering her one of your brownies top….

↘️ rafemfcameron: im sorry, he did what?

[kashverse]

Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?

megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.

“how did you and papa meet?”

you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”

your head snaps toward him. “what.”

“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen. 

“like catwoman?”

“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”

you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”

“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”

megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”

toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”

“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder. 

“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”

before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.

toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”

“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”

shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”

shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.

the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested. 

until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”

“fine.”

“wait, really?”

you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”

(you did not love working with him. at first.)

the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics. 

until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”

(he did. eventually.)

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”

“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”

toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”

you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”

megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”

megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”

megumi squints. “prove it.”

toji’s grin widens.

somewhere, in an alternate flashback—

“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”

“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”

“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”

footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—

“BABE!!”

his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”

the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.

“you forgot your lunch.”

you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”

the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”

back to the present—

megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.

“…you are pathetic.”

toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”

megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”

“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[pucksandpower]

Meant to Be

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Charles knows it’s wrong to fantasize about his younger brother’s childhood sweetheart … but he also knows that when the opportunity presents itself, he’ll do absolutely anything to make you his and his alone

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, somnophilia, and baby trapping

Arthur’s sprawled out on Charles’ couch, his legs kicked up over the armrest, a half-empty beer bottle dangling dangerously from his fingers. His cheeks are flushed, a sure sign that he’s had too much, and he’s in one of those moods — reckless, unguarded, talking too much.

Charles stands by the window, fingers tapping against the neck of his own beer. He’s watching Arthur with the kind of stillness that should set alarms off, except Arthur’s too drunk to notice.

“Six years.” Arthur’s voice breaks the silence, words slurring together. He lifts his head, eyes bleary and unfocused. “Six fucking years, and she still won’t let me touch her.”

Something sharp and ugly flares up in Charles’ chest. It’s quick, like a blade slicing through air — painful but over in an instant, leaving behind only a low, simmering anger. He takes a slow sip of his drink, savoring the way the cold beer burns down his throat, grounding him.

“You’re talking nonsense,” Charles says, tone deceptively calm. “Stop being dramatic.”

Arthur scoffs, shaking his head. He looks ridiculous — lips pulled down in a childish pout, eyes narrowing like he’s being unfairly judged. “You think I’m lying? I’m telling you the truth.” He sits up abruptly, the motion causing a bit of beer to splash onto the couch. He doesn’t notice. “She’s still … I don’t know, holding out or something. Makes me feel like I’m not good enough.”

Charles’ grip tightens around the bottle. “So what? You think she owes you something just because you’ve been together for a long time?”

“No, no, it’s not like that.” Arthur’s defensive, hands up in mock surrender. He’s shaking his head, but Charles sees right through it. “It’s just — what kind of relationship is this? I mean, I love her, but it’s like she’s keeping part of herself locked away from me. You wouldn’t get it.”

Oh, but Charles gets it. He gets it too well. That same fury, that same sense of being kept at arm’s length — he’s felt it for years. Watched you grow up beside Arthur, become this beautiful, untouchable thing that only Arthur could claim. Always the best friend, the girlfriend, the almost-but-not-quite.

“Maybe she’s just not ready,” Charles says softly. His voice is low, dangerous. He turns his back to the window, narrowing his eyes on Arthur. “Maybe you’re pushing too hard.”

Arthur laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “You know me. I’m not pushing her at all. I’m just — fuck, I’m frustrated, okay? We’re supposed to be moving forward, but it’s like she’s … stuck.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I don’t want to wait around forever. What’s the point?”

Charles is moving before he realizes it, crossing the room in a few long strides until he’s standing right in front of Arthur. His shadow falls over his younger brother, the tension in the air crackling like static.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Charles murmurs, voice tight. “She’s not some … milestone you have to hit. Maybe she doesn’t want to-”

“With me, you mean.” Arthur’s eyes meet Charles’, defiance simmering just beneath the surface. “Maybe she doesn’t want to sleep with me. Right? Maybe that’s what you’re thinking. That I’m not enough for her.”

Charles holds his gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

There’s a pause, charged and suffocating. Charles can feel the blood pounding in his ears, a dangerous thrill threading through his veins. He should shut this down, diffuse the situation before it escalates, but some twisted part of him wants Arthur to keep going. He wants to hear it. Every insecurity, every frustration, every ugly piece of truth.

“Why are you telling me this?” Charles asks finally, his voice deceptively calm. “What do you expect me to say?”

“I don’t know.” Arthur slumps back against the couch, looking defeated. “Maybe I just needed to get it off my chest. It’s like … I feel like I’m going crazy. Everyone else is moving forward, and I’m just stuck here, waiting for her to catch up.”

Charles takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay composed. He shouldn’t feel this satisfaction, this possessive pleasure at hearing Arthur’s struggle. It’s wrong. It’s twisted. But it’s there, coiling tight in his chest.

“And if she never catches up?” Charles asks quietly. “What then?”

Arthur shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not meant to be, you know?”

The words hang heavy in the air, and Charles feels something dark and vicious settle inside him. He’s been waiting for this — years of watching from the sidelines, of biting back his own desires because you were always with Arthur. Always just out of reach.

But if Arthur’s doubting — if Arthur’s thinking of letting go …

Charles clenches his jaw, forcing himself to speak evenly. “You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be talking about this right now.”

Arthur snorts. “Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” He pauses, glancing up at Charles with a look that’s almost pleading. “What would you do? If you were me, what would you do?”

The question catches Charles off-guard, a cold laugh escaping his lips before he can stop it. “If I were you?” He leans down slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I wouldn’t be here, complaining to my brother like a pathetic idiot. I’d be with her, figuring it out. Doing whatever it takes to make her happy.”

“Yeah?” Arthur mutters, his voice cracking slightly. “Even if it means waiting forever?”

Charles straightens, something resolute and steely hardening in his chest. He looks down at Arthur, gaze cold and unyielding. “If you love her, you wait.”

Arthur looks away, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I just — forget it. I’m talking bullshit.”

But Charles doesn’t forget. He stands there, watching Arthur fall silent, mind spinning with a thousand possibilities. He can’t let anyone else have you, not even Arthur. Especially not Arthur. He knows it’s wrong, knows it’s sick, but he can’t shake the image of you — untouched, unspoiled, something pure and perfect that only he deserves to claim.

Charles forces a smile, dropping a hand onto Arthur’s shoulder. “Go to bed. Sleep it off.”

Arthur nods, muttering something unintelligible as he pushes himself up and stumbles towards the guest room. Charles waits until the door closes behind him before letting out a long, shuddering breath.

He should feel guilty. But all he feels is a fierce, possessive resolve. Arthur’s doubt is his opportunity. His chance to take what’s always been denied to him.

His gaze drifts to his phone on the coffee table. A single message — an excuse, really — and you’d be here, sitting on his couch, looking at him with that soft, trusting smile. Like he’s someone you can rely on. Like he’s someone safe.

Safe. Charles laughs quietly, the sound bitter and mocking. Safe is the last thing he is right now.

He picks up the phone, thumb hovering over your contact name, and hesitates. Not yet. He needs a plan. Needs to be smart about this.

But one way or another, he’s going to be your first. Your only. Arthur’s hesitation has given him the opening he’s been waiting for.

All he has to do now is make his move.

***

Charles parks the car a little down the street from your apartment, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight as he stares at the dashboard. The engine is off, the keys dangling in the ignition, but he hasn’t moved. Not yet.

He’s thinking.

He’s been thinking all night, really — ever since Arthur stumbled off to bed, leaving Charles alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that spiraled, dark and hungry, circling the idea that’s been gnawing at him for years. How close he is now. How one small push could tip the balance in his favor.

And today, he’s ready to push.

In the passenger seat sits a box of pizza from that place you love, the one he knows you always order from on Fridays after a long week. There’s a bottle of wine in the backseat too, the kind you once told him was your favorite, when you were still just Arthur’s girlfriend, still so impossibly out of reach.

Charles grabs the pizza, slides out of the car, and walks to your building with measured steps. Each one feels deliberate, calculated, as if he’s forcing himself to maintain control. But inside, his thoughts are a frenzy.

It’s easy enough to get inside the building. You gave him the door code months ago, back when things were still … uncomplicated. Before his obsession became something he couldn’t contain.

As he rides the elevator up, Charles lets out a slow, steadying breath. He can do this. He will do this.

When you open the door, the surprise on your face is immediate but quickly melts into warmth. Your eyes light up, and you smile — God, you smile at him like he’s your favorite person in the world. Like you trust him.

“Charles!” You exclaim, stepping forward and pulling him into a hug before he can say a word. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he feels that familiar jolt, the one that always comes when you’re this close. “What are you doing here? This is a surprise.”

He hugs you back, holding you a second too long before he pulls away. He lifts the pizza box with a sheepish grin, the one he knows you always fall for. “Thought you might be hungry. Brought your favorite.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you laugh, that soft sound that always makes him feel like you’re letting him in on a secret. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m not complaining.” You step aside, gesturing for him to come in. “Come on, I was just thinking about ordering food.”

He follows you into the apartment, closing the door behind him. It’s small, cozy — the kind of place that feels lived in, full of your personality. He’s been here before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, he’s here for a reason.

You grab plates while Charles sets the pizza on the table, and then you settle in. Conversation is easy, natural. You ask him about his week, tell him about yours, and the rhythm of it all is so familiar that for a second, Charles almost forgets why he’s really here.

But then he watches you take another sip of wine, and something inside him snaps back into focus. You’ve had just enough to soften the edges, to make you more open, more vulnerable.

Now’s the time.

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about,” Charles says, leaning back in his chair. His voice is low, careful. He watches your expression shift, the way your brow furrows slightly as you put your glass down.

“Something serious?” You ask, your tone shifting from playful to curious, maybe even a little concerned.

Charles nods, the weight of his next words pressing down on him. He almost hates what he’s about to say. Almost. But the thought of losing you to Arthur — again, after all these years — drives him forward.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he starts, choosing his words deliberately. “You know I care about you. A lot.”

Your frown deepens, and you sit up straighter. “Charles, what is it? You’re scaring me.”

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s Arthur.”

You blink, confusion flashing across your face. “Arthur? What about him?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Charles watches your face carefully, gauging every reaction. He needs to be precise here, needs to strike the right balance between concern and truth.

“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this,” he says quietly, voice soft but steady. “But you deserve to know.”

“Know what?” Your voice is more tense now, on edge. You’re bracing yourself.

Charles looks down at the table for a moment, pretending to struggle with his words, to hesitate. Then, with a carefully measured sigh, he meets your gaze.

“Arthur’s cheating on you.”

Your reaction is instant — disbelief, followed by a laugh that’s more of a reflex than anything. You shake your head, the idea not even sinking in before you’re dismissing it outright. “Charles, come on. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

You freeze, staring at him like he’s said something that doesn’t compute. “What are you talking about? Arthur would never — he’s not that kind of guy. He — he loves me.”

Charles leans forward, his eyes locking onto yours, unflinching. “I know you don’t want to believe it. Trust me, I hate having to tell you this. But I’ve seen it. He’s been … seeing someone else.”

You blink rapidly, shaking your head again, more violently this time. “No. No, that doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do that? We’ve been together for six years, Charles. We’re-”

“I know,” Charles cuts in, voice low and firm. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign that this is some kind of twisted joke. But all you find is a steady, unwavering resolve. And it hits you, hard — he’s serious.

The first tear spills over before you can stop it. You swipe at it quickly, shaking your head, still trying to deny it. “No. You’re wrong. He wouldn’t … he wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, but he stays calm. He has to see this through. “I wish I were wrong. I really do. But I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

You press your palms to your temples, shaking your head again and again, like you can somehow shake off the weight of his words. “Why? Why would he …”

“He’s an idiot,” Charles says quietly, his voice softening just enough. He reaches across the table, placing a hand over yours. “He doesn’t see what he has with you. He doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.”

You pull your hand away, standing abruptly from the table and pacing the small space of your living room. “This doesn’t make any sense. He’s been … he’s been distant lately, but I just thought it was work or something. He wouldn’t-”

Charles stands too, his movements slow and deliberate. “I wish I could tell you there’s some explanation, but … sometimes people just make stupid choices. It doesn’t make it your fault.”

The tears are falling freely now, and you wipe at them furiously, like you’re angry at yourself for crying. “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you. Arthur wouldn’t do that to me.”

Charles steps closer, his chest tightening at the sight of your tears. He hates seeing you hurt, but some part of him — some twisted, possessive part — revels in this. In being the one you turn to, the one you fall apart in front of. Because this is his chance. His moment.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, reaching out to pull you into his arms.

You don’t resist. You’re too overwhelmed, too broken by the weight of what he’s telling you. You collapse against him, your face buried in his chest as the sobs start to shake your frame.

Charles wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, his hand moving slowly up and down your back. “Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers into your hair, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Your sobs only deepen, and Charles feels his pulse quicken. There’s something intoxicating about the way you cling to him, like he’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” he says, voice low and soothing, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your spine. “But you deserve to know the truth. You deserve better than him.”

You don’t respond, just keep crying into his chest, and Charles holds you tighter, his grip firm and possessive. He’s in control now. He’s the one you trust, the one you’re turning to.

And he’s not going to let you go.

“Shh,” he murmurs again, his voice a soft coo as he continues to run his hand down your back. “I’ve got you. I’m here.”

He presses his lips to your hair again, his chest swelling with a dark, possessive satisfaction.

This is where you belong.

With him.

***

Charles tightens his hold on you as your sobs weaken, though they still come in shaky, uneven breaths. He keeps his chin resting gently on top of your head, his fingers stroking slow circles along your back, coaxing you into some semblance of calm. Each wet gasp, each tremble from you presses deeper into him, a reminder of just how fragile you are right now — how close you are to breaking.

And you are his to fix.

“I can’t believe …” you start, your voice muffled against his chest, thick with tears. You take a shuddering breath and pull back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, though your gaze is glazed and unfocused. “I can’t believe I was … I was going to let him …” Another sob catches in your throat, and you lower your head again, pressing your palms against your eyes as if to block out the thought.

Charles feels something stir in him, deep and raw. His breath catches. He knows what you’re about to say. He’s waited for this moment for so long.

“I thought I was ready,” you whisper between tears, each word slipping out in a jagged edge. “I really thought I was ready. I was going to … I was finally going to give him everything. And he — he doesn’t even care. I was going to let him take everything from me.”

Charles’ jaw tightens. His arms encircle you even more, as if he can shield you from the pain and the reality of it all. But behind that protective front, something inside him twists darkly. Arthur was going to be the one. The one to touch you first, to take what should never have belonged to anyone else.

The thought alone makes his stomach churn, but he forces his voice to remain steady, soft, as he leans in closer, his lips brushing the top of your head. “You don’t need to think about that now,” he murmurs, gently rocking you as your body shakes against him. “Arthur didn’t deserve you. He never did.”

You sniffle, lifting your head again, your eyes glassy and red. “But I thought … I thought we were going to-” You break off, biting your lip hard enough that it must hurt, your hands twisting in his shirt. “I thought I was finally ready to-” Another sob wracks through you, and you look down, as if ashamed of the words you can’t quite bring yourself to say aloud.

Charles feels a rush of anger — not at you, but at the mere suggestion that Arthur was close to having what only he should be worthy of. The idea that his brother, clueless and careless, almost had you, had almost been the first to touch you like that, makes something primal flare up inside him.

But he doesn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, he tilts your chin up gently, guiding your eyes back to his. His expression is soft, understanding, but underneath it, there’s that edge. The simmering need for control, for possession, for you.

“Listen to me,” he says, his voice low but firm. “Arthur would not have deserved something like that from you. He doesn’t appreciate you — he doesn’t even know how to treat you right.”

You open your mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a half-choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I was going to give him … everything. And now-” You shake your head, your eyes welling up again, new tears slipping down your cheeks. “Now I’m just … I’m going to be a virgin forever, aren’t I?”

Your voice cracks on the last word, and the raw vulnerability of it strikes Charles harder than anything else you’ve said. You sound so broken, so small, like you’ve given up on the idea that you’ll ever be loved the way you deserve.

But Charles knows better. He knows exactly what you deserve. And more importantly, he knows exactly who should be the one to give it to you.

His heart pounds in his chest, each beat louder than the last as he watches you crumble before him. He pulls you in again, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head once more. “You’re not going to be a virgin forever,” he whispers, his voice as soothing as it is purposeful. “Don’t say that.”

Your breath hitches against his shirt. “But who else is there? I can’t — I don’t want to be with anyone else after this. Not after Arthur …”

Charles feels you tremble, your body fragile against his, and something in him snaps. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to push forward, not to take what he’s wanted for so long right here and now.

But he knows better than that. He knows how to play this. He knows you, knows what you need to hear in this moment.

“Arthur isn’t the only one who’s ever going to want you,” Charles murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper as his fingers trace along the curve of your spine. “You’re worth so much more than you realize.”

You shake your head into his chest. “I just … I don’t know anymore.”

The words tear at him, but they also give him an opening. He can feel it — the way you’re unraveling, the way you’re grasping for something to hold onto. Something steady. Someone who understands you in a way Arthur never could.

And he’s more than willing to be that person.

Charles hesitates — just enough to make it seem genuine, just enough to plant the seed of doubt in your mind about what he’s about to say next. He exhales slowly, like he’s weighing his words carefully, like they’re difficult for him to get out.

“There’s … another option,” he says, his voice hesitant, as if he’s afraid to even suggest it. He feels your body tense slightly in his arms, and he knows you’re listening, knows he has your full attention.

You pull back just enough to look at him, your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

He meets your gaze, his eyes soft but unwavering. He can see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you’re looking at him like you’re trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

Charles takes a breath, keeping his voice as even as he can, though his pulse is racing. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ll never be able to … move on from this. From Arthur. You deserve better than that.”

You blink at him, still confused. “I don’t understand.”

He lowers his eyes for a moment, as if he’s struggling with the thought, and then looks back up at you, his expression serious. “I’m saying … if you wanted to … if you wanted someone who actually cares about you, who respects you, to be your first … I could be that person.”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze in his arms, staring at him like you can’t believe what you just heard. For a second, Charles wonders if he pushed too far, if he misread the moment. But then he sees the flicker of doubt in your eyes, the way your lips part slightly like you’re considering it, like you’re not entirely sure what to say.

“You?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles nods slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, but he keeps his expression calm, controlled. He lets out a soft breath, as if he’s reluctant to admit it but knows it’s the right thing to offer. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, or like you have to make a decision right now. But … I care about you. I always have. And I would never hurt you the way Arthur did.”

Your gaze drops to the floor, and Charles watches as you process his words, as the weight of what he’s offering settles over you. He can see the conflict in your expression, the way you’re torn between your pain and the possibility of comfort, of feeling wanted again.

And that’s exactly where he wants you.

“I just don’t know if I can trust anyone right now,” you whisper, your voice shaky, your hands trembling slightly as they clutch the fabric of his shirt.

Charles reaches up, gently cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remnants of your tears. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You can trust me,” he says softly, his voice steady and sure. “I would never hurt you, never betray you like he did.”

You look at him, your eyes wide and searching, and Charles can feel the shift in the air between you. The way you’re leaning into him, the way your breathing has slowed, your sobs replaced by something quieter, something more uncertain.

And that’s when he knows. He’s won.

“I don’t know,” you murmur again, but your voice is softer now, less sure, and Charles can feel the cracks forming, can see the way you’re wavering.

He leans in slightly, just enough that his forehead brushes against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m here for you,” he whispers, his voice a gentle coo as he strokes your cheek. “Whatever you need. I’ll take care of you.”

You don’t pull away.

Charles shifts his grip, his fingers slipping into your hair as he tilts your head back, giving himself access to the soft, untouched skin of your throat. He pauses for just a moment, taking in the sight of you: lips parted, eyes glazed and half-closed, a hint of vulnerability still lingering behind the tentative acceptance. His pulse thrums with a steady, insistent beat, desire coiling tighter with every ragged breath you take.

“Just relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

Your breath hitches, and Charles feels the way your body reacts, how you arch slightly into him, seeking more of his touch. His heart pounds harder, his gaze darkening as he dips his head and presses his mouth against the side of your neck.

It starts slow. A soft kiss, just below your jaw, the barest brush of his lips. Then another, lower this time, lingering on the spot where your pulse flutters erratically. He kisses you again, harder now, teeth grazing over your skin. He feels the way you shudder beneath him, hears the sharp intake of breath that escapes your lips, and it fuels something possessive inside him. He lets his mouth linger, sucking at your skin until a faint red mark blooms beneath his lips.

Good. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.

Charles keeps going, kissing and biting his way down your throat, alternating between gentle nips and soothing licks. He can feel the way your body responds to each touch, the soft little noises you make that only seem to spur him on. Every mark he leaves behind feels like a victory, like he’s claiming you inch by inch, branding you as his.

And you’re letting him.

His hand slides down your side, fingers skimming along the curve of your waist before they hook under the hem of your sweater. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his breathing ragged. There’s a question in his eyes, and he sees the way you hesitate, your lips parting as if to say something — before you slowly nod.

The look in your eyes is hesitant but trusting, and it sends a surge of possessiveness straight through him. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he tugs the fabric up, slowly, deliberately, giving you every chance to stop him. But you don’t. Instead, you lift your arms, letting him pull the sweater over your head and toss it carelessly over the back of the couch.

Charles’ gaze drops, his eyes tracing the shape of your collarbones, the gentle curve of your breasts. There’s a flush spreading across your chest, and he can’t help but smirk, the sight of you like this making his blood heat. You’re so exposed, so vulnerable beneath him, and the trust in your eyes — the way you’re giving yourself to him, piece by piece — is intoxicating.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl as he leans in again, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your chest. “Do you know that? How perfect you are?”

Your cheeks flush a deeper shade, and you glance away, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. Instead, he presses his lips against the curve of your shoulder, his mouth moving slowly, deliberately, as he makes his way across your chest.

Each kiss is a claim, each touch a reminder of who you belong to. He can feel the way your breathing changes, the way your fingers twitch and flex as if you don’t know what to do with yourself. He’s relentless, sucking and nipping at your skin until more red marks bloom beneath his mouth, each one a testament to his need to mark you, to make sure no one else will ever look at you without seeing his touch.

“Charles …” You whisper his name, your voice barely audible, a hint of something like disbelief in your tone.

He pauses, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze again. “What is it?” He asks softly, his fingers brushing along the underside of your breast, tracing lazy circles against your skin. “Tell me.”

You swallow hard, your eyes darting away for a moment before they find his again. “I … I just can’t believe this is happening.”

Charles smiles, something dark and possessive flickering in his gaze as he shifts his weight, leaning closer until his body is pressed against yours. He can feel the heat radiating off you, the way your chest rises and falls with every shaky breath you take. “Believe it,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “I’m here. This is real.”

And it is real. He can feel it — the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way your body yields to him without resistance. He’s waited for this moment for so long, dreamed of it in vivid, desperate detail. Now that he has you, he’s not going to let go. Not ever.

He lowers his head again, his mouth finding the skin between your breasts, and he kisses his way down, down, each press of his lips more insistent than the last. His hands are on your waist now, fingers digging into your hips as he holds you still, his breath hot against your skin. He pauses when he reaches the edge of your bra, his tongue flicking out to trace along the fabric.

“May I?” He murmurs, his voice rough with restraint. He glances up at you through his lashes, waiting for your response.

You hesitate for just a moment before nodding, a small, uncertain movement. But it’s enough for him. Charles’ fingers move with practiced ease, unclasping the bra and sliding it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

His breath catches at the sight of you — bare, vulnerable, all his. He doesn’t waste any time, lowering his head to your chest and pressing his mouth against your skin, his tongue flicking out to taste you. He hears the way you gasp, feels the way your back arches beneath him, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

Charles takes his time, kissing and licking his way down your body, leaving more marks in his wake. He can feel the tension coiling tighter in your muscles, the way your breathing grows more erratic the lower he goes. His hands roam over your skin, mapping out every curve, every dip and hollow of your body as if he’s memorizing you.

When he finally reaches your waist, he pauses, his fingers tracing the band of your panties. They’re delicate, a flimsy piece of lace that does nothing to hide you from him. He glances up, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, he just holds it, waiting.

“Tell me,” he says softly, his voice a low murmur. “I need to hear you say it. Do you want this?”

You bite your lip, your eyes wide and uncertain, but there’s something else there, too — something like trust, like surrender. Slowly, hesitantly, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I … I want this. I want you.”

The words send a jolt of electricity through him, sharp and exhilarating. Charles lets out a slow breath, his fingers slipping under the band of your panties, and he pulls them down, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, satisfied growl as he tosses the lace aside. “Because I’m going to give you everything.”

He dips his head again, his mouth following the path of his hands as he kisses his way down your belly, your hips, lavishing attention on every inch of exposed skin. He takes his time, his tongue flicking out to taste you, his teeth grazing along your skin. Each touch, each kiss is deliberate, calculated, meant to draw out every sound, every reaction he can coax from you.

And you respond to him beautifully, your body trembling beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft gasps and whimpers. Charles feels his own control slipping, the need to take you, to claim you fully, growing stronger with each passing second. But he holds back, savoring the way you writhe beneath him, the way your fingers clutch at his hair, desperate for more.

When he finally reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his breath warm against your skin. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intent, and he waits — waits for you to give him the permission he’s been craving.

“Are you sure?” He murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He needs to hear you say it again. Needs to know that you’re giving yourself to him willingly.

You nod, your breath hitching as your eyes meet his. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure. “Please, Charles. I want this. I want you.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate — not for a second. He buries his mouth against you, and the taste of your sweetness floods his senses. A low growl rumbles up from his chest, vibrating against your skin as he hooks his hands under your thighs, spreading you wider.

The taste of you is intoxicating, dizzying, like a drug seeping into his veins and lighting him up from the inside. You’re slick and warm, every part of you yielding to his touch, and he drinks you in like a man starved.

“God,” he mutters against you, his voice rough and reverent. “You’re so perfect … so sweet.” He can barely get the words out, his tongue slipping between your folds to lap at you with long, deliberate strokes.

You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands as if you need something to anchor yourself. Your back arches off the couch, and Charles takes advantage of the movement, pulling you closer, deeper into him. He wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you, his tongue tracing every inch of you with a hunger that borders on desperation.

Your moans fill the air, soft and breathless, each one sending a jolt of satisfaction through him. He can feel the way your thighs tremble under his grip, the way your body shudders with every flick of his tongue, every soft nip of his teeth. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up for even a second, his mouth working you with a single-minded focus that’s almost feral.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice breaking on the syllable. “I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can,” he growls, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re doing so well. So good for me.”

He dips his head lower, his tongue swirling around your clit before he sucks it into his mouth, his lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You cry out, your hips bucking against him, and he tightens his grip, holding you down as he laves at you, his mouth relentless.

You’re so responsive, so pliant beneath him, and it’s driving him wild. He wants to pull every sound from your lips, wants to make you lose yourself in him, wants to make you feel so good that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else. He wants you ruined — completely — until the only name you can say is his.

“Please,” you breathe, your fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. “Charles, I-I’m so close-”

He hums in response, the vibration making you shudder. His tongue moves faster, more insistent, as he drives you higher, his lips never leaving your skin. He can feel the tension coiling in your body, tighter and tighter, and he knows you’re right on the edge.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low, coaxing purr. “I want to feel you, taste you. I want you to come for me.”

You let out a broken sob, your body arching into him as you fall apart. He holds you steady, his mouth never leaving you as he works you through your orgasm, his tongue moving in slow, soothing strokes as your body shakes beneath him. He can feel the way you pulse and clench, the way your thighs tremble and your breath catches, and he doesn’t let up until you’re completely spent, every last aftershock of pleasure wrung out of you.

Only then does he pull back, his chest heaving as he looks up at you. You’re a mess — hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He can see the faint sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your chest rises and falls with every ragged breath, and it sends another surge of possessiveness through him.

This — the sight of you like this, wrecked and breathless and marked with his touch — this is what he’s been waiting for. This is what he’s been craving.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire. His fingers brush gently along your thighs, tracing lazy patterns on your skin as he watches your face. He needs to hear it from you, needs to know that you’re still with him.

You nod slowly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m … I’m okay.”

Relief washes through him, and he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Because we’re not done yet.”

Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you look down at him. “Charles-”

“Shh.” He presses another kiss to your skin, this one softer, more tender. “Just trust me, okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod slowly, your fingers still tangled in his hair. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in your eyes, but also something else — something like trust, like surrender. And it’s that look, that trust, that makes his chest tighten, makes something in him twist and shudder.

Charles shifts his grip, sliding his hands up your body until they’re resting on your waist. He leans up, his gaze locked on yours as he brushes his lips against your belly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous promise. “I’m going to take care of you. Make you mine. Completely.”

Your breath catches, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words come out. Charles doesn’t give you time to respond. He leans in again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and deep, his tongue sliding against yours with a languid, sensual stroke.

He can taste you on his lips, can still feel the echo of your pleasure thrumming through your body. It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling, and he deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulls you closer, his chest pressing against yours.

You’re still trembling, your body soft and pliant beneath him, and he shifts, adjusting his weight until he’s cradling you in his arms. He breaks the kiss, his lips hovering just above yours as he murmurs softly, “Lie back for me, baby.”

You blink up at him, your gaze hazy and unfocused, but you do as he says, leaning back against the couch. Charles watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you — your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, the way your hair spills over the cushions. You look so small, so vulnerable, and it makes something dark and possessive curl inside him.

He wants you like this forever. Wants you beneath him, at his mercy, trusting him to take care of you.

Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost hesitant touch. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough and sincere. “So perfect.”

You blink up at him, a faint smile curving your lips. “Charles … you don’t have to-”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you. Never felt like this before.”

Your smile falters slightly, and he sees the uncertainty flicker in your eyes, the way your fingers fidget in your lap. He knows you don’t quite believe him, knows that you’re still struggling to understand what this — what he — means to you.

But that’s okay. He has time. He’ll show you, piece by piece, until there’s no doubt left in your mind.

Leaning in, Charles presses another kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. “Let me take care of you,” he murmurs against your mouth. “Let me show you how much I want you. How much I-”

How much I love you. The words hover on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down, his chest tightening. He’s not ready to say it yet — not when you’re still reeling from everything he’s thrown at you tonight. Not when there’s still so much he needs to do to make you his.

Instead, he kisses you again, pouring all of his need, all of his desperation, into the touch. You respond to him, your body arching into his, your fingers tightening in his hair, and he knows — knows that you’re right where you belong.

With him.

Charles takes a breath, letting the air fill his lungs as he looks down at you, still trembling and flushed beneath him. The sight of you — so soft, so vulnerable — sends a wave of possessiveness through him that makes his hands shake. You’re his, all his, and he’s about to take what should have been his from the beginning. He wants to savor it, wants to make every moment last, but the need coursing through him is wild, uncontrollable.

His hands slide down your thighs, spreading you open again, his thumbs brushing along the soft skin just inside. You’re still shaking, your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, grounding you in the moment.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you. Okay? Just breathe.”

You nod, but there’s a hint of fear in your eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, and it makes his chest tighten. He doesn’t want you scared. He wants you to trust him, to need him the way he needs you.

Gently, he presses his forehead against yours, his voice softer now, more coaxing. “You trust me, don’t you?”

You swallow, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you nod again. “I do,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”

He moves slowly, his hands tracing over your skin, mapping every curve and dip of your body. He wants to memorize you, wants to know every inch of you like the back of his hand. His fingers ghost over your hips, sliding up your waist, your ribs, before they dip down again.

You shudder at the touch, your breath hitching in your throat, and Charles smiles — a slow, dangerous smile that sends a thrill through him.

“God,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “You’re perfect.”

You look up at him, your lips parted, your chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still. It’s just the two of you — no distractions, no outside noise — just you, laid out before him, vulnerable and trusting, and him, teetering on the edge of losing himself completely.

His fingers trail down between your thighs, gentle, teasing, as he watches your face for any sign of hesitation. He wants this to be perfect for you — wants you to remember this as something special, something that no one else could ever give you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against you softly. “If you want to stop, you just say the word. Okay?”

You nod, biting your lip, and he can see the way your body trembles in anticipation, the way your eyes flutter shut as his fingers dip lower, brushing against the slick heat of your core. You’re so warm, so soft, and he can feel how ready you are for him, how your body responds to his touch without hesitation.

He presses a single finger into you, slow and gentle, watching the way your mouth falls open, the way your back arches off the couch as you let out a soft, broken moan. The sound goes straight to his head, dizzying him, making him harder than he thought possible.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “You’re doing so well.”

You whimper in response, your hands gripping the cushions beneath you as he moves his finger in and out of you, slow and deliberate. He’s not rushing, not yet. He’s taking his time, getting you used to the feeling, making sure you’re ready for him.

“Does that feel good?” He asks, his voice rough with barely restrained desire.

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “It … it feels good.”

Charles smiles, his thumb brushing against your clit in a slow, circular motion, making your whole body jolt in response. “I want to make you feel even better,” he murmurs, his gaze dark and intense. “But I need to make sure you’re ready for me. Can I add another?”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as he slides a second finger into you, stretching you wider. You gasp, your hips bucking up against his hand, and he groans at the way you respond to him, the way your body is so eager to take everything he gives you.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. “So perfect. I can’t wait to feel you around me.”

You moan softly, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as he works his fingers in and out of you, coaxing more soft sounds from your lips with every movement. He’s careful, deliberate, making sure not to hurt you, but the need burning inside him is almost unbearable.

“Charles,” you whimper, your voice trembling. “I … I need you.”

The words send a bolt of electricity through him, and he curses under his breath, his hands shaking as he pulls his fingers out of you, his heart racing in his chest. He can’t wait any longer. He needs to be inside you.

He shifts, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he lines himself up with your entrance. He looks down at you, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps, and for a moment, he hesitates.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice low and hoarse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You look up at him, your eyes wide and trusting, and you nod, your voice soft but steady. “I’m sure.”

Charles swallows hard, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. You trust him — completely — and it makes his head spin. He’s never wanted anything more than this moment, and now that it’s here, it feels almost surreal.

Slowly, carefully, he presses into you, inch by inch, his hands tightening on your hips as he pushes deeper. You gasp, your body tensing beneath him, and he pauses, his jaw clenched as he fights the urge to move too fast.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “You’re doing so good. Just breathe for me.”

You nod, taking a shaky breath as you try to relax, and Charles groans as he slides deeper, the tight heat of you surrounding him, squeezing him in a way that makes it almost impossible to think.

He’s never felt anything like this before — never felt so close to losing control, so close to falling apart completely. But he can’t rush. Not with you. He has to take his time, has to make sure you’re ready for all of him.

Once he’s fully seated inside you, he stills, his breath ragged as he presses his forehead against yours. “You okay?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your body trembling beneath him. “Yeah,” you breathe, your voice soft. “I’m okay.”

Relief floods through him, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, his hands brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. Charles inhales deeply, savoring the intoxicating scent of your skin mixed with sweat and arousal. You’re so tight around him that it takes every ounce of restraint he has not to lose himself right away. Every trembling exhale from your parted lips makes his head spin, and it takes everything in him to keep himself composed, to hold back just a little longer so he doesn’t scare you.

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice gravelly, heavy with want. He cups your cheek tenderly, fingers brushing against the tear-streaked skin as he begins to move — slowly, gently — just enough for you to feel every inch of him. “Doing so well for me … taking me so perfectly.”

You whimper, the sound breaking and needy, and it shoots straight through him, making his hips snap forward involuntarily. He freezes, staring down at you, but you only arch your back, letting out another soft, breathless moan that sends a shiver through his spine.

“That’s it,” he breathes, his thumb stroking over your cheek. “Look at you … so beautiful like this. All mine.” His voice drops lower, almost to a growl, as he pulls back and thrusts into you again, harder this time, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. “You know that, right? I’m your first … and I’ll be your only.”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, fingers digging into his shoulders as your whole body arches up to meet his. “Yes,” you gasp, voice trembling, the word barely coherent.

“Say it.” His hand slips down, gripping your hip as he holds you still beneath him, his thrusts measured and deliberate. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your breath hitches, your head lolling back against the cushions as you struggle to form words through the haze of sensation clouding your mind. “You’re … you’re my first,” you manage, your voice breaking on the last word. “My only.”

The words make his chest swell with something dark and possessive, and he groans, leaning down to bury his face against your throat. “Damn right,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing against the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. “I’m going to ruin you for every other man. No one else will ever get to have you like this. No one else will ever get to touch you.”

You shudder beneath him, a broken moan escaping your lips, and he can feel the way your body clenches around him, almost as if your body itself is responding to his words. His control frays further, his thrusts picking up pace, harder, deeper, as he loses himself in the feeling of being inside you, in the way your body takes him so perfectly.

“Fuck,” he growls, his teeth scraping lightly against your collarbone. “I’d kill any other man who tries to touch you like this. Do you hear me? No one else gets to have you.”

You whimper again, your hands sliding up to clutch at his back, your nails digging into his skin as if you’re trying to anchor yourself. “Charles-” you choke out, but whatever you’re trying to say gets lost in another breathless moan as he drives into you again, hitting a spot that makes you cry out, your whole body going taut beneath him.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice low and dangerous as he kisses a trail down your throat, letting his teeth scrape against your skin just enough to leave marks in his wake. “It’s okay, mon cœur. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you. You don’t need anyone else.”

His lips move lower, brushing against your chest, leaving more marks there — proof that you’re his, that you belong to him and only him. He wants everyone to see, to know just by looking at you that you’re taken, that you’re his, that no one else can have you.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice dark and possessive. “You’ll always be mine. I’ll make sure of it.”

He shifts slightly, angling his hips, and you let out a sharp cry, your hands flying up to grasp at his shoulders as your whole body shudders. Charles grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep his control, to keep himself from losing it completely.

“Are you on birth control?” He asks suddenly, his voice tight, strained. The question seems to come out of nowhere, and for a moment, you just stare up at him, your eyes wide and unfocused.

“What?” You whisper, breathless and confused.

“Birth control,” he repeats, his gaze locked on yours, intense and unrelenting. “Are you on it?”

You shake your head, your brow furrowing slightly as you try to make sense of his words through the haze of pleasure. “No … I’m not …”

Charles’ breath catches, and he has to fight to keep the grin off his face. He moves again, thrusting into you slowly, deliberately, making you moan, your head falling back against the couch. “You’re not?” He murmurs, his voice low and almost mocking. “Then I could put a baby in you right now, couldn’t I?”

The words make your eyes fly open, a look of shock and something almost like panic flashing across your face. “Charles-”

“I could,” he continues, his voice soft, coaxing. “I could fill you up, make you mine forever. No one else would ever look at you again. You’d be tied to me — completely.”

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your hands trembling as they clutch at him, and he groans at the sound, his hips snapping forward as he loses a bit more of his control. “But I won’t,” he breathes, his lips brushing against your ear. “Not yet. Not tonight. But soon.”

“Soon?” You echo, your voice a breathless whisper, and he nods, his hand slipping down between your bodies, his thumb brushing over your clit in slow, teasing circles.

“Yes, mon ange,” he murmurs, his voice dark and sweet. “Soon. I’ll make you mine in every way possible. You won’t be able to think of anyone else. You won’t want anyone else.”

You moan, your whole body trembling beneath him, and he can feel the way you tighten around him, the way your body responds to his words, to the promise in his voice. He’s going to make you his, completely and utterly his, and the thought of it drives him wild.

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his voice low and rough. “Carrying my baby, looking so beautiful with my child growing inside you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being so full of me.”

You shake your head frantically, a choked sob escaping your lips, but your body betrays you, arching up against him, pressing closer as if you can’t get enough of him. “No,” you gasp, but it’s a broken, desperate sound, and he can hear the way your breath catches, the way you moan when he moves inside you again.

“No?” He teases, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Are you sure? Because your body’s telling me something different.”

You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin, and Charles groans, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts into you again, deeper, harder.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “And I’m not letting anyone else have you. Ever.”

You don’t answer — can’t answer — your head falling back against the cushions as you cry out, your whole body shuddering beneath him. And Charles knows, in that moment, that he’s won. You’re his, completely and utterly his, and there’s no going back.

Charles’ breath stutters as he finally lets go, a deep, guttural groan spilling from his lips as he buries himself inside you, pushing deep, deeper than before, until you gasp and shudder beneath him. He’s been holding himself back for so long, waiting, controlling his own desire just to make sure this moment, your first time, is perfect.

And now — now he’s giving in.

His entire body trembles as he empties himself inside you, his eyes locked on your face, watching every twitch of your brow, every little gasp, every soft, broken moan that escapes you. You’re too overwhelmed to even think, your gaze unfocused, mouth parted as you take him in, your chest heaving with every breath. He can see it, the look of exhaustion and pleasure mingled together, and he loves it. He loves that he’s the one who put it there.

A small whimper falls from your lips as he pulls back slightly, his hips giving a final, gentle thrust as he lets the last of his release fill you. You’re trembling, your entire body shaking with the aftershocks of pleasure, and he can’t help but lean down, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your throat, murmuring praises against your skin.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his voice thick and low. “You did so well … such a good girl for me.” He pulls back slightly, his hand slipping down between your thighs. He can feel his release already starting to slip out of you, a small, creamy trickle that makes something dark and possessive curl in his chest.

“No,” he breathes, almost to himself, his thumb gently brushing over your swollen, overstimulated clit as he scoops up a bit of the mess between your thighs. You shudder, your hips jerking involuntarily at the contact, and a soft whimper escapes your lips. Charles watches, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, as he brings his fingers up to your lips, smearing his release over them.

“Open,” he whispers, his voice soft but firm, and you do, your lips parting obediently, eyes fluttering shut as you take his fingers into your mouth. He watches, enthralled, as your tongue flicks out, tasting him. His release. Your combined arousal. He can feel the warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue swirls around his fingers, and a low, satisfied hum escapes him.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and deep. “Don’t waste a drop. I want you to taste how good we are together. How perfect you are for me.”

You’re so pliant, so willing to do whatever he asks, and it sends a thrill through him, makes his stomach twist with a dark, heady satisfaction. You’re his. Completely and utterly his. He watches as you swallow, a small, helpless sound escaping your throat, and he groans softly, his hand cupping your cheek as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your mouth, and then, slowly, carefully, he pulls back, his body protesting as he slips out of you. A small whimper falls from your lips at the loss, and Charles’ chest tightens, a sharp pang of something almost like guilt shooting through him. But he pushes it away. He can’t afford to feel guilt right now. Not when you’re still trembling beneath him, your breath hitching in soft, broken sobs of pleasure.

With a soft, low sigh, he reaches down, his arms slipping beneath you as he scoops you up, cradling your boneless body against his chest. You’re so light, so small in his arms, and he holds you close, pressing his cheek against your hair as he breathes you in.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he stands, holding you securely. “I’ve got you, mon amour. You’re safe.”

Your head lolls against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, contented sigh. You’re still trembling, your entire body limp with exhaustion, and Charles glances down at the mess you’ve both made on the couch — a wet spot that’s spread across the fabric, a mixture of his release and yours. He grimaces slightly, knowing it’s going to need a thorough cleaning later. But he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not when you’re in his arms, so soft and warm and completely at his mercy.

He carries you down the hall, each step deliberate and careful, not wanting to jostle you too much. You’re completely relaxed against him, your arms loosely draped around his neck, your cheek pressed against his shoulder. He can feel your breath against his skin, soft and even, and it makes something twist painfully in his chest.

He nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, flicking on the light with his elbow as he steps inside. The room is cool and quiet, and Charles glances around, trying to figure out the best way to set you down without letting you go. After a moment, he carefully lowers you onto the countertop, his hands lingering on your waist as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

You make a soft, sleepy sound, your head lolling to the side as you blink up at him, eyes glazed and unfocused. “Charles …” Your voice is a soft, broken whisper, and Charles’ heart clenches at the sound.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your hip as he reaches over to turn on the faucet, the sound of water filling the room. “Just going to run a bath for you, okay? I want to take care of you.”

You nod slowly, your gaze drifting back to him as if you’re trying to keep your focus, trying to stay present. Charles watches you, his chest tight, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside him. He hates seeing you like this — so exhausted, so spent. But at the same time … he loves it. Loves that he’s the one who put you in this state, loves that you trusted him enough to give yourself to him completely.

He adjusts the temperature of the water, letting it run for a moment to make sure it’s just right before he turns back to you. You’re still watching him, your gaze soft and a little dazed, and he smiles gently, his hands slipping under your thighs as he lifts you again.

“Come on,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he lowers you into the warm water. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let out a soft, contented sigh as the water envelops you, your head falling back against the edge of the tub. Charles watches, his gaze lingering on your face, on the way your eyes flutter shut, your lips parting slightly. He stands there for a moment, just looking at you, his chest tightening with something fierce and possessive and so, so tender.

Then, slowly, he slips out of his own ruined clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor as he steps into the tub behind you. The water is warm, soothing, and he settles in, pulling you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he holds you close.

You let out a soft hum of contentment, your body relaxing against his, and Charles sighs, his chin resting on your shoulder as he nuzzles his cheek against your hair.

“There we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft. “Just relax, baby. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your hand drifting up to rest on his arm, your fingers curling loosely around his wrist. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath. “For … for everything.”

Charles’ heart clenches, and he tightens his hold on you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ll always take care of you. Always.”

You nod slowly, your body sinking further into his embrace, and Charles closes his eyes, letting himself just … feel. Feel the warmth of your body against his, the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady beat of your heart. He holds you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as he murmurs soft, soothing words against your hair.

And in that moment, he knows. He’ll never let you go. Never. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him — to keep you his. Because you’re his. His first. His only. His forever.

***

The warmth of your body still lingers against his skin as Charles carries you from the bathroom to your bed. You’re completely boneless, head tucked beneath his chin, the gentle rhythm of your breathing soft and even in the quiet room. He glances down at you, the way your hair falls messily across your forehead, the relaxed expression on your face. The exhaustion etched in every line of your body.

He’s never seen anything more perfect.

You don’t even stir when he lowers you onto the mattress, your arms falling limp at your sides as he tucks the covers around you. There’s something intensely gratifying about it — about knowing how thoroughly he’s worn you out. About being the only one who’s ever seen you like this, so vulnerable and open and … completely his.

He straightens, looking down at you, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name. He takes a moment, just … standing there, watching you, every instinct in his body screaming at him to stay close. To keep you safe. To make sure nothing ever takes you away from him.

The soft, steady rise and fall of your chest is hypnotic, your breath a gentle whisper in the stillness of the room. Charles reaches down, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. His fingers linger, tracing lightly over your temple, down the curve of your cheek, his touch feather-light. You sigh softly in your sleep, leaning into his hand, and something fierce and protective flares in his chest.

It’s not enough.

Even now, standing here, looking at you, knowing you’re finally his … it’s not enough.

Slowly, he slips off his towel, dropping it in a silent heap on the floor. The bed dips slightly under his weight as he climbs in beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. He shouldn’t do this, he knows — shouldn’t be so close, shouldn’t let himself cross this line again. But he can’t help it. Can’t stop himself from reaching out, his hand brushing over the soft curve of your waist.

You don’t wake. You’re too deeply asleep, too exhausted to even stir, and Charles’ chest tightens as he watches you. You’re completely oblivious, completely unguarded, your breathing slow and even. So trusting. So vulnerable. So … his.

He shifts closer, his body pressing against yours as he slips a hand under the covers, his fingers ghosting over the soft skin of your stomach. You’re so warm, so soft beneath his touch, and he can’t resist — can’t help but trace the gentle swell of your belly, the curve of your waist, the delicate line of your hip. Every inch of you is perfect. Made for him. You were always meant to be his.

His fingers linger at the crease of your thigh, hesitating for just a moment. He should stop. He knows he should stop. But … you’re his. You’ve given yourself to him, trusted him with your body, and that trust — your submission — is more intoxicating than anything he’s ever felt before.

Slowly, carefully, he grabs the duvet and tugs, pulling the fabric down, down, until it’s slipped free of your legs. The cool air brushes against your bare skin, and you shiver slightly, a soft, broken sound escaping your lips. But you don’t wake. You don’t even stir. You’re completely lost to sleep, completely at his mercy.

He breathes out slowly, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you, his heart pounding hard in his chest. You’re perfect. So perfect. So beautiful, lying there, your body splayed out beneath him. His to touch. His to take. His to claim.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hand sliding between your thighs, his fingers brushing against the slick warmth of your core. A soft sigh falls from your lips, your body arching slightly into his touch, and Charles’ breath catches in his throat. You’re so wet, so pliant and soft and ready for him, even in sleep.

He shouldn’t do this. He knows he shouldn’t do this.

But he can’t stop himself.

His hand trembles slightly as he lines himself up, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. He grits his teeth, his entire body coiled tight with the effort it takes not to just thrust — to push inside and take you all over again. But he’s patient. He’s careful. He moves slowly, gently, inching forward until he’s just barely inside you.

You stir, a soft moan escaping your lips, your body arching slightly beneath him. Charles bites back a groan, his hands gripping your hips as he holds himself still, waiting for you to settle. His breath comes hard and fast, his heart pounding in his chest as he watches you, every instinct screaming at him to move. To take. To claim.

But he waits. He’s patient. He’s careful. He won’t hurt you.

Slowly, carefully, he inches forward, his breath hitching as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he’s fully seated inside you. You’re so tight around him, so warm and wet and perfect, and it takes everything in him not to just move. To thrust. To take you the way he wants to. The way he needs to.

A soft whimper falls from your lips, your body twitching slightly beneath him, and Charles freezes, his entire body going tense as he watches you. You don’t wake. You don’t even stir, your breathing soft and even, your chest rising and falling steadily.

He breathes out slowly, his hands trembling slightly as he releases the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. You’re still asleep. Still lost to whatever dream has you sighing softly, your lips parted slightly, your brow furrowed in the softest frown.

You’re his. Completely and utterly his.

He moves slowly, carefully, his hips shifting as he pulls back slightly, only to push forward again, sinking deeper inside you. A soft, broken sound escapes your lips, and Charles’ heart clenches, his entire body trembling with the effort it takes to stay slow. To stay gentle. To make this perfect for you.

His hand slips up, brushing over the soft skin of your stomach, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your navel. You’re so beautiful like this — so soft and pliant and completely at his mercy. He moves again, a slow, gentle thrust that has you sighing softly in your sleep, your body relaxing even further beneath him.

He keeps it slow, keeps it gentle, his movements deliberate and careful as he rocks into you, each thrust a soft, measured press of his hips against yours. He’s not trying to wake you. Not trying to take you out of this soft, quiet world of sleep. He just wants to be close. Just wants to feel you. Just wants to be inside you, surrounded by your warmth, your softness, your perfect, trusting submission.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, your body twitching slightly, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing over your temple, your cheek, your lips. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, soothing whisper. “I’ve got you. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You sigh softly, your body going limp beneath him, and Charles’ heart clenches, a fierce wave of something dark and possessive washing over him. He holds himself still, his breath coming hard and fast as he watches you, his gaze dark and intent.

You’re his. You’re finally his. And nothing — nothing — will ever take you away from him.

Slowly, carefully, he shifts his weight, his body pressing down against yours as he buries himself inside you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you close. He can feel the soft, steady beat of your heart against his chest, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, the warmth of your skin against his.

He’s never felt anything like this before. Never felt so … complete. So at peace. So whole.

You’re his. Finally.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft, contented sigh, Charles settles in behind you, his body curled protectively around yours as he holds you close. He stays inside you, his cock still nestled deep, the warmth and softness of your body enveloping him. He’s never felt anything like this before — this perfect, blissful sense of rightness, of belonging.

He leans down, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, his breath a soft, warm whisper against your skin. “Mine,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re mine, ma chérie. My good girl. My perfect girl.”

You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, your body shifting slightly in his arms, and Charles smiles, his heart swelling with a fierce, possessive joy. You’re his. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with him.

Slowly, he closes his eyes, his arms tightening around you as he lets himself drift, his breath evening out as he falls into a deep, contented sleep. The last thing he feels is the steady beat of your heart, the soft warmth of your body, and the perfect, blissful sense of belonging that comes with knowing …

You’re his. Finally, irrevocably, and forever his.

***

The morning light spills softly into the bedroom, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets tangled around your body. Charles wakes slowly, the remnants of sleep clinging to his mind like a fog as he blinks his eyes open. The first thing he feels is you — still warm and soft against him, your body completely relaxed, your head nestled against his shoulder.

He’s still inside you.

The realization makes something tighten in his chest, something dark and possessive and overwhelmingly satisfied. You’re still so tight around him, so soft and warm, your body fitting perfectly against his. He should feel guilty. He should feel remorse or shame or some shred of decency for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stays still, his eyes tracing the lines of your face, the gentle curve of your mouth, the delicate flutter of your eyelashes against your cheeks. You’re still fast asleep, your breathing slow and steady, your chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm that matches the beating of his heart.

His.

You’re finally his.

The thought makes his breath hitch, his gaze darkening as he watches you, a fierce, possessive satisfaction washing over him. He’s been waiting so long for this — been wanting you for years, watching you from a distance as you smiled and laughed and loved his brother instead of him. And now you’re finally here, wrapped up in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside you.

He tightens his hold on you, his arms wrapped around your waist as he pulls you closer, your body shifting slightly in your sleep. You murmur softly, a small, sleepy sound escaping your lips, and Charles’ chest tightens, his heart swelling with something almost too big to name.

He could stay like this forever. Could spend the rest of his life holding you like this, feeling your warmth, your softness, the gentle, perfect way your body molds to his. But the light filtering through the curtains is growing brighter, the morning creeping steadily in, and he knows he can’t stay like this forever. There’s too much to do. Too much to take care of.

Too many loose ends to tie up.

Carefully, slowly, he shifts, pulling out of you with a soft, reluctant sigh. His cock slips free, and he watches, mesmerized, as a trickle of his release follows, sliding down your inner thigh to stain the sheets beneath you. Something dark and primal stirs in his chest at the sight, his fingers itching to reach out and touch, to gather up the evidence of his possession and push it back inside you where it belongs.

But he resists. You’re still sleeping, your face soft and peaceful, your body completely relaxed. He doesn’t want to wake you — not yet, at least. You need your rest after last night. You need time to recover, to heal, to get used to the new reality of being his.

Instead, he pulls the covers up over you, tucking them gently around your body before slipping out of bed. His feet hit the cool floor with a soft thud, and he bends down, retrieving his discarded boxers from the pile of clothes spilling out of the bathroom. The fabric is soft and worn against his skin as he slips them on, his gaze drifting back to you, sprawled out on the bed, your hair a tangled mess on the pillow.

He’ll let you sleep a little longer, he decides. You’ve earned it.

He’s just turning away, his fingers brushing through his own tousled hair, when the sound of a knock echoes through the apartment.

Charles freezes, his entire body going still, his gaze snapping toward the bedroom door. The knock comes again, louder this time, more insistent, and a flicker of irritation sparks in his chest.

Who the hell-

Another knock, and Charles’ jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together as he stalks out of the bedroom, his bare feet silent against the floor. The apartment is quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of his movements as he makes his way to the front door.

He knows who it is before he even reaches for the handle.

Knows, because he’s been waiting for this — waiting for the moment when everything comes crashing down, when the reality of what he’s done, what he’s taken, finally hits his brother.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Arthur stands in the doorway, his face pale and drawn, his eyes wide and wild with something close to panic. He’s still in the same clothes he was wearing yesterday, his hair a mess, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes.

“Charles?” His voice is rough, a strange, desperate edge to it. He looks … lost. Confused. Like he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.

And then his gaze drops, taking in the sight of Charles standing there in nothing but his boxers, his bare chest still flushed with the lingering heat of last night. Arthur’s mouth opens, then closes, his eyes narrowing as something sharp and dangerous flickers across his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Charles’ expression doesn’t change. He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He should feel bad — should feel guilty or ashamed or something for what he’s done.

But he doesn’t.

“Good morning to you too, Arthur,” he drawls, his voice calm, almost bored. “What brings you here so early?”

Arthur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening as he glares at his older brother. “Don’t play games with me, Charles. What the hell are you doing here? Why are you in her apartment?”

Charles’ gaze flicks over him, taking in the way his shoulders are hunched, the way his hands shake with barely contained anger. He almost feels a pang of pity.

Almost.

“I think the better question,” he murmurs, his voice soft and even, “is why you’re here, Arthur.”

Arthur blinks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Charles straightens, pushing off the doorframe as he steps forward, his gaze steady and unflinching. “She doesn’t want to see you anymore,” he says quietly, his voice firm and unyielding. “Your relationship is over.”

Arthur’s mouth falls open, shock and confusion and a hundred other emotions flickering across his face. “What — what the fuck are you talking about?” He stammers, his voice rising in pitch. “What do you mean, it’s over? She — she wouldn’t-”

“She did,” Charles interrupts, his tone cold and matter-of-fact. “She ended it last night. She doesn’t want to be with you anymore. It’s over.”

The words hang heavy in the air, the silence that follows thick and suffocating. Arthur stares at him, his eyes wide and disbelieving, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. He looks … broken.

Charles almost feels a pang of guilt.

Almost.

But then he remembers the way you looked last night — the way you moaned and gasped and begged for him, your body arching beneath his, your lips parted in breathless pleasure. He remembers the way you whispered his name, the way you clung to him, the way you gave yourself to him so completely, so perfectly.

And any trace of guilt or remorse disappears, replaced by a fierce, possessive satisfaction.

Arthur was a necessary sacrifice. A means to an end. Something to be discarded and forgotten now that he has you. Now that you’re his.

“Charles, this — this is insane,” Arthur chokes out, his voice shaking. “You’re — you’re sick. You’ve always been obsessed with her, but I never thought-”

“Careful, Arthur,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and dangerous. He takes another step forward, his gaze locking with his brother’s, his expression cold and unyielding. “You’re starting to sound like you don’t believe me.”

Arthur’s face twists, a snarl curling his lips as he takes a step back, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re lying,” he spits, his voice thick with rage. “You’re fucking lying. She wouldn’t — she wouldn’t do that.”

“She did,” Charles says calmly, his gaze never wavering. “And if you care about her at all, you’ll respect her decision. You’ll leave her alone.”

Arthur’s chest heaves, his breath coming hard and fast as he glares at his older brother, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. “You’re — you’re a fucking monster,” he breathes, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “She’s — she’s everything to me, Charles. You can’t just-”

“She’s not yours,” Charles cuts him off, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “She was never yours. And now, she’s mine.”

The words are a final blow, a cruel, cutting truth that shatters whatever fragile hope Arthur was still clinging to. His shoulders sag, his head bowing as the fight drains out of him, leaving him hollow and broken and utterly defeated.

“Get out,” Charles says quietly, his voice calm and cold and unyielding. “And don’t come back.”

Arthur stares at him for a long, agonizing moment, his eyes filled with pain and betrayal and a thousand other emotions Charles doesn’t care to name. And then, slowly, he turns, his movements stiff and mechanical as he stumbles back down the hallway.

Charles watches him go, his gaze dark and unreadable, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

Charles closes the door softly, the lock clicking into place with a finality that makes his chest swell with satisfaction. He doesn’t spare another thought for Arthur, doesn’t bother with the remnants of guilt still faintly tugging at the edges of his mind. It’s done. He’s gone.

You’re all that matters now.

He turns away from the door, the apartment eerily quiet as he pads silently back down the hallway. The morning light is streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor, but everything is still, peaceful. The calm after the storm.

When he reaches the bedroom, his eyes find you immediately. You haven’t moved. Still lying there, curled up under the sheets, your hair a soft halo on the pillow, your face turned slightly to the side. You look so peaceful, so innocent, so his. He watches you for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, his entire body thrumming with an electric anticipation.

He can’t help himself.

Slowly, he slips out of his boxers, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a careless heap. He’s hard again — has been since Arthur’s interruption, the confrontation with his brother only heightening the possessive desire coursing through his veins. He wants to claim you all over again. Wants to bury himself inside you, make you moan and gasp and beg for him like you did last night.

Wants to remind himself that you’re his and his alone.

The bed dips under his weight as he crawls in beside you, the mattress creaking softly as he settles in, his body pressed against your side. He moves slowly, careful not to wake you just yet, his eyes tracing the delicate curve of your neck, the soft rise and fall of your chest. He leans in, pressing his lips to your shoulder, his mouth trailing down the smooth line of your back, his hands sliding under the covers to caress your skin.

You murmur softly in your sleep, a small, content sound that makes something tighten low in his belly. He shifts, his hand trailing down your back, over the curve of your hip, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your thigh. Slowly, carefully, he moves, spreading your legs just enough to make room for him as he positions himself between them.

His cock presses against your entrance, the heat of your body searing against his skin. He pauses, his breath catching in his throat as he waits, his gaze locked on your face. You’re still sleeping, still blissfully unaware, and he bites back a groan, his hands trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

But only for a moment.

He pushes forward, just a fraction, just enough to feel the tight, wet heat of you enveloping him, your body resisting for a split second before yielding to his intrusion. He bites down on his lip, a soft hiss escaping as he inches in deeper, his hands braced on either side of your body, his chest pressed against your back.

You stir, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as your body tightens around him, your back arching slightly in response. He freezes, his gaze snapping to your face, watching as your brows furrow, your lips parting in a soft, breathless moan.

“Charles …” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, confused and disoriented as you shift beneath him. “What …”

“Shhh,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he leans down, his voice low and soothing. “It’s okay, baby. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

You shudder, your body trembling beneath him as he presses in deeper, the sheets rustling softly as he moves. He’s careful, slow, giving you time to adjust, his hands sliding up to cradle your hips, his thumbs brushing soothingly over your skin.

“Charles …” you breathe again, your voice a soft, broken whisper as your body arches against his, your legs parting wider to accommodate him. “What are you-”

“I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with need as he thrusts in the rest of the way, his hips pressing flush against your ass. You gasp, your body clenching around him, a soft whimper escaping your lips. “I couldn’t wait to be inside you again. To wake you up like this.”

Your breath hitches, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he pulls out, just a fraction, before pushing back in, his movements slow and deliberate. “Charles, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the curve of your waist. “Just feel me, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

You’re still half-asleep, your mind foggy and slow, your body moving on instinct as he starts to move, his hips rocking gently against yours. He’s barely holding back, his entire body strung tight with need, the urge to fuck you hard and fast and claim you again roaring in his veins.

But he holds back. Takes his time. He wants you to feel every inch of him, wants you to wake up to the sensation of him buried deep inside you, stretching you, filling you completely.

“I can’t wait to do this every day,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the nape of your neck, his voice a low, possessive growl. “Every morning. Every night. For the rest of our lives.”

You moan softly, your body shuddering beneath him as his words sink in, your breath coming faster, your chest rising and falling in quick, shallow pants. “Charles, I-”

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, each movement designed to remind you exactly who you belong to. “You’re mine, baby. And I’m never letting you go.”

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your head falling back against his shoulder as he fucks you slowly, thoroughly, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasp, your back arching, your body tightening around him, and Charles groans, his own control fraying at the edges.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with need. “So tight and wet and perfect for me.”

“Charles …” you whimper, your voice a broken, desperate plea, your body trembling beneath him. “I — please, I-”

“Shhh,” he soothes, his lips brushing the curve of your jaw as he thrusts in deep, his cock buried to the hilt inside you. “It’s okay, mon ange. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He can feel you starting to fall apart, your body tightening around him, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He knows you’re close — can feel it in the way your body clenches and quivers, in the soft, breathless moans slipping from your lips.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a low, rough command as he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours in quick, shallow thrusts. “Come on, let me feel you.”

You shudder, a broken, desperate sob escaping your lips as your body tenses, your muscles locking up as pleasure crashes over you, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Charles groans, his own release building, his cock throbbing as you tighten around him, milking him, drawing him deeper.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his voice thick with praise and satisfaction as he thrusts in hard, his hands gripping your hips as he buries himself deep, his release hitting him like a freight train. “Such a good girl.”

He stays there, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving, his heart pounding as the last waves of pleasure roll through him. You’re still trembling, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, your body pliant and boneless beneath him.

“Charles …” you murmur softly, your voice a sleepy, sated whisper as your eyes flutter open, your gaze dazed and unfocused. “I-”

He shifts, his hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your lips. “It’s okay, mon amour,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Go back to sleep. I’m here.”

You sigh softly, your eyes drifting closed again as sleep pulls you under, your body relaxing completely beneath his. Charles watches you for a long moment, his gaze softening, his chest tightening with something almost too big to name.

You’re his.

And he’s never letting you go.

With a soft sigh, he lowers his head, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder as he shifts, his body molding to yours. He’s still inside you, still connected, still a part of you. And that’s exactly where he wants to be.

Where he’s always wanted to be.

His arms tighten around you, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent, the warmth of your body seeping into his. He can feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind, but he doesn’t fight it. Not this time.

Not when he’s finally, finally where he belongs.

With you.

For now. For always. Forever.

***

Charles isn’t entirely sure how many weeks it’s been since that morning. Since Arthur. Since everything changed. But the blur of days and nights, of waking up beside you, of coaxing you into his bed, into his apartment, into his life, has been the sweetest kind of haze.

It’s been a slow, deliberate process. Each night, he asks you to stay a little longer. Each morning, he insists on making you coffee, on sharing a quick breakfast, on driving you to work. He’s patient, meticulous, letting you come to him little by little, your things finding their way into his space in a way that feels natural, unforced.

Until it’s not just a toothbrush left in his bathroom, but your favorite skincare products. Not just a spare shirt, but an entire drawer full of your clothes. Not just a book or two, but stacks of them lining his shelves, mingling with his own, your life slowly intertwining with his in every way.

It’s intoxicating, watching you settle in, watching you relax, watching you start to think of his space as yours. It’s almost too easy.

Every evening, when he casually suggests you bring over something else — a few more clothes, your laptop so you can work from his place, that blanket you love because his living room gets drafty — your hesitation fades a little more. And every time you say yes, every time you come over and unpack just one more bag, his heart clenches with a satisfaction so intense it’s nearly painful.

Tonight, it’s the same routine. You’ve brought over another bag, this one heavier than usual. Charles watches, hiding a smile, as you kick off your shoes in the hallway, setting the bag down with a small, relieved sigh.

“Did you bring your entire closet this time?” He teases, leaning against the doorway, his eyes tracing the curve of your body as you stretch, your sweater riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. The sight makes his fingers itch to touch, to pull you close and never let go.

“Just the essentials,” you reply lightly, your voice warm and teasing as you give him a playful look. “You told me to, remember?”

“Did I?” He raises an eyebrow, pretending to think. “I must’ve forgotten. Or maybe I just want you to have everything you need here.”

“Everything?” You tilt your head, giving him a curious look. “What are you saying, Charles?”

He pushes off the doorway, crossing the short distance between you in a few easy strides. He stops in front of you, his hands finding your hips, his thumbs brushing the fabric of your jeans in slow, deliberate circles.

“I’m saying,” he murmurs, leaning in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you should just stay here. For good.”

He feels the way you stiffen, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “Charles, I-”

“Think about it,” he cuts in softly, his voice low and soothing. “You’re here almost every night anyway. You have more clothes here than you do at your place. It just makes sense.”

“Sense,” you echo, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But-”

“You’re wasting money on rent for a place you barely stay at,” he continues, not letting you pull away, his hands tightening on your hips. “Why would you need that when you could just be here with me?”

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to his chest, your teeth worrying your bottom lip. “I don’t know, it’s just … it feels so fast.”

“Fast?” He huffs a soft laugh, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “It’s been weeks. We’ve known each other for years. There’s nothing fast about this.”

“I know, but …” You trail off, shaking your head slightly, your brows furrowing as if you’re trying to find the right words. “I just — Charles, I don’t want to rush things.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze tracing your face, taking in the uncertainty in your eyes, the way your lips are pressed into a thin line, the way your body is tense under his touch. He can feel your hesitation, your reluctance, the lingering doubt that’s keeping you from taking that final step.

And he knows exactly how to make it go away.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees, his hands sliding down your body to rest on your thighs. He looks up at you, his gaze dark and intense, his fingers curling into the waistband of your jeans.

“Charles, what are you-”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost coaxing. “Let me show you how much I want this. How much I want you.”

You swallow, your throat working as you look down at him, your eyes wide, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. He waits, watching the way your pupils dilate, the way your hands twitch at your sides, the way your body sways just slightly toward him.

And then he moves.

His hands find the button of your jeans, flicking it open with a quick, practiced motion, the sound of the zipper rasping loud in the quiet apartment. He pulls the fabric down, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of your thighs, your legs, until he’s stripped you bare from the waist down, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly, your hands fluttering at your sides. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he leans in, his mouth brushing the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Let me.”

He can feel the way your body tenses, the way your breath catches, the way your legs tremble slightly as he presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. He takes his time, his mouth moving higher, his tongue darting out to taste, to tease, until he reaches the delicate lace of your panties.

He looks up at you, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, his thumbs brushing over the edge of the lace. He waits, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way your eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, your lips parted, your breath coming in quick, shallow pants.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

It’s all he needs.

With a low, satisfied hum, he hooks his fingers into the lace, pulling it to the side, exposing you to his gaze. He leans in, his mouth brushing over your folds, his tongue darting out for a quick, teasing lick.

You gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers curling into his shirt as your body jolts in response. He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path over your clit.

“Charles — oh god-” You choke out, your voice breaking as he licks again, his mouth moving with slow, practiced precision. He can feel the way your body is trembling, the way your fingers are digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in quick, desperate pants.

He knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He laps at you slowly, deliberately, his tongue teasing and tasting, his mouth moving with a languid, almost lazy rhythm. He wants to savor this, wants to make you fall apart slowly, wants to make you feel.

You’re moaning now, your head falling back, your body arching against his mouth as he licks and sucks, his tongue swirling over your clit, his lips brushing against your folds. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tensing, the way your breath is coming in quick, ragged gasps.

“Please — oh god, please-”

He pulls back slightly, his gaze flicking up to yours, his breath hot against your skin. “Please what, mon cœur?”

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, your voice a broken, desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He grins, his hands tightening on your hips as he leans in again, his tongue flicking over your clit, his mouth moving with a relentless, determined rhythm. He can feel the way you’re trembling, the way your body is tightening, the way your breath is coming in quick, shallow pants.

And then you’re coming apart, your body arching against his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you cry out, your release crashing over you in waves. He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he holds you steady, his tongue moving slowly, gently, coaxing every last tremor from your body.

When you finally collapse against him, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps, he pulls back, his mouth slick and wet, his gaze locked on yours.

“You belong with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your thigh. “Say you’ll stay.”

“I-” You swallow, your voice trembling as you look down at him, your eyes wide and dazed, your body still trembling. “Okay.”

He smiles, satisfaction and triumph blooming in his chest as he stands, his hands finding your waist, pulling you close. “Good girl.”

And just like that, you’re his.

***

The soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware fill the cozy space of Charles’ apartment. The dinner table is set beautifully, as always — warm, ambient light filtering through the modern chandelier above, casting gentle shadows on the polished wooden surface. Plates are lined with an assortment of carefully prepared dishes, most of which you helped with under his guidance, the evening flowing seamlessly in the comfortable domesticity they’ve created together.

Charles glances across the table, his gaze settling on you with the same fierce, possessive warmth that’s become more familiar over the past few weeks. You’re laughing softly at something he said, fingers wrapped loosely around the delicate stem of your wine glass. He leans back, watching you take another slow sip, and waits.

And then it happens.

You lower the glass, a slight furrow forming between your brows, your nose scrunching up in confusion. “Hmm, that’s … strange.”

Charles cocks his head, feigning curiosity. “What is?”

“This …” You frown, swirling the liquid gently, as if expecting the taste to change with the motion. “I don’t know. The wine tastes … different tonight.”

“Different?” He raises a brow, playing along, watching the subtle flicker of emotions cross your face. Confusion. Curiosity. Just the hint of concern. “How so?”

“I can’t really explain it,” you say, looking up at him, your lips quirking with a slight grimace. “It’s like it’s missing something.”

He lets the silence stretch for a beat, then two, before leaning forward slightly, his fingers drumming once against the table. “That’s because it’s not wine.”

The statement hangs in the air, and you blink, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“It’s sparkling grape juice,” he clarifies, his voice calm, as if discussing the weather, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, your expression shifting from confusion to outright bewilderment. “Grape juice? Why would you-”

“Because,” Charles interrupts gently, leaning forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a quiet intensity, “we haven’t used protection. Not once. And if … if you’re already pregnant, I don’t want to risk anything.”

He watches the way your face goes slack with shock, the way your fingers tense around the stem of your glass, your knuckles whitening. For a moment, it’s as if you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Pregnant?” The word slips out in a whisper, almost inaudible, your voice trembling on the single syllable.

“Yes, ma chérie,” he murmurs, standing slowly, moving around the table with deliberate ease. His eyes never leave yours, every step measured, controlled, calculated. “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?”

“Charles-” You’re shaking your head now, as if trying to dispel the thought, as if the mere suggestion is too much to handle. “I … I can’t be … I’m not-”

“We don’t know that,” he counters softly, his voice almost a purr as he closes the distance, his hand coming to rest lightly on your shoulder. He feels the way your body tenses under his touch, the way you’re holding yourself so still, like a deer caught in headlights. “And if you are …”

He trails off, his hand sliding down to your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin in slow, soothing strokes. You don’t move, don’t pull away, your gaze locked on his, wide and unblinking, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your forearm. “It’s okay. Just breathe, baby.”

“But-” You’re struggling to find words now, your voice breaking on the sound, your eyes darting wildly, like you’re searching for some kind of escape, some kind of explanation that makes this all make sense. “I — we didn’t. We-”

“I know,” he soothes, his tone soft, patient, as if he’s speaking to a frightened child. “I know. But these things happen. And if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”

You stare at him, your chest heaving, your fingers trembling against the table. He can see the panic rising in your eyes, the fear, the uncertainty, the way your mind is racing, struggling to process what he’s just said.

“I-I don’t-” You swallow hard, your throat working, your gaze flicking away, like you can’t bear to look at him, like you’re trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “I can’t be pregnant. I can’t-”

“But what if you are?” He murmurs, stepping closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with feather-light pressure. “What if, right now, there’s a little piece of us growing inside you?”

You let out a choked sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, your shoulders trembling under his touch. “Charles, please, I … I can’t-”

“Shhh.” He moves in closer, his other hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, his body pressing against yours, caging you in, holding you steady. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay?” You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, your hands coming up to press against his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “How can this be okay?”

“Because,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “Because it would be a good thing. Because I love you. Because this is what I want.”

“Charles …” You sound lost, your voice wavering, your fingers clenching in his shirt, like you’re trying to ground yourself, like you’re trying to hold onto something solid, something real. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready for this. I don’t know if I can-”

“You can,” he murmurs, his voice firm, reassuring. “You can, and you will. And I’ll be right here with you every step of the way.”

He tilts your head up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and intense, his expression softening as he takes in the fear, the confusion, the overwhelming uncertainty swirling in your eyes.

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, his gaze locked on yours. “If you’re pregnant, it’s because it’s meant to be. Because we’re meant to be. This is a good thing, baby. This is everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Charles, I …” You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes, your voice breaking on a sob. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not ready to be a mother. I’m not-”

“You’ll be perfect,” he whispers, his hands tightening on your face, his gaze burning into yours. “You’ll be the perfect mother, and I’ll be the perfect father, and we’ll be the perfect family. You and me. And our baby.”

“Our baby,” you repeat, your voice a broken, breathless whisper, the words catching in your throat like you can’t quite believe them.

“Yes.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Ours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your body trembling in his arms, your eyes wide and wet with unshed tears. He can see the way you’re struggling, the way you’re fighting to hold onto something, anything, that makes sense, that feels real.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs again, his voice a low, soothing murmur, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. “I promise. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“No buts.” He cuts you off gently, his lips brushing against your temple, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. And I’ll be right here with you. No matter what.”

You let out a soft, broken sob, your body crumpling against his, your fingers clutching at his shirt as you bury your face in his chest. He holds you, his hands stroking your back, his voice a low, soothing murmur as he whispers reassurances, promises, vows.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your hair. “You’ll see. It’ll be perfect. Just like you.”

He tightens his arms around you, his gaze dark and possessive as he stares over your head, his mind already racing, already planning, already imagining what it’ll be like.

A baby. A family. A future.

His.

All his.

***

Charles has always been meticulous — about his training, his racing, every part of his life carefully calculated, a system he maintains with the precision of a clock. But this, this is different. This is obsession. And it consumes him entirely.

It started the morning after the conversation, when you looked so fragile, cradled in his arms, your voice a whisper of uncertainty. Charles felt something shift inside him, something deep and primal. He’d reassured you, soothed you, but the truth was, he already knew. He could feel it in his bones: this was happening. This had to happen.

For weeks, he watches you closely. Everything you do, every move you make — he sees it all. You, oblivious in your softness, in the way you trust him, rely on him. You don’t see the way he lingers on you when you aren’t paying attention, how his eyes darken with possessive thoughts. You don’t notice the subtle changes in the way he cares for you, the little routines he’s established — checking your moods, your energy levels, the way your skin looks, the tiniest shifts in your appetite.

Charles starts tracking everything. He memorizes your menstrual cycle, noting the dates carefully, storing them in his phone, his mind keeping a careful countdown to when things might change. When you might miss it. It’s a private ritual now, something he doesn’t share with you, something he keeps close to his chest. It feels like power, like control, like the final piece falling into place.

When you’re a few days late, Charles feels it before you do. He watches your morning routines with more focus than ever, noting your subtle tiredness, the slight changes in your mood. You don’t even realize, but he knows. The idea of telling you swells in his chest, but he holds back. Not yet. Not until he’s sure.

Instead, he begins preparing, silently, methodically.

Every morning, Charles brings you lemon water, just like always, but now with a small twist. He crushes prenatal vitamins into the glass before mixing it, careful to stir it in completely so the powder dissolves. He watches as you take your first sip, the way your lips curl around the edge of the glass, unaware of the extra care he’s put into it. He knows it’s too early, far too early to be certain, but that doesn’t stop him. He wants you and the potential life growing inside you to be nourished, prepared.

In the evenings, it’s the same ritual with your tart cherry juice, the one you love before bed. You’ve commented how well you’ve been sleeping lately, how rested you’ve been feeling. Charles smiles at that, hiding his satisfaction behind his glass. He can already imagine the next steps, the way your body will change, grow round with his child, the way your life will transform to center around him and the future he’s already decided for both of you.

When you fall asleep at night, Charles often stays awake, his mind racing, his hand drifting to your belly while you breathe softly beside him. His palm lingers there, the flatness of your stomach warm beneath his touch, and he lets his mind wander — imagining how in just a few short months, that same spot will be rounded, filled with life. His life. His blood. The perfect blend of both of you.

He closes his eyes and pictures it — how you’ll look swollen with his child, how your body will change, become fuller, softer, more his than ever. He pictures you, tired and glowing, his hand resting possessively over your bump, the world knowing exactly who you belong to.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, when the room is still and your breath is steady in your sleep, Charles whispers to your belly. His lips brush against your skin, words murmured softly into the night, a promise to the life growing there. He tells you how he’ll take care of you, how everything will be perfect. How you don’t need to worry, because he’ll handle everything.

He tells you how much he loves you, how this is what he’s wanted all along.

In the mornings, you don’t seem to notice the small changes in him, the way he hovers just a bit more, the way his touch lingers on your stomach longer than it used to. You think it’s tenderness, maybe affection, and in a way, it is. But it’s more than that — it’s control, it’s possession, it’s the weight of something bigger than either of you.

One evening, over dinner, Charles watches you more intently than usual. You’re laughing, oblivious, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. You’ve been tired lately — more than usual — and you’ve mentioned feeling a bit off, but you brush it away, thinking it’s just stress, or maybe a cold coming on. He nods, agreeing with you, but inside, he knows better. He knows exactly what’s happening.

After dinner, as you’re curled up on the couch, Charles leans against the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on you, a small, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You glance up at him, your head tilted in question.

“What?” You ask, a soft laugh in your voice.

“Nothing,” he replies smoothly, moving towards you. “Just … thinking.”

“About what?”

Charles sits beside you, pulling you gently into his lap, his hands resting on your hips. He brushes a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment before he speaks, his voice low, careful.

“About how lucky I am.”

You smile, relaxing against him, your head resting on his shoulder. “You’re sweet.”

He hums in response, his hand trailing down to your stomach, his fingers spreading across the flat surface. You don’t seem to notice the significance of the gesture, too lost in the warmth of his touch, the closeness between you.

“We should talk about the future,” he says suddenly, his voice calm but firm.

You shift slightly in his lap, looking up at him with a hint of surprise. “What do you mean?”

Charles’ fingers trace absent circles over your stomach, his gaze darkening as he imagines the changes that are coming. “I mean … where we’re heading. Together.”

You blink, the question hanging between you, heavy with implications. “We’ve talked about the future before.”

“Not like this.” His voice is steady, his thumb brushing over your skin with deliberate care. “I mean … in a few months, things could change. We could be expecting.”

Your breath catches, and for a brief moment, he feels you stiffen in his arms. But he’s prepared for this, for your uncertainty, your hesitation. He’s been planting the seeds for weeks now, and he knows exactly how to ease you into it.

“I don’t think I’m …” You trail off, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Charles’ grip tightens just a fraction, not enough for you to notice, but enough for him to feel the need to maintain control. “You don’t have to be ready right now,” he says softly, his tone soothing. “But when it happens — if it happens — it’ll be the most beautiful thing in the world.”

You swallow hard, your fingers curling slightly against his chest. “I just … I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple. “I’ll take care of everything. You know that.”

He feels you nod slowly, your body relaxing slightly in his arms, and he knows he’s won, at least for now. He plants a kiss on your forehead, holding you close, his hand never leaving your stomach.

In the quiet of the night, when you’re fast asleep, Charles slips out of bed and heads to the kitchen, carefully preparing your morning lemon water. The vitamins are crushed to a fine powder, dissolved into the liquid, the routine seamless now. He’s preparing you, your body, for the life he’s creating with you, and soon enough, you’ll know it too.

When he returns to bed, he slides in behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hand resting once again on your stomach. He falls asleep that way, his dreams filled with the image of you — round, glowing, full with his child.

His future is set. And you? You belong to him completely now.

***

Charles is lounging on the couch when you walk in, your eyes wide and rimmed with red. He looks up, a subtle smile curving his lips as he watches you shuffle closer. You seem nervous, almost hesitant — he’s noticed it for days now, the way you’ve been quiet, reflective. But he doesn’t prod. He doesn’t ask. He’s been waiting for this, letting it build, savoring the anticipation. And now, it’s finally here.

You stand before him, clutching something small in your hand, your fingers trembling. He sees it, the faint outline of the white plastic, and his heart quickens, a rush of satisfaction coursing through him. But he schools his features into calm curiosity, tilting his head as if he has no idea what’s coming.

“Charles …” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, wavering with emotion. “I, um, I have something to show you.”

He sets his book aside, focusing all his attention on you. “What is it, ma chérie?” The endearment falls from his lips smoothly, wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

You take a shaky breath, stepping closer. Then, with a trembling hand, you hold out the pregnancy test. Charles lets his gaze drop to it, his brow furrowing in feigned confusion. He lets the silence stretch, just for a moment, just enough to feel the weight of your emotions press into him.

“What …” He blinks, his eyes widening as if in realization, then flicks his gaze up to meet yours, his mouth falling open slightly. “Is that-”

You nod quickly, your breath hitching, a sob escaping your lips. “I’m pregnant, Charles,” you choke out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I-I didn’t know how to tell you, and I’m so scared, and-”

He’s up in a second, his arms wrapping around you tightly, pulling you against his chest. He holds you close, feeling the way you tremble against him, your tears soaking into his shirt. He strokes your hair, his other hand sliding down to rest on your back, keeping you anchored to him.

“Shh, mon amour, shh,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, tender. He presses his lips to the top of your head, breathing you in. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.”

You clutch at his shirt, your sobs muffled against his chest. “I-I didn’t think … I didn’t think it would happen so soon.”

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes search yours, a soft, affectionate smile forming on his lips. “I can’t believe it …” he murmurs, letting his voice crack with supposed disbelief. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod again, more tears spilling over, your emotions a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. “Y-Yes … I just found out. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but-” You break off, another sob tearing through you. “Charles, I’m so scared. What if-”

“Hey, look at me.” His voice is firm now, his grip on your face gentle but unyielding. He waits until your eyes lock onto his, your gaze swimming with emotion. “This is the best news I’ve ever received, okay? You’re carrying our child. Our baby.” He pauses, letting the words sink in, then leans forward to kiss your forehead, lingering there, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so happy, mon amour. So, so happy.”

He feels your body soften against his, the tension easing slightly. But there’s still that uncertainty in your eyes, that flicker of doubt that makes his heart tighten. You’re so fragile, so beautifully breakable. And he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you never feel that doubt again.

“Come here,” he whispers, taking the test from your hand and setting it aside on the coffee table. He pulls you onto his lap, his hands settling on your hips, guiding you until you’re straddling him, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his thighs.

“Charles …” you start, but he shushes you gently, his hands sliding up your sides, tracing the shape of your waist, the curve of your breasts. He can’t stop touching you, can’t keep his hands still, not when you’re sitting on him like this, flushed and teary-eyed, carrying his child.

“Let me show you how happy you’ve made me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing soft kisses along your skin. He feels you shiver, your hands gripping his shoulders, your breath hitching as he nips lightly at your neck. “Let me celebrate with you, hmm?”

Your response is a broken sound, half-whimper, half-sob, your body leaning into his touch. He shifts beneath you, his hands moving to your thighs, pushing up the hem of your dress. He feels the fabric slide higher, baring more of your skin, and he can’t help the way his fingers tighten, his grip almost bruising.

“Do you know how much I love you?” He breathes against your ear, his voice low, rough with want. “How much I love the thought of you carrying my baby?”

You shake your head, your eyes fluttering closed as he moves lower, his mouth trailing over your collarbone, leaving a path of heat in its wake. “N-no … I … I don’t know …”

Charles growls softly, his hands sliding up to cup your ass, pulling you flush against him. He’s hard, straining against his pants, and he can see the way your cheeks flush, the way your breath catches as you feel him. “I’m going to make you feel it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your throat that always makes you squirm. “I’m going to make sure you know just how much I love you, how much I need you.”

Before you can respond, he’s lifting you, positioning you over him. His hands are firm on your hips as he drags you down slowly, letting you sink onto him inch by inch. He watches your face, the way your eyes widen, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He feels every tremble, every quiver of your muscles as you take him, and it’s almost too much. Almost.

But he drags it out, holding you in place, his fingers digging into your skin. He doesn’t let you move, doesn’t let you do anything but feel. He’s deep, too deep, and he can see the way your body strains, the way you’re already close to unraveling, and he loves it. Loves seeing you like this — vulnerable, overwhelmed, completely at his mercy.

“Charles,” you whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Please, I-”

“Shh, chérie,” he coos, his hands holding you still as he thrusts up slowly, savoring the way you tighten around him, the way you moan helplessly. “You’re okay. Just let me take care of you.”

He sets a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thrusts deep and measured, his eyes locked on your face. He watches every flicker of emotion, every gasp, every tear that slips down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, incoherent with need, your body trembling as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please,” you beg, your voice breaking, your hips trying to move against him, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps you still, his thrusts controlled, his gaze never leaving yours. “Please, Charles, I need-”

“I know what you need,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. He pulls you down harder, driving into you with a force that makes you cry out, your head falling back. He feels the way you clench around him, the way your body convulses, and he knows you’re close, so close. “But I’m not going to give it to you yet. Not until I know you understand.”

“Understand w-what?” You sob, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling desperately.

“That you’re mine,” he growls, his thrusts quickening, his grip on your hips almost punishing. “That you and this baby — everything — belongs to me.”

“Yes, yes, I’m yours, I-” Your voice breaks, your body arching against him, and he finally lets you move, lets you ride him, lets you take what you need.

“Good girl,” he breathes, his hands guiding you, his own release building, tightening in his core. “That’s it, baby, take what you need. Show me how much you want it.”

You shatter around him, your body convulsing, your sobs filling the room. He feels you come undone, feels the way you squeeze him, and it sends him over the edge, his own release crashing through him. He buries himself deep, holding you against him as he spills into you, his teeth gritted, his eyes squeezed shut.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound your ragged breathing, the quiet hum of satisfaction filling the space between you.

Then he moves, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hands stroking your back gently, soothingly.

“See?” He whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. “We’re going to be so happy, mon amour. You, me, and our baby. Everything will be perfect.”

***

The bell above the shop door jingles softly as you step into the boutique, the warm, perfumed air inside a welcome contrast to the chilly breeze outside. Charles follows behind you, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as you browse through the racks of maternity clothes. Your stomach is starting to show now, rounding out beneath the soft fabric of your sweater, a tangible reminder of the life growing inside you.

Charles glances down at your belly, a surge of pride swelling in his chest. He loves seeing you like this — loves the way your body is changing, loves the way you’ve become even more beautiful, more radiant. You’re glowing, in every sense of the word, and he can’t get enough of it.

“Do you like this one?” You ask, holding up a pale blue dress, your voice hesitant.

Charles steps closer, his hand sliding from your back to your waist, resting just above your bump. He tilts his head, considering the dress for a moment, before nodding with a smile.

“It’s perfect,” he says, his voice low and reassuring. “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

You smile shyly, your fingers smoothing over the fabric, and Charles feels a pang of possessiveness twist in his gut. He loves how soft and uncertain you’ve become lately, how much more you lean on him, rely on him. The pregnancy has made you vulnerable, and he thrives on it. He loves that you need him now, in a way you never did before.

As you make your way to the changing rooms, Charles lingers by the front of the shop, his eyes scanning the street outside through the large glass windows. He’s always on alert, always watching. He has to be. The thought of anyone — or anything — interrupting this perfect life he’s built with you sends a cold shiver down his spine.

And then he sees him.

Arthur.

Standing across the street, frozen in place, his eyes locked on Charles through the glass.

Charles’ entire body tenses, his jaw clenching tightly. He can see the shock in Arthur’s expression, the way his eyes flicker past Charles, searching for something — no, for someone.

You.

Arthur’s gaze drops to the shop window, and Charles knows exactly what he’s looking at. Your silhouette, your round belly. The truth hitting Arthur like a punch to the gut.

For a brief, panicked moment, Charles’ mind races. He thought he’d been careful. He’s kept Arthur away from you, made sure to cover all his tracks, kept you isolated from anything or anyone that could pull you back into your old life. He’s been meticulous, perfect in his control.

But now, standing across the street, is the one person Charles never wanted you to see again.

Arthur begins to move, his feet carrying him across the street with determined strides, and Charles feels a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck. He can’t let this happen. Not now. Not when everything is so perfect.

You emerge from the changing room, your face bright and cheerful as you smooth the fabric of the blue dress over your belly. “What do you think?” You ask, spinning around slightly to give him a full view.

Before Charles can respond, the door to the boutique swings open with a sharp clang, and Arthur steps inside.

“Y/N,” Arthur’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, filled with shock, disbelief, and something else — something darker, more dangerous.

You freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn to face him. For a moment, the three of you are locked in a tense, suffocating silence. You glance between them, confusion written all over your face.

“Arthur?” You whisper, your voice barely audible.

Charles steps forward, immediately positioning himself between you and his younger brother, his hand gripping your arm tightly. “What are you doing here?” His voice is low, warning, dripping with barely contained anger.

Arthur’s eyes never leave you, flicking from your face to your belly with an expression that’s a mixture of hurt and fury. “What the hell is going on, Y/N?” He demands, ignoring Charles completely. “You’re … you’re pregnant?”

Your face drains of color, your hand instinctively moving to cover your stomach, as if to shield the truth from him. “I … I can explain,” you stammer, your voice trembling.

But Charles isn’t having it. He steps forward, his body blocking Arthur’s view of you completely. “She doesn’t owe you an explanation, Arthur,” he snaps, his voice cold and cutting. “You’re not part of her life anymore.”

Arthur’s face twists with anger, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Not part of her life?” He spits, his eyes blazing. “I was with her for six years, Charles. Six years. You think you can just waltz in and take everything?”

Charles’ grip on your arm tightens, his nails digging into your skin as he fights to keep control. His pulse is racing, his heart pounding in his chest, but outwardly, he remains calm, collected. He has to. He can’t let Arthur get under his skin, can’t let him ruin everything he’s worked so hard for.

“Y/N made her choice,” Charles says evenly, his voice cold as ice. “She chose me. We’re having a baby together. Our baby.”

Arthur’s face goes pale, his eyes widening in disbelief. “A baby?” He whispers, his voice breaking. He looks at you then, truly looks at you, and Charles can see the hurt in his eyes, the devastation. “Is that true, Y/N?” He asks, his voice shaking. “You’re having his baby?”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Tears well up in your eyes, and you look down, avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

Charles takes a step closer to Arthur, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You need to leave, Arthur. Now.”

But Arthur doesn’t move. He just stands there, staring at you, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “How could you do this?” He chokes out. “How could you betray me like this?”

Before you can respond, Charles steps in front of you again, his body a wall of protection. “She didn’t betray you,” he says harshly. “You were never good enough for her. You could never give her what she needed. I could.”

Arthur’s face twists with fury, and he takes a threatening step forward. “You’re sick, Charles,” he growls. “You manipulated her, didn’t you? You’ve been controlling her this whole time.”

Charles’ eyes darken, his hand clenching into a fist at his side. “You don’t know anything about us,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “You have no idea what we’ve been through. What we have together.”

Arthur looks like he’s about to explode, his fists trembling with barely contained rage. “You’re delusional,” he spits. “You think you can just take her and make her yours? You think she’s going to stay with you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a cold smile, his eyes narrowing. “She’s already mine,” he says, his voice soft but deadly. “She’s carrying my child. We’re going to be a family. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Arthur looks at you again, his expression filled with pain and disbelief. “Y/N, please,” he begs, his voice breaking. “Tell me this isn’t true. Tell me he hasn’t brainwashed you.”

But you can’t look at him. Your hand is still resting on your belly, your eyes filled with tears, and you shake your head slowly, unable to find the words.

Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I don’t believe this,” he whispers. “I don’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Charles steps forward, his voice sharp and final. “Leave, Arthur,” he says coldly. “Before I make you.”

For a moment, Arthur stands there, staring at the two of you, his face pale and broken. Then, without another word, he turns and walks out of the shop, the door slamming shut behind him.

Charles watches him go, his heart racing, his body thrumming with adrenaline. He turns to you, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away your tears.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs softly, pulling you into his arms. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt us.”

You bury your face in his chest, your body shaking with quiet sobs, and Charles holds you tightly, his hand resting protectively over your belly.

“It’s just us now, mon amour,” he whispers, his lips pressing against your hair. “Just us and our baby.”

And as he holds you close, a dark, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

Arthur was always a necessary sacrifice.

***

Charles is pacing the living room when the call comes through. His fingers drum against his thigh, jaw set in a grim line as he answers, putting the phone to his ear. He keeps his voice low, careful not to let it carry down the hall where you’re napping in his bed. Where you’re safe.

“Is it handled?” He asks, words clipped and impatient.

His manager’s voice comes through the speaker, tight and strained. “We’re working on it. But the story’s already circulating. It’s gaining traction.”

Charles squeezes his eyes shut, frustration and anger twisting through him like a hot blade. This was not supposed to happen. He made sure of it. He thought he’d made sure Arthur was too broken, too defeated to put up a fight.

“Fix it,” he grinds out, his grip on the phone tightening. “I don’t care what it takes — just make it disappear.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, the silence stretching thin and taut, before his manager responds quietly, “It’s not that simple, Charles. He’s not backing down. And the media — well, they love a scandal. Especially one like this.”

Charles’ teeth clench, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He knows exactly what his manager is implying. The story is out there. Arthur’s desperate, crazed accusations that Charles is holding you against your will, that he’s manipulative, unhinged, obsessed. That he’s stolen Arthur’s long-time girlfriend and trapped you in some twisted relationship.

Charles’ jaw ticks, fury simmering just beneath the surface. He wants to laugh. Obsessed? Maybe. Manipulative? Definitely. But you’re not a hostage. You’re his — his to love, his to protect, his to control. Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about. He doesn’t know anything about what you and Charles have together.

“Buy them off,” Charles snarls, each word falling from his lips like a command. “Or threaten them. Do whatever you have to do to make them stop printing this shit. And Arthur-” He cuts himself off, breathing hard, the urge to fly across the room and smash something almost overwhelming.

“Keep him away from Y/N,” he finishes darkly, his voice low and dangerous. “I don’t want him anywhere near her. Understood?”

“Understood,” his manager replies, voice tight. “But Charles … this could get messy. Really messy. I’m just warning you-”

“Just do it,” Charles snaps, cutting him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want results.”

He ends the call, his hands shaking slightly as he lowers the phone. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the wild, chaotic storm raging inside him. He can’t lose his temper. Not now. Not when Arthur’s doing everything he can to tear them apart.

Charles turns his gaze to the shattered pieces of your phone lying in the corner of the room. It only took a second to crush it beneath his heel, to cut off your access to the outside world. He can’t risk you seeing what’s being said, can’t risk you hearing Arthur’s poisonous words.

If you did … you might start to doubt him. You might start to wonder if Arthur’s telling the truth. And Charles can’t let that happen. He won’t let that happen.

With a deep breath, he forces himself to relax, his expression smoothing out into a mask of calm. He has a plan. He always does. He’ll deal with the media, silence Arthur for good. And you … you’ll be none the wiser.

He’ll make sure of it.

Charles’ gaze drifts down the hall, his chest tightening with a fierce, possessive longing. He needs to see you. Needs to remind himself that you’re his, that Arthur’s pathetic attempts to tear you away from him are futile.

He heads to the bedroom quietly, pushing open the door to find you curled up on your side, still sound asleep. You look so peaceful, so delicate, your hair spread out across the pillow, your lips parted slightly. He moves closer, his eyes tracing the curve of your belly beneath the sheets, the swell of your pregnancy more visible by the day.

His heart clenches with a strange, overwhelming mixture of love and obsession. You’re carrying his child. His blood, his legacy. You belong to him in every way that matters.

But even that’s not enough for him. He wants more. Needs more. He wants to own every part of you — your body, your mind, your soul. He wants you to think of him every second of every day, wants you to be consumed by him, just as he’s consumed by you.

A dark smile curves his lips as an idea forms in his mind, a way to keep you distracted, to keep you from thinking too much about what’s happening outside the safe, perfect world he’s built for you.

“Mon ange,” he murmurs softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You stir slightly, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes. “Charles?” You mumble, your voice thick with drowsiness. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, chérie,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your face. “I just thought … you might like a bath. Something relaxing, to help you unwind.”

You smile at him sleepily, nodding slightly. “That sounds nice.”

He scoops you up gently, carrying you to the en suite bathroom, where he sets you down on the edge of the large bathtub. He turns on the taps, the water rushing in with a soothing, steady sound. He adds a few drops of lavender-scented oil, the scent filling the air, calming and comforting.

Charles helps you out of your clothes, his hands lingering on your skin, his fingers tracing over the swell of your belly with reverence. He lowers you into the warm water, watching as you sink down with a contented sigh, your head resting against the back of the tub.

“Comfortable?” He asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you relax into the water. “Mmm … yes.”

Charles smiles, kneeling beside the tub. He reaches over and adjusts the settings on the jet controls, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he turns them on, directing the powerful stream of water right between your legs.

You let out a startled gasp, your eyes flying open as the sensation hits you. “Charles-”

“Shh, chérie,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing purr. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your eyes are wide, your cheeks flushed as the water pulses against you, the sensation building steadily, turning your body to jelly. Charles watches with dark satisfaction as you squirm, your breaths coming faster, your hands gripping the edge of the tub.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, his voice low and husky. “So perfect. So mine.”

You whimper, your hips shifting involuntarily as the jets work their magic, your body reacting helplessly to the stimulation. Charles’ hand slips beneath the water, his fingers sliding over your heated skin, teasing you further.

“Charles, please-” you moan, your voice breaking.

He hums softly, his lips ghosting over your neck. “Please what, mon amour?”

“I … I don’t know,” you gasp, your head falling back, your body arching in the water. “It’s — oh God, it’s too much-”

Charles’ eyes darken with satisfaction, his fingers trailing lower, stroking you in time with the jets. “Just let go, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing, hypnotic lullaby. “Let me take care of everything.”

You cry out softly, your body trembling as the sensation crests, waves of pleasure crashing over you. Charles holds you steady, his touch firm and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re shuddering and gasping and begging incoherently.

And then, finally, when you’ve been thoroughly unraveled, when your body is limp and boneless, Charles shuts off the jets, his fingers gently stroking your skin as you slump back against him, utterly spent.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. He gathers you up in his arms, holding you close as you drift off, your breathing soft and even against his chest.

Charles’ lips brush against your hair, a dark smile curving his lips. He may not be able to control what happens outside these walls, but in here — in his world, in his arms — you’re his.

Arthur can try to tear you apart. He can try to expose Charles’ darkness to the world. But it won’t change a thing.

Because you’re never leaving.

***

Charles doesn’t tell you he’s going out. He leaves quietly in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun has risen. The only sound in the otherwise silent apartment is the faint click of the front door shutting behind him, and even that feels like a betrayal of his intent to remain unseen. He’s meticulous as he slips into his car, the leather seats cool against his back. The drive to Arthur’s location — some nondescript hotel in Nice — is a blur, the city lights flashing by in a hazy smear of gold and white.

His jaw is set, eyes cold and unyielding as he pulls up to the parking lot. He grips the steering wheel tightly, the skin of his knuckles taut, veins prominent. This is a loose end that needs tying, and he’s finally run out of patience. He’s given Arthur time — more than enough time to drop his accusations, to back off. He’d even sent a few pointed warnings through other channels, but it seems Arthur’s stubbornness knows no bounds.

No matter. This ends today.

Charles steps out of the car, the chill of the pre-dawn air nipping at his skin. He straightens his coat, taking a deep breath as he crosses the lot, his footsteps the only sound in the stillness. He can feel the coiled tension thrumming beneath his skin, the barely contained violence that always simmers just below the surface whenever Arthur’s name comes up.

It only takes him a minute to reach the room — third floor, end of the hall. Room 317. He can hear the murmur of voices inside as he approaches, one of them unmistakably Arthur’s, sharp and agitated. Charles pauses for a second, just outside the door, his pulse pounding steadily in his ears. He listens, picking up the sound of shuffling feet, the clink of glass against glass, a muffled curse.

Charles knocks once, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent hallway.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Arthur’s voice — hoarse, disbelieving. “Who the hell is it at this hour?”

No answer.

Charles knocks again, harder this time, the force reverberating down the length of his arm.

The door swings open, and Arthur’s face appears, disheveled and bleary-eyed. There’s a moment where Arthur blinks, his gaze taking in the man standing on the other side of the threshold as if he’s not quite registering what he’s seeing.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice is incredulous, slurred slightly, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “What the-”

Charles doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He steps forward, crossing the threshold in one smooth, fluid movement, shoving Arthur back with a force that sends him stumbling into the room. The door slams shut behind them, and Charles’ hand is already around his brother’s throat, fingers digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh.

Arthur chokes, his eyes going wide, hands scrabbling uselessly at Charles’ wrist. “W-what the fuck are you doing?”

“Ending this,” Charles says softly, his voice calm and controlled despite the dark rage swirling through him. “I warned you, Arthur. I warned you to stop. But you didn’t listen.”

Arthur gasps, his face turning red, his body jerking as he tries to wrench himself free from Charles’ iron grip. “Y-you’re fucking insane!” He manages to choke out, his voice a rasp. “Y/N — she-”

“Don’t say her name,” Charles snarls, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He tightens his hold, watching with detached satisfaction as Arthur’s face contorts in pain, his eyes bulging. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to even think about her.”

Arthur’s lips part, but no sound comes out — just a strangled wheeze, a desperate, broken noise. Charles watches him dispassionately, his expression blank as he waits, as he lets his brother teeter on the edge of unconsciousness before loosening his grip just enough for Arthur to suck in a ragged, shuddering breath.

“Charles, please-” Arthur rasps, his voice weak and desperate. “You’re — killing me-”

“Am I?” Charles tilts his head, regarding his brother with an almost clinical interest. “Because the way I see it, you’ve been trying to kill me. Trying to destroy everything I’ve built, everything I love. All because you’re too much of a coward to accept the truth.”

He lets go abruptly, shoving Arthur to the floor. Arthur collapses in a heap, coughing and gasping, clutching at his throat. He looks up at Charles, eyes wide with fear and confusion, his voice barely a whisper. “What truth?”

“That she’s mine,” Charles says softly, his gaze dark and unrelenting. “She’s always been mine, Arthur. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur shakes his head, his expression one of horror and disbelief. “No … no, that’s not true-”

Charles takes a step forward, his presence looming over his brother, his shadow swallowing the dim light of the room. “Do you really think she wanted you?” He asks quietly, his voice a soft, deadly murmur. “Do you really think she loved you?”

Arthur’s face crumples, his hands trembling as he pushes himself up, his shoulders hunched. “She did,” he whispers, his voice broken. “She — she was with me for six years, Charles. Six fucking years-”

“And yet she never let you touch her,” Charles cuts in smoothly, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “She never gave you what she gave me so easily. Don’t you understand? You were just a placeholder. A distraction. She was always meant to be mine.”

Arthur shakes his head again, his eyes filling with tears. “You’re lying. You-”

“Lying?” Charles laughs softly, the sound low and humorless. “Ask her yourself. Oh, wait — you can’t. Because she doesn’t want to see you anymore. She doesn’t even think about you anymore.”

Arthur flinches, his face crumpling. “Charles, please-”

Charles’ smile fades, his expression hardening once more. “I’m not here to beg,” he says coldly. “I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to make it clear — to make you understand — that this is the end.”

Arthur looks up at him, his eyes wide and fearful. “What … what are you going to do?”

Charles leans down, his gaze locking onto his brother’s, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’re going to disappear. You’re going to leave this city, leave this continent, and you’re never going to come back. You’re going to vanish without a trace, and you’re going to stay gone.”

Arthur swallows hard, his throat working as he tries to form words, his lips trembling. “And if I don’t?”

Charles straightens, his gaze never leaving his brother’s face. “If you don’t,” he says softly, “I’ll make sure you do.”

The threat hangs heavy in the air, a promise wrapped in steel. Arthur shudders, his eyes squeezing shut as he lets out a ragged, broken sob. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Good,” Charles murmurs, a satisfied smile curving his lips. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

He turns on his heel, heading for the door. He doesn’t spare his brother a second glance as he steps out of the room, as he walks down the hall and back to his car. He doesn’t look back as he starts the engine, as he drives away, leaving Arthur and the mess he created behind him.

He’s dealt with it. Arthur won’t bother them again.

And now … now he can go back to you. Back to where he belongs.

***

Charles plans everything meticulously.

When he returns to the apartment that morning, he’s all warmth and tenderness. He finds you still curled up in bed, blankets tucked around you like a cocoon. You look so peaceful, so beautiful in the early morning light, the hint of a bump peeking through the oversized T-shirt he had pulled over your head the night before.

He slips out of his clothes with practiced ease, folding them neatly on the chair by the bed. The sight of your bare shoulders, your slightly parted lips, the slow rise and fall of your chest — it’s enough to make his heart swell with possessive pride. He pads over quietly, slipping under the covers beside you, and wraps his arms around you, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.

The first thing he does is inhale deeply, taking in your scent — soft, warm, and uniquely yours. His hands move over your skin with reverence, tracing the curves of your shoulders, your waist, your growing belly. You stir slightly, murmuring something unintelligible, but you don’t wake.

Perfect.

It’s not until the sun has fully risen that he lets you stir awake, nudging his nose against your cheek and pressing kisses along your jaw until you slowly blink your eyes open. You turn your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze.

“Morning,” you whisper, voice thick with sleep.

“Morning, ma belle,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and tender. He pulls you closer, his hand smoothing over your belly. “How are my two favorite people today?”

You laugh softly, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you look down at the small swell of your stomach. “Still waking up.”

“Then let me help,” he breathes, lowering his head to nip gently at your collarbone. You gasp softly, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His hands wander, exploring, kneading, until you’re arching into his touch, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“Charles-” Your voice is a soft, breathless moan, filled with the kind of trust and yearning that makes something primal in him twist and tighten. “We — ah, we have to get ready for the parenting class.”

He hums against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. “We have time.”

His lips close around a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, and you let out a shaky whimper. He’s not sure how long he spends like that, working you up, savoring every sound, every shudder, every whispered plea that falls from your lips. But he knows exactly what he’s doing.

It’s only when you’re completely lost to the haze, your fingers clutching at the sheets, your body trembling with need, that he finally leans back, his breath coming in soft, measured pants. He reaches over to the bedside table, pulling out a neatly folded piece of paper and a pen, and places it on the bed beside you.

“What’s that?” You murmur, still dazed, your eyes fluttering as you try to focus on the form in front of you.

“Just a little thing to sign for the class,” he says smoothly, his tone casual, nonchalant. He settles between your legs, his fingers trailing up your inner thighs in slow, teasing strokes. “You know, to confirm our participation and all that.”

You glance down at the paper, brow furrowing slightly as you try to read it, but Charles doesn’t give you a chance to focus. He lowers his head, his mouth finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, and you gasp, your back arching off the bed as pleasure shoots through you.

“Charles — oh, god,” you breathe, your voice trembling. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging gently, but he doesn’t relent, his tongue moving in slow, torturous circles, his fingers digging into your hips to keep you still.

“Just sign it, ma chérie,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a low, seductive purr. “Then I can make you feel so much better. I promise.”

You whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you struggle to concentrate. He can see the moment you give in, your resistance melting away under the onslaught of his mouth and hands. You reach blindly for the pen, your fingers fumbling as you scrawl your signature at the bottom of the page, your hand trembling with each pass.

“There we go,” he coos, lifting his head just long enough to watch as you finish signing. “Good girl.”

He’s careful to fold the paper back up, slipping it into the drawer with a satisfied smile before turning his full attention back to you. You’re pliant, needy, your body arching and twisting beneath him, your breath coming in soft, desperate pants.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with possessive pride. “So perfect, so sweet. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling in his hair, your voice a breathless whisper. “Charles, please-”

He knows exactly what you’re asking for, what you’re begging for, and it only makes him want to draw it out longer. He settles into a slow, torturous rhythm, his mouth and hands moving in perfect harmony, until you’re shaking, your thighs trembling, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“Please,” you whimper again, your voice breaking on the word. “Please, Charles-”

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, pressing soft kisses to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “I’ve got you, mon cœur. Let go. Just let go for me.”

And when you finally do, your body going rigid and then melting into the bed as pleasure washes over you in waves, he’s right there with you, holding you, whispering soft, sweet words against your skin.

“That’s it, ma chérie. Just like that. You’re so beautiful like this. So perfect.”

He stays with you like that, his hands gentle as they roam over your skin, his mouth pressing soft, reverent kisses along your belly, your hips, your thighs. He savors the way you tremble, the way you whisper his name like a prayer, the way you cling to him as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

And maybe he is.

When you finally come back to yourself, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, he helps you sit up, his hands firm and steady on your shoulders.

“Ready for class?” He asks softly, his smile warm, his gaze soft as he looks down at you.

You nod slowly, still a little dazed, a soft, contented smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah … I think so.”

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart swelling with love and pride. “Good.”

He helps you dress, his hands lingering on your skin a little longer than necessary, his eyes lingering on the small swell of your belly. It’s not long now, he thinks, his chest tightening with anticipation. Soon, everyone will know. Soon, there will be no denying it — no denying that you belong to him, that you’ve always belonged to him.

He tucks the signed marriage application form away carefully, making a mental note to drop it off at the Monaco Town Hall later. There’s no rush. It’s just a formality now. A piece of paper to make it official. Because you’re already his in every way that matters.

And soon, the world will know it too.

***

Charles can barely breathe.

He stands at the head of the hospital bed, his hand locked around yours, gripping tight enough to leave marks, but you don’t seem to notice. Your own fingers are trembling, clenched around his as if they’re the only thing tethering you to reality. Sweat beads on your forehead, dampening your hair, and your face is contorted with pain and effort as another contraction rips through you.

“It’s okay, ma chérie, you’re doing so well,” Charles murmurs, his voice strained with worry and something else — something darker, sharper, a fierce, primal protectiveness that twists in his chest like a living thing. He swallows hard, pressing a kiss to your temple, tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips. “Just a little longer, I promise. You’re almost there.”

You whimper, your head lolling to the side, your eyes half-shut with exhaustion. “Charles … I-I can’t-”

“Yes, you can.” His voice is firm, unyielding, his eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You will. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re going to do this. For us. For our son.”

The reminder seems to give you strength, and you nod weakly, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath as you steel yourself for the next wave. Charles can feel your grip tighten even more, and he shifts closer, his body almost draped over yours, his other hand smoothing over your hair, your shoulder, your belly — wherever he can reach, just to be touching you, grounding you.

“Focus on me,” he whispers, his voice low and urgent. “Just on me, okay? Breathe with me. You can do this. We can do this.”

It’s an eternity, an endless cycle of pain and panting breaths and whispered encouragement, until the OBGYN finally leans over, glancing between your legs with a nod of approval. “You’re almost fully dilated. Just a few more pushes, and you’ll get to meet your baby.”

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every flicker of emotion, every furrow of your brow, every flicker of fear and determination and exhaustion. He hates this, hates seeing you in pain, hates that he can’t just take it all away. But he knows this is what you wanted, what you dreamed of, and he’ll be damned if he lets his own fear ruin it.

“Just a few more, bébé,” he breathes, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You’re so close. You’ve come so far. I’m so proud of you. So proud.”

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, there’s something there — something raw and vulnerable and achingly beautiful. “Charles … I-”

“I know,” he whispers, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. “I know, ma belle. I love you too. So much.”

And then you’re pushing again, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat, and Charles can only hold on, his heart pounding in his chest as the doctor’s voice rises over the chaos.

“That’s it! That’s it! Just one more, give me one more big push!”

You scream again, your whole body straining with the effort, and then suddenly, there’s a high, thin wail that cuts through the air like a knife.

Time seems to freeze.

Charles’ breath catches in his throat, his whole world narrowing down to the tiny, wriggling figure the nurse is holding in her hands, covered in blood and amniotic fluid and screaming its tiny lungs out.

“Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice breaking on the words. “Oh my god, he’s — he’s here. He’s-”

A nurse moves quickly, wrapping the baby in a soft, clean towel, and then she’s turning, holding him out to you, her face creased with a gentle smile.

“Congratulations, you two,” she says softly. “It’s a boy.”

You’re shaking, tears streaming down your face as you reach out with trembling hands to take the baby. Charles moves with you, his arms slipping around you to support you as you cradle the tiny bundle against your chest, your breath hitching with sobs.

“Hi,” you whisper, your voice trembling, filled with wonder and awe. “Hi, little one. Oh my god, hi …”

Charles’ heart feels like it’s about to burst, his chest so tight he can barely breathe. He looks down at the baby — his son — nestled in your arms, his tiny fists flailing, his face scrunched up as he lets out another wail.

“He’s … perfect,” Charles whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as he brushes them gently over the baby’s head, feeling the soft, downy hair beneath his fingertips. “You’re perfect, mon fils. Absolutely perfect.”

The baby’s cries soften, his tiny body relaxing as he feels the warmth of your skin, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. Charles watches, his gaze riveted to the small, scrunched-up face, the tiny fingers curling around the edge of the towel.

He can’t believe it. He can’t believe that this tiny, fragile life is his, that he helped create something so beautiful, so precious. It’s overwhelming, a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him, and he feels his eyes sting with tears, his throat tightening with a sob.

“Look at him,” he whispers, his voice choked. “Just … look at him.”

You nod, your own tears falling freely as you gaze down at your son, your fingers tracing over his tiny features with reverence. “He’s so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice breaking. “Charles … I — thank you. Thank you so much.”

Charles shakes his head, his arms tightening around you, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “No, thank you. You did all the hard work. You brought him into this world. I’m just … I’m just so proud of you.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your gaze never leaving the baby’s face. “We did this together,” you whisper. “All three of us.”

“Yeah,” Charles breathes, his voice filled with awe. “Yeah, we did.”

It’s a blur after that, nurses bustling around, cleaning up, checking your vitals, making sure the baby is healthy and strong. But through it all, Charles never lets go of you, his arms wrapped around you and his son, his gaze never wavering.

When the medical team finally leave, giving you some privacy, Charles shifts carefully, easing onto the edge of the bed beside you. He reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the baby’s tiny hand, marveling at how small and delicate it is.

“Can I …” He murmurs, his voice tentative, almost shy.

You smile softly, your eyes still wet with tears as you look up at him. “Of course.”

Charles swallows hard, his heart pounding as you carefully lift the baby, placing him in Charles’ waiting arms. He shifts, cradling the tiny bundle against his chest, his breath catching as the baby lets out a soft, sleepy sigh.

“Hey there, little guy,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I’m your papa. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

The baby stirs, his tiny face scrunching up for a moment before relaxing again, and Charles feels something inside him shatter and reform, something deep and primal and fierce.

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and fervent. “I’ll protect you and your maman, always. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll make sure you have everything you could ever want, everything you could ever need. You’ll never have to worry about anything. I promise.”

He lifts his gaze, meeting yours, and his breath catches at the look on your face — so full of love and warmth and happiness. “We did it,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “He’s really here.”

You nod, your smile soft and radiant. “He’s really here.”

Charles leans forward, his lips brushing over your forehead, your nose, your lips, and then over the baby’s head, pressing soft, reverent kisses to each of you.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “Both of you. More than anything.”

Your eyes soften, and you reach up, your fingers brushing over his cheek. “We love you too, Charles.”

And in that moment, holding his son in his arms, with you by his side, Charles feels like he’s finally found everything he’s ever wanted. Everything he’s ever needed.

His family. His life. His everything.

And he knows, with a certainty that’s as solid and unyielding as stone, that he’ll never let go of it.

***

Arthur watches from a distance, and it’s like staring through frosted glass into a life he no longer recognizes. The family picnic sprawls out on the pristine lawn of Charles’ estate, the manicured gardens framing a picturesque scene of domestic bliss.

You’re sitting on a checkered blanket under the shade of an old oak tree, a baby cradled in your arms. Your soft murmurs drift through the air, your gaze locked on the tiny face peeking out from beneath the blue cotton blanket. You look … peaceful. Serene. And despite everything, Arthur’s chest tightens painfully at the sight.

He’s too far away to hear what you’re saying to the baby, but he can see your lips moving, the way your smile brightens, the gentle curve of your mouth as you lean down and kiss the baby’s forehead. His nephew. Charles’ son.

It should have been his.

Arthur’s fingers twitch at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he forces himself to stay still, to stay hidden behind the row of hedges that separate the lawn from the main driveway. He knows he shouldn’t be here. Knows he’s not supposed to come anywhere near you or the baby, not after everything that’s happened.

But he couldn’t help it.

The compulsion, the desperation to see you, to see his family — it had clawed at him until he’d caved, his resolve shattering like glass beneath the weight of his longing. He just wanted to see you. To see if you were okay. If you were happy.

But now … now he wishes he hadn’t come.

Because what he sees isn’t just happiness. It’s a life he’s been shut out of, a life that Charles has taken for himself, a life Arthur knows was meant for him.

You shift slightly, adjusting your hold on the baby, and Arthur’s heart gives a painful lurch as he watches you unbutton your blouse, the soft fabric parting to reveal the swell of your breast. You’re murmuring to the baby, your voice a soothing hum that carries on the breeze, and then you’re guiding the baby’s mouth to your nipple.

Arthur’s breath catches, his throat tightening as he watches you begin to nurse. It’s an intimate, tender moment, one he knows he shouldn’t be witnessing, but he can’t look away. His gaze is locked on you, on the way your face softens, the way your shoulders relax, the way your eyes flutter shut as you cradle your son against your breast.

Charles’ son.

Arthur feels something dark and bitter twist in his gut, something that tastes like envy and regret and loss all wrapped up in a tangled knot of emotion he can’t untangle. This should have been his. You should have been his. The baby — his nephew — should have been his child. He was supposed to be the one sitting beside you, watching over you, protecting you, loving you.

But instead, he’s been reduced to a spectator, watching from the shadows as his older brother lives the life that Arthur had built with you for six long years.

“Do you miss me?” Arthur whispers under his breath, his voice barely audible, swallowed up by the distance between you. “Do you ever think about me? Do you even remember?”

But you don’t answer. You can’t hear him. You’re lost in your own world, your attention focused entirely on the baby at your breast, on the tiny, greedy mouth suckling at your nipple.

And then, as if sensing his presence, you glance up — your eyes drifting towards the hedges where Arthur is hiding.

He freezes, his heart slamming against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, your gaze seems to land on him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His pulse roars in his ears, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he wills himself to remain perfectly still, to blend into the shadows.

But then, you blink, and the moment passes. Your gaze shifts away, back down to the baby, and Arthur lets out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging with a mixture of relief and disappointment.

You didn’t see him. You didn’t recognize him. You didn’t even notice he was there.

He’s invisible. Irrelevant. Forgotten.

And that knowledge cuts deeper than any knife.

“Enjoying the view, little brother?”

Arthur’s entire body jerks violently, his breath stuttering as he spins around, his eyes wide with shock. Charles stands a few feet away, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his tailored trousers, his expression cool and composed, but there’s a sharp edge to his gaze, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Arthur?” Charles’ voice is low and calm, but there’s an undercurrent of menace beneath the words, a warning that sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine.

“I-” Arthur swallows, his throat dry, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation, anything that might defuse the tension radiating off his brother in waves. “I just wanted to see her. To see … the baby.”

Charles’ lips curl into a mocking smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You have some nerve, you know that? After everything you tried to pull? After you went to the press, after you tried to ruin my life, our life-”

“You ruined my life!” Arthur snaps, his voice breaking on the words, the pent-up frustration and anger and grief spilling over. “You took everything from me, Charles! Everything! She was supposed to be mine-”

“She was never yours,” Charles interrupts coldly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “Not really. She was mine the moment I laid eyes on her. You were just too blind to see it.”

Arthur flinches, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “You can’t just take whatever you want, Charles. You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can.” The words are soft, but they land like a slap, leaving Arthur reeling. “And I did.”

Charles steps closer, his gaze locking onto Arthur’s, unblinking and fierce. “You’re lucky I haven’t done worse. You’re lucky I’m even letting you stand here and breathe the same air as her. But don’t push me, Arthur. Don’t test me. Because if you come near her again — if you even think about trying to take her or our baby away from me — I’ll destroy you.”

Arthur’s throat works, his hands shaking at his sides as he fights to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. “You’re a monster,” he whispers hoarsely. “You’re sick, Charles. You’re-”

“Happy,” Charles cuts him off, his smile widening, his gaze gleaming with something triumphant and cruel. “I’m happy, Arthur. We’re happy. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Arthur’s chest heaves with ragged breaths, his vision blurring as he glares at his brother, his entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage and heartbreak.

“I hate you,” he spits, the words venomous and bitter on his tongue. “I hate you so much.”

Charles doesn’t even flinch. He just tilts his head slightly, his gaze flicking back to where you’re sitting on the blanket, completely oblivious to the confrontation happening just a few yards away.

“Maybe,” he murmurs thoughtfully, his voice softening as he watches you. “But you’re not the one she’s going home with, are you? You’re not the one she’s going to spend the rest of her life with. You’re not the one she’s given her heart to. So hate me all you want, little brother. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns back to Arthur, his smile sharp and satisfied. “Because in the end, I won.”

Arthur stares at him, his breath hitching painfully in his throat, and for the first time in his life, he feels completely powerless. Helpless. Defeated.

And as he watches Charles turn and walk away — back to you, back to your son, back to the life that should have been his — Arthur knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that he’s lost.

Lost you. Lost his family. Lost everything that ever mattered.

And there’s no getting it back.

[ivy-elle]

How they tend to you after getting injured

Feat. Albedo, Childe, Kinich, Scaramouche

A/N: Slightly suggestive in Childe's part, more so in Scaramouche's

“Move it a bit for me?”

You couldn’t help but grimace a little at that prospect. “I’d rather not.”

That promptly earns you a disapproving look from the alchemist. Which is quite an unusual sight for him, you think. He must be really concerned then.

“Slowly.” A soft musing laced in his voice as his fingers gently wrap around your wrist to move your hand at a slow pace.

You hiss quietly at the sharp pain. “It’s not broken,” you state, trying to convince yourself more than actually being sure of that.

“No,” Albedo attests, touching up your wrist, careful not to hurt you further, “it’s fortunately not. Yet, your wrist is in a less-than-ideal state.”

You raise your eyebrow and reply in a flat tone, “Really.”

Albedo’s eyes meet yours, unaltered. “Positive.”

Then his brows furrow as his gaze falls on something next to you on the table. He reaches for the bottle of painkillers you took earlier, inspecting them with concerned incredulity. “My love, I hope you didn’t expect to cure a sprained bone with these pills alone?”

 “Well…I mean, maybe?” you fumble with your words. “They’re good.”

Albedo can’t help the sigh leaving his lips as he shakes his head and grabs the pack of bandages, he prepared. “I will bring along some more profound remedy later if that’s alright with you.”

Carefully, he starts wrapping a string of bandages around your hand, making sure it sits steady and firm but not enough to be painful.

“Does that feel comfortable enough?” He shifts his eyes back to yours, observing closely for any indication of pain on your face.

Somehow his soft-spoken words seem to soothe the pain on their own Your heart tightens along with the last string of bandages as he seems to be so utterly tender and gentle with you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Thank you. I’m sorry, for the fright earlier.”

“Nonsense.” Albedo gently lifts up your now bandaged hand and presses a feather-light kiss against the cloth. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re slacking more than usual. Where’s your fire today?”

The sounds of clashing swords against each other halt for a moment when Childe stems his sword into the earth beneath. He tilts his head as his arms sneak under to support his chin against the grip of his sword. A boyish grin on his lips as wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Long night?”

You huff, mirroring his position. “Shut up, you shithead.” He knows damn well who’s to blame for your lack of sleep recently.

But Childe only snickers, like that smug ass he is, giving you a once-over. “Oho, we have a sore loser here I see.”

“You just want me to pay for the dinner tonight.”

“Precisely.” His smirk widens. “There is an evening waiting for you full of relaxation, notorious meals and of course the best company Liyue has to offer.” Childe takes a few steps back, widening his arms out in a dramatic manner. “Me.”

“See, I’d actually beg to defy that statement,” you start as you put your sword away. But when you look back up, the single head movement causes a sudden spur, your vision adorned by black dots for a moment. “Damn,” you huff, holding onto a tree for some support.

“Woah, there.” Within a second Childe is at your side, his hand reaches out, holding you in place. “You okay?” His tone has shifted into a more serious one.

You blink and your vision clears one more. A sort of sheepish, perhaps slightly embarrassed grin settles on your lips as you meet his eyes. “Yeah. That treasure hoarder must’ve gotten me a bit harder than I’ve assumed.”

But Childe doesn’t join in on your amusement and frowns instead. “What treasure hoarder? On your way to Liyue earlier?”

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair as you get reminded of the events earlier that day. “Unfortunately.” An annoyed scoff escapes you. “Please, it was embarrassing enough as it is. Don’t make me live through that again.”

Childe’s eyes slightly darken and he’s quiet for a moment. Contemplating. As if settling on some plan. Then from one moment to the other, his expression immediately clears up again and he ruffles your hair in an affectionate way. “I suggest, we let the food deliver to us instead and you’re gonna tell me exactly what happened, hm?”

Disgruntled, you push his hand from your head. “Childe, it’s-“

“Ah-ah, no. Concussions should be treated seriously. Off you go now.” He shoos you forward gently, but now his arm is draped around your waist, just to make sure you’ll stay on your feet. “Come now.”

“You’re walking funny.”

Confused, you turn your head back around to where Kinich is walking behind you, raising your eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Kinich’s eyes are focused on your feet, analysing. “Did you sprain your ankle?”

“No,” you turn back ahead, “it’s not that bad.”

His fingers take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “May I see?”

You frown. “My foot?”

“Your ankle,” he corrects, his face unchanged.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” It’s obvious he isn’t up for any kind of discussion.

You look around the jungle you’re passing through. Quite the inconvenient setting.

“Kinich, I swear it’s-“

“Please.”

You nearly crumble. Both at his touch as well as the tender look in his eyes. So you relent with a sigh. “Alright, just-, “You look around for something to sit down. “Let’s get somewhere closed off, yeah?”

One settled on a nearby rock, Kinich crouches down in front of you, one hand on your calf the other on your knee. He sure seems like he’s done this a couple of times before. Well, in his line of work…

“Can you bend it?” Kinich asks then. Some strands of his hair fall into his face and you’re tempted to reach out and gently brush them away.

You blink. Focus.

“Sure. Well, I think I’d rather not bend it though.”

He hums, contemplative. “I’d rather you not as well.” After carefully checking up upon your skin and bones he looks up again to meet your eyes, a bit of a stern look on his face. More so than usual. “You realise this is swollen, right? Surely you must feel that?”

“Mayhaps,” you admit more hesitantly than he’d like.

Kinich frowns, sighs and then stands up. “Come on. I carry you. It’s not far off anymore, anyway.”

At that suggestion, your heart skips a beat. “No way.”

He crosses his arms. Then one eyebrow rises. “You think I’d dare to drop you?”

“I have dignity.” You explain and prop up your elbows as you lean back against the rock before you add, “And pride.”

“There won’t be much left of your pride if you continue to walk that way in the open.” He takes a few steps back with a glint in his eyes. “I’d put that into careful consideration as well if I were you.”

You squeeze your eyes at him. “You’re playing dirty.”

Kinich lips curve into a smile. Then he adjusts with ease and lifts you up into his arms. “And yet I win.”

You are in heaven. You could swear it.

It has been weeks now, where missions, the fatui or simple life have kept you away from each other, getting barely any time to spend.

And while Scaramouche might not outwardly admit that he’s missed you (or your touch), it is now quite evident in the way his lips adorn your skin, his fingers trailing along your body like he has to physically assure himself, you’re right here. Right beneath his very hands.

His hand slides down your midriff and his fingers grace the skin beneath your shirt, causing goosebumps to spread there. “Your fingers are cold,” you murmur dazedly between kisses, yet a slight amusement has found its way into your voice.

Scaramouche simply captures your complaint with his lips, a slight tug on his mouth. “Don’t tell me we have a temperature problem on our hands?”

“Not for long I hope,” you reply with a teasing grin and return the kiss again with more fervour. He obliges immediately.

But just as he’s about to slip your shirt over your head he pauses. You bite your lip to stop a few less-than-dignifying words from leaving your mouth and open your eyes instead. “What’s wrong? Too cold after all?”

Scaramouche’s hand tethers your waits as his gaze is locked on someplace on your ribs, the reverence from moments ago completely vanished. Now there’s a grim expression as his eyes dart down to you. “What happened here?”

You follow his line of sight where sure enough, the gash from one of your fights greets you. One, that you have perhaps pushed back farther into the depths of your mind for the sake of the moment.

“It’s nothing bad,” you explain. You feel somehow caught, trying to overplay the situation by mumbling on. “Seriously, just a stupid cut from days ago.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” There’s an agitated tension in the room now as Scaramouche’s annoyance level rises and his expression darkens. “I know for a fact this hasn’t been here for a few days already. It’s fresh. And you’re aggravating it further.”

That prompts you to prop your elbows on the bed, frowning. “It’s not bleeding, it barely even hurts. It is fine. Absolutely. Can we just…?”

His eyes narrow at your words, jaw clenching. “Perhaps you’re the stupid one then.” He clicks his tongue in irritation and gets up from the bed, muttering some disgruntled curses.

Slowly, you sit up on the bed and pull your shirt back down to cover your midriff again. You watch him roaming around the room, gathering some utensils from the shelf at his side of the bed before he returns to sit beside you. Scaramouche doesn’t look at you. In unbent silence, he pushes you back down on the sheets to give him a better angle to the wound on your side. You swallow a grunt at the sharp pain and his grip on your waist tightens for a moment.

You observe him quietly as he works, eyebrows scrunched with his anger simmering just beneath the surface. Obviously, you’re aware that his irritation stems from the desire to keep you safe, from his protective nature, and his destined grief of you one day inevitably slipping through his fingers.

“Scara-“

“Shut up. I’m done already.”

His gaze meets yours once again and for a few silent moments, you just stare at each other, with unspoken emotions swirling around on both of your faces.

Then he suddenly scoffs and puts the utensils away. As if trying to shake off his sense of irritation. “Who risks their health in such a way just to get laid?”

You can’t help the grin spreading on your lips. “Hey, at least that’ll leave a sick scar.”

“I’m gonna murder you, y/n. I’m serious.”

He isn’t.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[aly4khq]

dragon sylus who tries to train you with his two dicks! (help me, dragon sylus is making me go feral)

You're crying, gasping out for air whilst your hands try to stabilise your body to sit up. The dragon like man above you smiling down at you with smugness but also concern. His first dick deep inside of your pussy, twitching slightly whilst his second one resting on your folds.

"Wait...i can't...!" your voice was fragile, same with your body but sylus knew better. He's once fucked you with his dick and another dildo, and you eased into them pretty quick. So he wondered why you were struggling so badly, "You can. You need to relax, darling."

His voice was trying to be reassuring but his hips wasn't that nice. You tried to protest, his dick pressing into you. Gasping, you pushed on his chest, "O-oh shit please, i might just break." your head lowered to watch his second dick appear just at your other hole. He chuckled, his claws going to your chin and lifting your head up. "Focus here,"

You tried but you were scared, and he noted that nearly instantly, "Don't worry, i'm right here. if you want to stop we can." With a smile, you lifted your head properly and shook your head no, "N-no i can do it—"

"Good."

He plundered his second cock into you as you yelled out, covering your mother instantly. "Oh gosh— I'm gonna die- I'm gonna dieee!"

"Hm?" he rose an eyebrow at you, continuing to roll his hips at a hypnotic pace. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your hands grabbing onto his meaty arm. "I'm going die, I think my heart just stopped."

"Stop being dramatic." He sassily remarked, rubbing your hip with his tail. You sent him a glare, a glare that said 'The fuck are you talking about?'

"You try and— take a huge dick up ur arse and your puss! It's a lot!—ohhh Sylus..." Your eyes closed, that angry dementor only lasted seconds due to his finger rubbing gentle and slow circles on your clit.

"Alright alright...how about, we try one round and then we leave it for the night, hm? Is that okay?" Sylus softened, stilling his hips to wait for an answer. Your eyes opened, full of trust and adoration. "Okay.."

"On the count of 3," You furrowed your eyebrows but went with it, bracing yourself for him to take you downtown—

"3." He reentered both of your holes and you moaned loudly, "Sylus!"

"What?" He thrusted deep into your body, sounds of skin slapping filling the room. "I said on the count of 3, doesn't mean I go 1 2 3. I went 3 2 1. Always be on guard, you never know when I'll strike—"

"Shut the fuck up!" You spoke through gritted teeth, trying to endure his dicks. Grabbing a pillow, your teeth latched onto it, but it didn't do much as you let go and moaned into it. He chuckled before hissing himself, reminding his brain under his breath.

"Just one round...one Sylus."