#but in that shadow lies something even darker

[heeluvv]

MORNING.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ nishimura riki x reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ somnophilia, unprotected sex, overstimulation, fingering, oral (f), etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the morning stretches out lazily around you, golden light slipping through the curtains in gentle slivers, casting soft shadows across the room. outside, the world is quiet—only the faint chirping of birds and the occasional rustle of wind threading through the trees. it’s peaceful, calm, the kind of morning that wraps itself around your limbs like warm silk. but inside, beneath the covers, the mood is anything but tranquil.

riki lies beside you, body tense, breath uneven. he’s been tossing and turning for what feels like hours, his sleep fractured by the ache pulsing between his legs and the impossible heat of your body so close to his. every time he shifts, every brush of the sheets, every accidental graze of his skin against yours—it only makes it worse. his cock is hard, throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, the pressure almost unbearable now as it presses against the curve of your back.

you’re still sleeping, soft and unaware, your breath slow and even. your body’s curved in toward him just slightly, warm and inviting beneath the blanket, and it’s driving him insane. his mind won’t stop racing—images of you from the night before, the way your lips had looked when you pouted, the way your shorts had ridden up your thighs, the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears. now, with nothing but a few inches of space between you and the weight of morning silence, those thoughts spiral deeper, darker, more desperate.

his hand moves without fully thinking—slow, cautious, trembling. it finds your waist first, fingers brushing lightly against your bare skin. he freezes for a moment, just listening to your breathing, waiting to see if you stir. but you don’t. so he lets his hand drift lower, tracing the soft curve of your belly, the warmth there making his throat go dry. his thumb strokes back and forth gently, almost soothing, but his mind is anything but calm.

his hips shift closer, and you feel it then—the hard press of him against your lower back, thick and unrelenting, even through the barrier of clothes. he sucks in a quiet breath, biting down on his lip as he fights the urge to rut against you, to let the friction offer him even the smallest bit of relief. he doesn’t mean to wake you, doesn’t mean to take advantage of the moment. he just wants to feel you, wants to pretend for just a second longer that you’re his—that he can have this, have you, without consequence.

he knows he shouldn’t. not without you awake. not without you looking at him with those sleepy, soft eyes and whispering his name the way that drives him fucking crazy. but the temptation is unbearable, gnawing at him from the inside out. he wants to test it—to see just how much he can get away with before you stir, before the dreamlike quiet of the morning shatters into something heavier. something messier.

he’s desperate to feel you. to feel the way your walls flutter and clench around him, warm and wet and so fucking perfect. the thought alone makes his hips twitch forward instinctively, grinding the length of his cock against the curve of your lower back in a slow, pathetic thrust that drags a needy whine from his lips. he bites down hard on his tongue, trying to keep quiet, but the friction barely helps—it only makes him crave more. need more.

his hands tremble slightly as they slide down your sides, slow and careful, brushing over your skin like he’s trying not to wake you. when his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, he hesitates for just a second, eyes flicking to your face. still soft. still sleeping. so he tugs—gently at first, then more confidently—until the thin fabric slips down your thighs, pooling at the edge of the bed, forgotten. he adjusts one of your legs, just enough to part them slightly, enough for him to fit between.

he works his own sweats down with practiced ease, dragging them past his hips and kicking them off without a sound. his cock springs free, flushed red and dripping, the cool air of the room making him hiss quietly. one hand wraps around the base, fingers squeezing just enough to make his stomach flutter. the other reaches for you, settling on the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh there like he’s starving for it. you’re so warm, so pliant, your body molded perfectly into his as he scoots closer, chest pressing firmly to your back, pelvis nudging into you.

your ass is pushed up now, a beautiful arch formed in your sleep, and he takes it as an invitation he can’t resist. his hips shift forward, his cock nestled right between your folds, the thick head gliding along your slit, smearing his precum into the slick already gathered there. he groans, quiet and strained, the sound muffled as he buries his face in your shoulder. it’s too much. it’s not enough.

then—he pushes in.

slowly. painfully slowly. the tip of his cock parts you, stretching your entrance as your walls begin to welcome him in, warm and wet and perfect. his breath catches, and his eyes clamp shut, brows furrowed as he sinks in deeper, inch by inch. your walls hug him so tightly it almost hurts, and his mouth falls open in a silent moan, his teeth catching his bottom lip as he fights to stay quiet. it’s like your body knows him—even in sleep. like it wants him.

he chokes back a louder sound when he bottoms out, hips pressed flush against your ass, cock fully buried in your warmth. he stays still for a moment, trembling with restraint, the pleasure so sharp it nearly brings tears to his eyes.

“fuck,” he breathes, barely a whisper. “you feel… s-so good…”

his hips move forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, every inch of him dragging against your slick, warm walls as he sinks back in with a quiet gasp. he’s trying—trying so hard to take it slow, to feel every tight pulse of your cunt wrapped around him like it was made to keep him there. the pace is lazy, drawn-out, but it’s laced with desperation, with the kind of need that makes his muscles tremble as he grinds deeper into your body. your skin is soft under him, your warmth pulling him in further with each slow, aching roll of his hips.

you stir beneath him, the smallest shift of your body, a soft sigh that escapes your lips—but he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even flinch. he’s too far gone, too wrapped up in the way your pussy clenches around him so perfectly, like it knows exactly who he is and what he wants. his head falls forward, breath shaky against the back of your neck as he presses his hips in again, groaning low as your warmth swallows him whole.

his hands slide up beneath your shirt, palms gliding across your stomach, trailing higher until they find your bare breasts. his breath stutters the second he realizes you’re not wearing a bra—just bare skin, warm and soft in his hands, like you knew this would happen. like you wanted it. he groans against your ear, the sound deep and raw, vibrating against your skin.

“fuckkk…” he breathes, fingers curling around the swell of your chest, thumbs brushing over your nipples as his cock drags deep inside you again. your walls flutter around him at the same time, and it pulls another moan from his lips, louder this time, more unrestrained. your body feels too good, too tight, too perfect for him to stop now.

“ri…ki…” your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, cracked and sleepy as you shift slightly beneath him. your body arches into his touch, back curving as your eyes slowly blink open, adjusting to the morning light. a tiny whine leaves your throat, breathy and high, and your thighs twitch slightly as the sensation finally registers—he’s inside you. already moving. already moaning for you.

he lifts his head, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, pupils blown wide as he looks down at you with a mix of guilt and lust so thick it nearly chokes him.

“oh fuck, princess…” he groans, louder now, voice breaking at the edges as your gaze meets his, still hazy and dazed but not fighting him. not stopping him. the way your lips part with another breathy whimper—your hips shifting ever so slightly against his—makes something in him snap.

you feel it—every lazy, deliberate push of his cock inside you. the stretch is slow, deep, almost unbearable in the way it drags against your walls, thick and long and so much that it steals the breath straight from your lungs. he moves with a kind of unhurried hunger, like he’s savoring every second he’s buried in you, like he’s memorizing the way your body reacts with each twitch of his length. and you do—feel every twitch, every pulse, every tremble. it makes your mouth fall open in a soft, broken moan, your body arching instinctively, overwhelmed by how full you are first thing in the morning.

your hands slide up beside your head, fingers curling tight into the pillow as your thighs tremble beneath him. there’s no time to fully process the shock of waking up like this—not when his cock is already thrusting inside you so slowly, so sweetly, and his breath is hot against your ear, murmuring your name in that low, needy voice that makes you clench around him without meaning to. the intrusion of him, the way he fits too perfectly, like your pussy was made to take every inch of him—it’s too much. and yet not enough.

he groans sharply, voice thick with restraint, his rhythm faltering for half a second as your walls squeeze down around him again. “fuck… i’m gonna cum if you keep doing that, baby…” he pants, his voice cracked and breathless, like he’s seconds away from losing all control. his head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing against your skin as his body trembles above yours. his eyes roll back, lashes fluttering as the tight heat of your pussy milks him, and he can barely keep himself grounded.

you don’t stop.

you can’t.

the way he feels inside you—the way his cock presses so deep, twitching uncontrollably with every thrust—it has you dizzy, whimpering into the pillow as your body pushes back into his without thinking. and he feels it. the way you’re not holding back. the way you want it just as badly. his hands grope blindly until they find your breasts again, palms warm and shaking as he squeezes them tight, fingers rolling over your sensitive nipples like he needs something to hold onto before he falls apart.

his moans grow louder, raw and wrecked and deliciously desperate. “shit—oh my god…” he chokes out, hips stuttering as his balls tighten, heavy and aching with the pressure building inside him. he’s so close, you can feel it—the way his body tenses, the way his breath catches with every roll of his hips. and it only makes you clench around him harder, wanting him to lose it. needing him to.

“fuck—yes, riki…” your voice comes out breathy and cracked, your head thrown back against the pillow as your thighs tremble beneath him. you can feel yourself unraveling, pulled taut around him, every nerve alight with how deep he is. he’s pressed up against you completely, his chest slick with sweat against your back, his cock buried to the hilt, so far inside that every thrust has him dragging right over your sweet spot—over and over again, so precise, so perfect it has you gasping.

his pace doesn’t falter. if anything, it gets rougher, more determined, like he needs to hit that spot until you break. his hips snap forward, driving into you again, and again, and again—and every time he does, your body jerks with it, helpless and eager. your fingers tighten around the sheets, back arching when the head of his cock grinds against that sensitive bundle inside you, making your vision blur.

you hear him groan, close to your ear, low and trembling, and it sends another wave of heat crashing through you. “oh fuck… i’m close… fuck, ‘m close, baby…” he whines, his voice strained, wrecked, soaked in desperation. his arm stays locked around your waist, holding you tight against him, while his other hand snakes down your body, urgent and shaky, fingertips sliding right between your legs.

and then he finds it—your clit.

you cry out when his fingers brush over it, soft at first, then firmer as he starts to circle it with slow, deliberate pressure. your walls flutter violently around his cock, your body reacting instantly to the extra stimulation. he moans with you, voice cracked and high, lost in the feel of you squeezing him tighter than ever before.

“fuck, fuck… fuck! ‘m cumming, baby—oh my god, fuck—” his voice breaks into a groan, then a whine, one hand clutching your breast, the other still working your clit as he falls apart.

you feel it before you hear it—his cock twitching hard inside you, pulsing with thick, hot spurts of cum that spill deep into your pussy, coating your walls as his hips stutter helplessly. he doesn’t stop thrusting, not right away. not even as he cums. his body moves on instinct, chasing the aftershocks, wanting to stay buried in your warmth as long as he can. you hear the slick sound of him still moving inside you, still throbbing, still moaning through it.

his breath is ragged against your neck, panting harshly as he comes down from it, his fingers softening but never leaving your clit. his cock twitches one last time, a broken groan falling from his lips, and then he collapses against you, body shuddering, flushed and drenched and completely spent.

but riki doesn’t stop. not even as his chest heaves and sweat drips down his spine, not even as his cock twitches one last time from the intensity of his orgasm. the need for you is still thrumming through his veins like a drug—hot, addictive, insatiable. he pulls out slowly, groaning low in his throat as your walls cling to him, fluttering around nothing, the slick sound of your bodies parting making his breath hitch. he hisses through his teeth at the sight—your pussy clenching from the emptiness, still pulsing, still hungry for more.

you barely register the loss before he’s moving again, quick and desperate, hands firm as he grabs your legs and spreads them apart, settling between them like he belongs there. and he does. his mouth is on you instantly, no hesitation, no teasing—just tongue and lips and hot breath as he dives in, devouring your soaked cunt with unrelenting hunger. he groans the moment he tastes you, loud and guttural, the sound vibrating right against your clit. his tongue flicks over it again and again, then presses flat and slow, dragging upward to collect the mess dripping out of you. a mix of your arousal and his cum coats your folds, and he drinks it down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever had.

his hands grip your thighs tighter as he sucks hard, his mouth working your clit in slow circles before his tongue darts down again, fucking into you just to taste more. the wet sounds echo between your legs, obscene and slick and so good it has your head thrown back, your fingers clawing at the sheets. you’re trembling, legs already shaking, overstimulated and still climbing higher.

he pulls away with a soft pop, breathless and flushed, his lips and chin glistening with your slick. his eyes are wild, blown wide and glossy, but they don’t leave the mess between your legs. his cum is still dripping out of you, thick and warm and pooling at your entrance, and the sight alone makes him moan again.

“fuck, look at you, baby…” he breathes, voice wrecked, as he reaches down and slips two fingers into you without warning.

you gasp, your back arching off the bed as his fingers slide in easily, the intrusion messy and loud. his cum spills out around his knuckles, dripping over his hand as he thrusts deep, curling his fingers immediately to find that sweet spot again. and when he does—fuck, it’s over. your thighs jerk, your stomach tightens, and a moan tears from your throat, high and broken.

“riki—fuck, riki, i’m gonna cum—” your voice breaks into a loud, desperate cry as your body coils tighter and tighter, your walls clenching around his fingers like you’re trying to pull them deeper.

he growls, low and full of heat, his fingers moving faster now—relentless, pounding into that spot over and over again until you’re seeing stars behind your eyelids, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. the wet sounds only grow louder, slick dripping down to the sheets as your body starts to tremble violently.

“that’s it, baby,” he pants, watching your face twist in pleasure. “cum for me. fuck, let me feel you—come on, just give it to me.”

your body’s burning—everywhere—with the kind of pleasure that comes in waves, crashing over you again and again without giving you a chance to breathe. riki’s fingers are merciless, fucking into you with speed and precision that has your legs trembling uncontrollably on either side of his head. the pressure is building fast, dangerously fast, coiling low in your stomach, a tight, unbearable ache that has you gasping for air, your moans spilling out freely now, loud and high and wrecked.

he never lets up. not for a second. his fingers curl again, and this time, he stays pressed there, dragging over your sweet spot with every thrust. his mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking hard—filthy, wet sounds echoing in the room, your slick dripping down his wrist and coating his chin. he moans into you again and again, desperate and unashamed, like the taste of you is making him drunk.

“riki—fuck, oh my god—don’t stop, i—i’m gonna—” you can’t finish the sentence. your whole body locks up, your legs snap shut around his head, and your hips jerk forward without warning as the orgasm hits you like a train.

your vision whites out.

you scream his name, voice breaking into a sob as your walls clench down hard around his fingers. your back arches off the bed as the pressure explodes, and a gush of slick shoots out of you, soaking riki’s hand, his mouth, the sheets beneath you. the pleasure is so sharp it’s almost painful, your thighs twitching violently as you squirt all over him, completely helpless to stop it.

and riki fucking moans.

loud.

needy.

his tongue doesn’t stop—if anything, he’s messier now, chasing every drop with frantic licks, letting it spill down his chin and moaning against your clit like he’s been starving for this moment. his eyes are fluttered shut, face buried between your thighs as he grinds into the mattress, rutting into the sheets like he can’t take it anymore.

“fuck, baby—holy shit—you’re so wet, fuck, you taste so good,” he whimpers, his voice completely fucked out, high and breathless. his fingers keep moving, just a little slower now, easing you through the high while his lips press wet, open-mouthed kisses along your trembling inner thighs.

your body is limp, twitching, legs spread wide and shaking as he finally slows down. you're still dripping, thighs slick with cum and spit and everything in between, your cunt fluttering from the aftershocks, clenching down around nothing now that he’s pulled his fingers out with a slick pop.

he doesn’t move far. just rests his cheek against your thigh, breathing hard, lips still parted like he’s dazed.

“you squirted so much for me,” he murmurs, almost in awe, fingers idly rubbing the slick between your folds. “fuck, you’re unreal…”

his eyes flick up to yours, and the look on his face—flushed, wrecked, completely pussy drunk—is enough to steal your breath all over again.

and when he leans in again, tongue flicking out to lap up the mess between your thighs, you know he’s nowhere near done.

you’re still gasping, your lungs aching for air as they try to keep up with the rapid, uneven rise and fall of your chest. your limbs are trembling, boneless, completely limp beneath the weight of your own release. your fingers twitch uselessly against the damp sheets, the fabric twisted and soaked beneath you. your whole body feels like it’s buzzing, like your nerves are short-circuiting—caught somewhere between exhaustion and the lingering high of your orgasm.

your thighs are still spread, sticky and weak, barely able to hold themselves up as they tremble with the aftershocks. you feel them ripple through you—those deep, involuntary pulses of your pussy still fluttering around nothing. your clit throbs violently, so sensitive that even the ghost of cool air brushing over it makes your whole body flinch. every inch of you is soaked—your inner thighs, the base of your spine, the space beneath your ass—slick with your cum, his spit, the remnants of everything he’s already pulled out of you. and yet, somehow, you know it’s not over.

because riki doesn’t move far.

he stays between your legs for a moment, face just inches from your overstimulated pussy, lips parted, breath ragged. his chin is glistening, his mouth shiny, and the look on his face is something between awe and obsession. he looks dazed. fucked out. starved. the sounds leaving his throat are low, nearly silent—tiny, shaky whines that sound like he’s barely holding himself together. and then he moves.

he crawls up your body slowly, like he’s climbing out of a dream, kissing every inch of skin he can reach along the way. his lips find your inner thigh first, then your hipbone, then the soft swell of your stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on the places you’re still twitching. he mouths at your skin like he’s trying to stay grounded, like if he stops touching you, he’ll forget how to breathe. his hands roam again, slower now, sliding up your waist and beneath your shirt, fingers splayed as they glide over your ribs before cupping your breasts again like he needs them. he groans when he feels how sensitive they still are, thumbs brushing over your swollen nipples until you arch into him with a shaky gasp.

his face finally reaches yours, and he pauses—hovering over you, flushed and panting, his bangs sticking to his damp forehead. his cheeks are dusted a deep, lust-drunk pink, his lips puffy and wet. he looks at you like you’re unreal, like he can’t believe he gets to have this, have you. his eyes flick down to your lips, then back up, and the kiss he gives you is slow and deep and messy—tongue sliding against yours with the same desperation he just had between your legs.

you moan into his mouth, still dazed, still trembling, the taste of yourself on his tongue only making your stomach flip. your body jerks when his cock brushes your folds again—hot and heavy, pressed between your slick thighs. even through the haze of overstimulation, you can feel how hard he still is, how needy he’s become.

“you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against your lips, his voice hoarse, broken. “you drive me fucking insane…”

he doesn’t even have to line himself up. your pussy is soaked—wet and loose from how hard you came, slick and swollen and so ready that the thick head of his cock just slides right back into you with barely a push. you both gasp at the feeling—your body arching off the bed, his hips faltering as he sinks all the way in.

“fuck—still so tight,” he groans, voice cracking, his forehead pressing to yours as his cock stretches you open again. you sob out a cry, your walls fluttering violently around him as your body tries to adjust.

the overstimulation is immediate and brutal.

your cunt is already twitching from the last orgasm, so sensitive it’s almost painful—and now it’s full again. his cock drags against every part of you, the friction sharp and overwhelming. you whimper into his shoulder, fingers curling around his arms, nails digging into his sweat-slicked skin.

“riki—ah, f-fuck—it’s too much,” you breathe, voice high and shaking, your head falling back against the pillow. “i can’t—i can’t—”

but he doesn’t stop.

he thrusts slow but deep, grinding into you with a slow roll of his hips that makes you feel every single inch. his cock presses against your sweet spot on every thrust, dragging across that soft, swollen bundle deep inside you like he knows exactly what it’s doing to you.

“i know, baby,” he pants, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “i know it’s a lot—but just give me one more, yeah? just one more. i need it.”

his hips snap harder now, a wet slap echoing with every thrust. your bodies are so slick, so sticky, that the sounds are obscene, soaking the sheets beneath you as your cunt tightens around him with every movement. you’re so full. so overstimulated. so close to falling apart again.

his hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing tight little circles, fast and precise. you cry out, your voice loud and broken as your hips buck up against him.

“c’mon, baby,” he groans, his breath stuttering. “make a mess for me again. i know you can. squirt all over me. fuck—i want it.”

your moans are pure sobs now, high-pitched and uncontrollable, the pressure building faster than you can handle. your thighs spasm. your nails dig deeper. your body starts to curl inward, desperate to find something to hold onto as the wave builds harder, deeper, dangerously high.

“riki—fuck, i—i can’t—i’m gonna—!”

“do it,” he growls, mouth hot at your ear, his voice falling apart. “cum for me. fuck—soak me, baby. show me how good i make you feel—please—”

your body breaks in waves, shuddering beneath him as that unbearable pressure finally snaps—ripping through your core with the kind of intensity that robs you of your breath and leaves your vision flashing white. it hits you so fast, so hard, it almost doesn’t feel real—like your body’s floating and falling at the same time. your mouth opens in a cry that doesn’t fully form, your voice caught in your throat, too overwhelmed to even scream.

your hips jerk uncontrollably. your back arches off the soaked sheets, spine curving in pure reflex as the orgasm explodes from deep inside you. and then it happens—your whole body convulses as a violent gush of slick sprays out of you, splashing over his hips, your thighs, the bed, everywhere.

riki moans like you’ve just touched heaven itself.

his head snaps up from where he’s been kissing your shoulder, eyes wide, lips parted, absolutely drenched in the sight of you falling apart for him. “fuuuck—oh my god, baby,” he gasps, breath hitching on every syllable like it physically hurts him to see you like this and not lose it. “you’re—fuck, you’re squirting, you’re actually—holy shit.”

he sounds delirious. undone. pussy drunk in the truest sense of the word.

you feel him twitch inside you, feel his hands grabbing at your waist like he needs to anchor himself, like if he doesn’t hold you he might just fucking break apart. and the overstimulation only gets worse from there—his cock still buried inside, still grinding into your fluttering walls, dragging through the sensitive, soaked mess you’ve made with every tiny movement of his hips.

your thighs are trembling violently, muscles spasming with aftershocks you can’t control. your hands grip at his shoulders, his hair, the sheets—whatever you can find, whatever keeps you tethered while your body spirals through the afterglow of your release. more slick gushes out of you, another uncontrollable burst that sprays between your legs, soaking his abdomen and the bed beneath you. it just keeps coming—wet and warm and messy—and riki is losing his fucking mind.

he moans again, louder this time, voice trembling as his eyes roll back for just a second, completely overwhelmed. “that’s it, baby, fuck—keep going, don’t stop—soak me,” he groans, and then he’s kissing you, his mouth crashing against yours in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss full of tongue and need. his hips are stuttering now, thrusts sloppy and shallow, fucking you through the mess, like he doesn’t know how to stop. like your pussy is too good. like your body owns him.

and in that moment—it does.

his hand slips between your bodies again, fingers finding your clit even though it’s throbbing, swollen, unbearably sensitive. he rubs soft circles, drawing out every drop, every twitch, and your legs jerk hard, another sob ripping from your throat as your vision blurs with tears. the overstimulation has you screaming, crying his name, your body convulsing beneath him with each new burst of pleasure that has no place being this strong.

“shhh, baby, you’re okay, i’ve got you,” he whispers, but his voice is broken, thick, like he’s crying too. “just let it out—god, you’re so fucking perfect—look at how much you’re cumming for me…”

another wave hits, and this one has you sobbing.

you feel it gush from you again, slick pouring out of your overstimulated pussy in rhythm with the clenching of your walls. you can’t stop it, and you don’t want to. you want him to see, to feel everything, and riki is right there, taking it all in like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

he’s whispering against your skin, his lips moving from your cheek to your ear to your collarbone, repeating soft, broken things like “you’re so good,” and “mine,” and “gonna remember this forever.”

he thrusts one last time—slow, deep, dragging his cock through your still-spasming cunt before finally collapsing on top of you, his arms wrapping around your shaking body, his breath completely wrecked. he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move. he just holds you there, his chest pressed to yours, his cock still twitching inside your soaked, ruined heat.

the room is silent except for the sound of your breathing—shaky, uneven, like you're still learning how to inhale again. riki’s heart is pounding in his chest against yours, fast and wild. his hands are everywhere—stroking your hair, rubbing your back, cupping your face as he peppers soft kisses over your cheeks.

he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes glassy and so full of emotion it makes your breath catch. “you… you’re unreal,” he whispers, voice hoarse, lips brushing yours. “you came so hard for me, baby. you soaked me—fuck, you wrecked me.”

and still, he stays inside you.

still full.

still hard.

still kissing you like he’s never going to stop.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hope y'all liked it !!

[lycheebloom]

mania : short whippet of yan. shadow milk cookie (pre. corruption & post corruption)

tw : yandere shadow milk cookie, light/heavy psychological & physical manipulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, violence, potentially ooc

"Put your trust in me, for none will deceive you as long as I am here."

♡ You first meet him in a period where he was yet to be touched by greed and trickery. A humble cookie you were, innocently strolling amidst the streets of your home kingdom until you stumbled across him.

♡ He was nothing short of humble and truthful as the rumors had entailed—polite with a well-mannered tone and gracious in his deeds of honesty for all. As if woven by fate itself, your coincidental encounters with him grew more and more common, until a bond began to flourish. Little promises and giggles were shared, fondness bloomed between stories and tales.

♡ The man was often teased by his peers for his fondness towards you, yet he didn't mind. Unbeknownst to them, a darker truth was veiled beneath the surface. Keeping his hands clasped together with yours for just a second longer than normal, neglecting his duties at times just for another moment to bask in your presence—Ah, the list could really go on and on.. But it was alright. It was just a small, little secret. A white lie that couldn't hurt anybody. He'd shoulder the truth of this minuscule act.

♡ "(Name) Cookie, over here! I have to share with you this interesting moment that happened in the court.."

♡ And so, it would continue this way, until something changed.

♡ He began to grow less benevolent. Fatigue was evident through the eyebags his form now carried, his caring tone strained. The everlasting truth in his words withered, falsehoods spilling out from his mouth that caused chaos and harm to break out within kingdoms. Especially the one you dwelled in.

♡ As his behavior towards common cookiekind warped, so did his towards you. His actions grew obsessive, arms clinging onto you at every instance as though you would dissolve if he were to let go. Even you weren't safe from the deceit that had tore through his heart, the cookie whispering sweet lies into your ears.

♡ The well being of the other cookies didn't matter to him anymore, why should he bother? Their foolishness bound them to a terrible fate from the very start, he should've given up on them sooner. Too long had he and the other heroes tolerated their exploitation! But oh, dear you..

♡ You were an exception from his all-consuming resentment towards those that had taken advantage of him and his comrades. Poor, poor you. Having to associate with these wicked folk, such a kind soul you had...! Of course, he couldn't stand by idly and let your torment continue.

♡ "Ah—(Name) Cookie, don't struggle.. This is for the greater good, I promise you." He coaxed softly, one hand gently stroking the back of your head as the other restrained you. He would bring you salvation, away from those filthy brethren that you called your 'friends'.

♡ Yet you continued to struggle, restlessly moving as you tried to free yourself of the binds. Your resistance only complicated and extended the process of renewal, but he didn't blame you; no, he could never! The other cookies have merely brainwashed you. That must be it. You would never gaze at him with such fear in your eyes, you wouldn't tremble at his touch.

♡ Your hostility only solidified his view on the others. They were irredeemable!—Not only had they used him and the other heroes, but they even turned you against him! Outrageous!

♡ Your coldness wounded his heart, yet he didn't falter. He was sure he could break through such a silly perspective they had influenced you into.

♡ "(Name)~ Don't fight me.." He sighed, fingers benignly clasping your face when you tried to turn your head away. The cold sensation sent tremors down your spine. "I know they've conditioned you into this, but I assure you, I only want the best for you.." He cooed, pulling you in closer. An arm was firmly wrapped around your waist, as he traced small circles onto your back with his free hand.

♡ How much longer would it take until you finally gave into his advances? He pouted at the thought, opting to bury his head into your shoulder. The sweet scent of you drove him insane. Yes, everything would be just fine.. As long he had you with him.

♡ Yet his whole world crashed down on him one day. Pinned down by the fork those witches had dared to cast down on him; his vision tuned out the other forms of his friends being restrained, all he could focus on was your figure.

♡ Your disappointed frown with somber eyes. Why were you staring at him with that expression? Where are you going? Wait! No, don't go! His expression twisted into one of desperation, arms sprawling out towards your retreating figure. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to go. You.. You can't leave him here!

♡ "(Name), (Name) Cookie, wait! No, no no COME BACK! Please, please, please.. Don't go, you can't go, you're not supposed to—I need you..!"

♡ As you stopped in your steps and turned around, a glimmer of hope shone within his heart. Yet it crumbled just as fast as you looked away, continuing to walk away. Away from him. To leave him. Why? Why had you discarded him? Had he not done so much to prove his love and adoration to you..? He cast his head down, thoughts swarming his head in a frenzy.

♡ "(Name).."

♡ You were all he wanted. Why couldn't he have you?

♡ His vision went black.

.

.

♡ How long had it been? He was unsure.

♡ You continued to linger in his thoughts even after he had been trapped in the Silver Tree, becoming the only source of solace in his seemingly-endless solitude. He was uninterested in talking to his 'friends', their bond growing more strained as each day passed. He couldn't understand how he got along with them back then. Corruption seeped and curled within his being, infecting his mind and very essence. It fed on his despair and longing, clouding the last traces of lucidity and truth.

♡ He just wanted you back. He made a vow to himself.

♡ Once he has you again, he'll never let you go.

.

.

.

"Seriously, who can say no to a pinch of good old Deceit?"

♡ "Oh, finally some fresh air!" Shadow Milk Cookie exclaimed with a sigh, stretching his arms. Being in that cramped tree didn't help his joints at all, hopefully he didn't catch a case of arthritis! A wide grin was on his face as he peered down on the cookies that had been so, so stupid that they thought they could delay his arrival! He scrutinized their forms, yet his eyes lit up at a familiar sight.

♡ You.

♡ "Ah, (Name) Cookie!~♡" Shadow Milk Cookie was quick to pick you up, ignoring the screams of horror that the other pesky little cookies let out—who he presumed were your friends. Two fingers were clasped around your form, as he dangled you in the air. If he wasn't giddy before, he definitely was now.

♡ Shadow Milk Cookie smiled ear to ear, admiring your form in his clutch for a few moments further before he glanced back at your noisy friends, his smile dropping as the light in his eyes faded.

♡ He turned his gaze back towards you, his frown changing into a smile once more.

♡ "Truly, you couldn't begin to comprehend how much I've missed you!.." Shadow Milk Cookie sighed, leaning his face closer towards your tiny figure. "We have soooo much to catch up on..~" He gave an half-lidded smile.

♡ "But first.." He eyed your peers. "Let's go somewhere where these little.. 'friends' of yours won't disturb us." With a snap of his fingers, your surroundings changed.

.

♡ What.. was this place? Everywhere you looked, only strained your vision. It felt unreal, as though you were in another dimension entirely. Eyes of all azure shades stared back at you, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

♡ "Tada!~ My special little world, what do you think of it?" Shadow Milk Cookie smiled happily, placing a hand on your shoulder. You shuddered at the touch, hurriedly stepping away from the madman that you were trapped with.

♡ "Hm? Don't you know it's rude to stareeee..?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, bending it at an unnatural angle. He stepped closer towards you with every step you took back, quickly closing the distance. He latched his hand out, gently tilting your chin up.

♡ "Still resisting now are we? Oh, silly, silly (Name)..!" He broke out into giggles, then chuckles, before it warped into full-blown laughter. "Ah, your shenanigans never fail to amuse me!~" He wiped a stray tear, grinning as one of his hands pulled you into his embrace.

♡ His lips grazed over the exposed surface of your neck, biting down into soft flesh as jam spilled out from the wound—to which he quickly lapped it up, leaving a soft kiss as an apology. He only pulled back when he deemed there were sufficient marks, a smile on his face as he took in your shaky breath and unfocused gaze. You really were just the cutest..! "You see.. Time works differently in this little place I created."

♡ "Hmm.. For example, I could make it so that.. the equivalent of merely a second in the outside world could amount to a year in here! Or a decade! Or even a century, the possibilities are ENDLESS!" The pitch of his tone raised, delighting in your unnerved expression.

♡ "Anywho, what I'm trying to get across is that we have alllll the time in the world, my sweet (Name)~.." His tone dropped to a mere whisper, his smile fading as though the deceit within him was unraveling before you. Deep in his eyes swirled a whirlpool of something far darker than you could ever understand.

♡ "So let's see how long this little charade of yours will last. ♡"

♡ After all, he's waited eons for you in that damned tree. He can wait a little longer for you to break.

[guided-by-the-skies]

Why you may be blocked - by ascendant sign

the ascendent, representing our public facing self, can be correlated with the concept of the super ego in psychology. this is the part of us which keeps our darker nature and our shadow in check. it helps us exist in a society with different views and get along with others, and is crucial for forming our identities. yet because of this nature it can sometimes block us from fully understanding our shadow, making shadow work and freeing blockages challenging.

NB Modern people are WAY WAY too identified with our ascendant and as a result less in tune with our shadow which means it can come back to bite us. This is when we act in cruel or unnatural ways to others, feel like we've 'given in' to our dark side and so on.

The shadow is not BAD it's just unexpressed because it's the stuff we oftern were not allowed to express. However this makes it POWERFUL and by extension a bit dangerous. Again not because it's bad but just in the same way the ocean can be dangerous...

🌩 asc in aries - you feel pressure to one up people. your relief lies in comparing you to you, not you to others

🌩 asc in taurus - you feel deprived or harrassed. your ascendant doesn't feel natural to you, giving you this feeling of never getting a moment of peace

🌩 asc in gemini - you struggle to develop an identity. you focus on what you're saying as opposed to why, leaving you without inner convictions

🌩 asc in cancer - you wear your heart on your sleeve, and it is getting exploited because it's the bit you show to others most

🌩 asc in leo - you feel pressure to achieve, otherwise your identity will crumble. your dream and aim is to base it around something utterly different

🌩 asc in virgo - you get used as the therapist friend. you may have been pretending that you don't mind this, but it still has an affect at a subconscious level

🌩 asc in libra - you feel responsible for other peoples baggage, even though you had nothing to do with it

🌩 asc in scorpio- you are a social chameleon. separating what is yours and what is others' is your greatest challenge but can bring you rich rewards

🌩 asc in sagittarius - you've been forced to take debate too seriously. in truth, you don't need to have an opinion on everything, and it's ok to change your mind or say 'I don't know'

🌩 asc in capricorn - you feel the weight of the world. different from virgo, you feel the need to represent yourself or any group you are part of to wider society

🌩 asc in aquarius - you are worn down by frequent combativeness, when you just want to explore new posibilities. People may block your ideas and shoot them down :(

🌩 asc in pisces - you wonder whether your emotions are normal. you've lacked reference points for how you should feel, or people to normalise it for you. you are normal, for you

*this post is part of a series on why astrology matters regardless of how much you do or don't believe in it. as our lives have become busier, more disconnected, less spiritual, and significantly detached from the rhythms and energies of the earth, we have lost the ability to express the needs that are going unmet

I do a lot of this shadow work from a sort of solarpunk-y direction, beginning to build a post masterlist here or vote in the poll for my next post topic :p

[phoenixrisingastro]

Pluto Through the Houses: How Your Soul Has Been Marked by Darkness

Pluto doesn’t touch your life lightly. It drags you through hell, strips you bare, and forces you to be reborn. Wherever Pluto sits in your chart is where you experience power, destruction, obsession, and transformation. It’s where you meet your deepest fears—and where you find your most dangerous strength.

Pluto in the 1st House: The Dark Aura That Follows You

You don’t walk into a room—you haunt it. People feel your presence before they even see you, and they either worship you or fear you. Your entire existence is an act of power and survival. Life forced you to be strong, and now your presence alone intimidates people who can’t handle real power. You’ve been through hell and made it look effortless.

Pluto in the 2nd House: Money, Sex, and Power Games

You don’t just want security—you want complete control over it. Money, sex, and power are all currency to you, and you’ve learned the hard way that you either master them or let them master you. You attract wealth like a magnet when you own your power, but your biggest downfall? Letting others manipulate you financially or sexually before you realize you were the one holding the power all along.

Pluto in the 3rd House: Words That Cut Like Knives

Your voice is a weapon, and you know exactly how to use it. You read people like an open book, tearing through their masks in seconds. Conversations with you aren’t small talk—they’re battles. People either walk away transformed or completely wrecked. You see through the lies, the excuses, the half-truths—and it terrifies them.

Pluto in the 4th House: Family Trauma That Never Dies

Your childhood was not normal. Maybe it was filled with secrets, power struggles, manipulation, or loss—but whatever it was, it changed you forever. Family feels more like fate than love, and you carry the weight of generational pain on your back. Your biggest challenge? Breaking the cycle without losing yourself.

Pluto in the 5th House: Love, Sex, and the Addictive High

You don’t just love—you consume. Romance feels like a game of life and death, and when you fall for someone, it’s obsessive, all-consuming, and impossible to forget. But your love affairs either ruin you or make you a legend. You crave passion so intense that it hurts, and once you taste that kind of fire, nothing else feels real.

Pluto in the 6th House: The Body Remembers What the Soul Endured

Your trauma isn’t just in your head—it’s in your body, your habits, your routines. You’ve had to rebuild yourself more times than you can count, and yet, people underestimate how much strength it took just to survive. But here’s the truth: you are a force of nature. When you take back your power, your body becomes unstoppable, and your mind becomes unbreakable.

Pluto in the 7th House: Lovers Who Destroy You and Make You Reborn

Relationships for you aren’t just about love—they’re wars, contracts, and fated meetings. You attract powerful, intense people who shake your world to its core. Love either breaks you apart or turns you into something stronger. Your lesson? Stop letting others dictate your worth. You were never meant to be controlled.

Pluto in the 8th House: The Shadow You Can’t Escape

Your life is a constant cycle of death and rebirth. You’ve survived things most people wouldn’t even understand, and yet, here you are—stronger, darker, and more powerful than ever. Sex, money, transformation, power—they all follow you like ghosts. You are the embodiment of survival, and no one who meets you forgets you.

Pluto in the 9th House: The Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge

You don’t just want answers—you want truths people are too afraid to speak. You’re drawn to the occult, hidden wisdom, and philosophies that others shy away from. You question everything. Religion, power structures, morality—nothing is untouchable. But be careful—some knowledge can’t be unlearned.

Pluto in the 10th House: The Reputation That Haunts You

You were born to dominate. People feel your presence even when you’re silent, and the higher you climb, the more people try to pull you down. Power is your birthright, but you had to fight harder than most to claim it. Some will fear you. Some will love you. Either way, you will be remembered.

Pluto in the 11th House: The Puppet Master of Society

You don’t just exist in social circles—you shape them. You see the hidden power dynamics in friendships, groups, and society itself. People either flock to you or fear your influence. But watch out—being the mastermind means you attract both allies and enemies. Power isn’t just given to you. You take it.

Pluto in the 12th House: The Unseen Forces That Control You

You are haunted by the past—yours, your ancestors’, maybe even past lives. Pluto here makes you a magnet for deep, hidden truths and spiritual awakenings. You’ve seen darkness most people never will, and yet, you walk through life as if you belong to another world. Your lesson? Embrace the mystery. Your power lies in the unseen.

Final Thoughts: Pluto’s Gift & Curse

Pluto doesn’t play fair. It destroys everything false, everything weak, and leaves only what is real. If you embrace Pluto’s lessons, you become invincible—but if you fight it, you will be broken over and over again until you learn.

Pluto marks you, owns you, transforms you. And when it’s done with you, you will never be the same.

© PhoenixRisingAstro, 2025. All rights reserved

[cutehoons02]

Dark Seduction

*pairing: boxer spiderman-venom Jay x radio university Girl

*trope: roomates to enemies to lovers

*synopsis: What would happen if your roommate who doesn't like you told you that you're too curious and nosy about always talking about this vigilante with the nickname of Black Spiderman-Venom on university radio? Doing 2+2 with all the clues that Jay left you understood that he was the vigilante of the city but you discovered him in an unexpected way with the personality of Jay but also the mysterious and sneaky Venom

*tags: A lot of tension, they love to tease each other, Jay is the eggermente arrogant at the beginning of the story, possessing, protecting, body shaping in Spiderman-Venon, tentacles, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) masturbation (f.receives) kisses, sucking, touching, licking, curiosity, white lies.

6.1k (🕷️) (English is not my native language)

The University radio was your kingdom. From eight o'clock in the morning, your voice filled campus frequencies, informing and entertaining sleepless students with your brilliant spirit and sharp tongue.

"Good morning to all listeners! Here is your favorite student radio to speak to you, the voice of the University of Seoul, and today we talk about him... the mysterious vigilante who is making the news crazy. He wears a black suit, moves in the shadows, and helps people but... let’s face it, he's not exactly the classic hero. Some say that he is a savior, like all the people he is saving. Like the little girl who was saved while a deranged man was kidnapping her and others that he is a monster. What do you think?" said pausing and announcing the new comeback of a K-pop band.

Across the glass, in the small waiting room of the radio, Jake and Sunghoon sat on a crumpled couch, listening to you with funny smiles. They both had coffee in their hands and backpacks lying next to them, waiting for the lessons to start later.

'Again with this story?' Sunghoon snorted, stretching. 'Maybe it’s just a mockingman who dresses up to avoid getting caught.'

-Or maybe it’s a real anti-hero! - Jake said, giving you a fun look. -Like... Batman but even darker.-

You smiled, swiping your finger on the keyboard as you read the live comments. "I think it’s hiding something big. What if it was someone we know or who goes to the same university as us?" you asked with a flash of curiosity in your eyes.

Jake and Sunghoon exchanged a quick, understated glance. They looked like they knew more than they wanted to admit and certainly did not want to be discovered by anyone that they were hiding a secret even bigger than themselves.

-Hey, stop making a thousand theories of the plot and then who knows, it could be anyone...- said Jake with a fake innocent air to misdirect the conversation

'Yep, it could be anyone,' added Sunghoon, shrugging.

"But I would pay gold to see it live, I would like too much to see those tentacles and also how he shoots the webs from his hands," you said as you saw the two guys not looking at your face anymore.

"You two are too suspicious. Don’t you know him? Or that you saw him in action? You stepped forward, narrowing your eyes. But before they could answer, the broadcast timer told them that the next song had to start. "And now, folks, I leave you with a piece that has shaped generations as well as Thriller by Michael Jackson. Stay with us!"

You press the button to start the song, then you shoot your fingers towards your roommates. "Okay, now you’re talking. What are you hiding? Have you ever seen him live?"

Jake chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. -Come on, don’t be a detective. Simply, maybe this guy has his reasons for doing what he does and I think that if you saw him live on one side you would be happy because it would save your life but on the other hand according to me you would be afraid if you found him in front of you with all his tentacles and with his Hands that shoot webs- and he laughed at Spiderman’s gesture

You looked at them suspiciously but at the same time you laughed to see Jake so happy, you were ready to press them again, but just then the door of the radio studio opened with a squeak.

Jay made his entrance as if he were the protagonist of a movie, with ripped jeans, and black leather jacket, the usual guitar strap, and the lethal look that could make you shiver and infuriate at the same time.

«Interesting conversation yours,» said Jay with a low voice and loaded with sarcasm, crossing his arms.

«I hope I have not interrupted anything important»

"Oh, nothing," you replied, approaching him with defiance. "Just speculations about our mysterious vigilante friend. Who knows, maybe you know him too. Have you seen how everyone is talking about it?"

Jay tilted his head to the side with an almost amused smile. «I? I have no time for this bullshit, I’m too busy with music and that vigilante should be more careful because every time I hear the news, the police are getting closer to finding his identity» And with that phrase he took your coffee and drank it all and went away throwing you a glance that made you shiver.

That night, outside of Seoul, the storm was raging. You were alone in the house: Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay had all.

Jake was definitely at the university football training, Sunghoon would have been around the city shooting as a model and well Jay would have been in his music office composing music for some record company. The shared apartment with those 3 guys was always full of screaming, laughing and people but that night you were at home alone and you sincerely missed spending time with them; It was for weeks that in the evening they came back late or only one of them returned and you understood that life as a student and worker was different from that of the high school but sometimes you just wanted to spend time with them like in the old days.

You sat on the couch with your phone in hand, carelessly scrolling through Twitter until a trending video caught your attention. A boy along with the vigilante or "Black Spider-Venom" so named by everyone on social media was wearing his black suit and he was saving people in a bank from robbers: he was blocking a car on the way, He stopped a criminal with dark tentacles and protected a woman with a black barrier of spider webs.

Stay glued to the screen for almost an hour, reading comments and police statements.

The police had been saying for days that the superhero or "monster" was between 20 and 25 because they found a backpack with university books but the fatalities were books used in all universities of the state and a snack boy who did sports. So you thought that this guy had two personalities: one was the student who could be anyone and the other a superhero who tried in every way to protect people but also had a dark side as well as the emphasis from Venom and Spiderman.

A deafening thunder shook the house, and you clenched your phone. Then you heard the front door open.

Jay was there, soaking wet, his hair stuck to his forehead, his face marked by fine scratches. You knew that Jay was a boxing athlete and that he trained meticulously but it was strange to see him with scratches and split lips, you tried to talk to him but he closed the door in the face of the bath and sighed and waited anxiously. When he came out, he was wearing a jumpsuit, an old 80’s band shirt that he loved so much and his hair was still wet. He made to go to his room, but you blocked the way.

Jay looked at you with a funny grin. «Problems?»

"What’s the matter?" you asked, crossing your arms, his face was full of small scratches, his lip slightly split and covered with blood and also his hands were bruised

He shrugged his shoulders. «I slipped while boxing, you know it’s not a princess sport and sooner or later you can get hurt and I took a good punch while I was training because I wasn’t careful.» said in a too-serious tone.

You sighed, holding your arms. "I don’t believe you, I know how boxing works, and ok the lip can also stand but those scratches?"

Jay laughed softly, coming one step closer. He was towering over you, the height difference was embarrassing. It was enough of a gesture to grab and push you against the wall.

Why did you always have to stick your nose everywhere? Thought Jay, irritated. He could not stand your insistence, your way of talking to him as if you could decipher every thought.

But beneath his irritation was something else. Something darker. Venom whispered inside him, hungry.

It is small... fragile. We could break it or make it our own.

Jay chased away those thoughts with a deep breath, but the voice inside him laughed. He made to open the door of his room, but you grabbed his wrist and dragged him into your room. "Sit down. I will take care of you."

He nodded, looking at you with a shadow of amusement. But inside him, Venom was agitating. How nice it would be to see her below us, to hear her tremble, fill her until she can’t think of anything but us...

Jay clenched his jaw. Fucking symbiote...he thought as he saw you go back to your room with the first aid kit you used to disinfect the beatings that Jake was getting, as well as your cousin at soccer or perhaps in some other way but did not deny that the idea was damn inviting to have you all for himself as he so desired.

You took the first-aid kit and sat next to Jay. He looked at you with his usual funny grin, the air of not taking anything seriously, but there was something strange in his eyes. Something darker. Deeper.

You grabbed his hands to disinfect them and only then did you notice how big they were compared to yours. Your little fingers almost seemed to get lost against his venous hands, with corns here and there for the hours spent playing guitar.

"Wow, you have huge hands," you murmured distressingly, focused on passing the cotton ball over the bruises.

Jay laughed softly, tilting his head. «And you are really small.»

You looked up at him, crossing his dark eyes staring at you with something undefined.

He was teasing you, as usual, but this time there was a different intensity in his words. He seemed... amused, yes, but also curious.

Jay wondered how it was possible that someone like you, so noisy, cheeky, stubborn, could be so delicate in gestures. He was annoyed by how your presence penetrated his skin, like a melody that could not get out of his head. Yet, there was something about you that irritated and attracted him at the same time. Ever since he first met you in the park when you fell off the slide, With the knee peeled and tears running down your face had thought about how dramatic you could be but to the same inside he had promised that he would never want to see you cry again because he would make sure to protect you.

Venom, on the other hand, had completely different thoughts. He was intrigued by you, by your apparent innocence, by your small body that moved with lightness beside him. Jay’s dark side only wanted one thing: branding you, making you his. He imagined you under him, bent to his will, your skin marked by his bites. And the more he tried to ignore it, the more that desire became overwhelming.

You rubbed the scratches gently on your face with disinfectant. Jay stood still, letting you do it, but your gaze lingered for a moment on the mark on his neck, that little dark spot in the shape of a heart or perhaps a butterfly. You bit your lip without realizing it, the indecent thought that crossed your mind was instantaneous and unstoppable. How good would it have been to kiss her? Lick her? Suck her?

You got yourself right back, driving those thoughts away. You shouldn’t have them. Not on him.

You have known him for more than 10 years and you have always found him annoying but it was a while ago that you found him extremely attractive and this thing made you go crazy because he wasn’t even your type with his character "I know everything."

Just then you passed the cotton swab over his split lip and Jay barely moaned, a low, involuntary sound that made you shudder. His breath became heavier, and you noticed him moving, escaping your touch as if he didn’t want to let you do it. It was frustrating.

"Stop moving," you snapped with an exasperated sigh. "Don’t be a baby," you warned him, but you knew he was doing it on purpose.

Jay smiled dangerously. «Don’t be a caring mom. I didn’t know you liked taking care of me.»

"I don’t like it, but if you don’t stand still I can’t finish."

Without thinking about it you put yourself on his legs, only to keep him still and be able to finish the job. But as soon as you did, you knew you’d made a mistake.

Jay curled under you for a moment, before relaxing and bowing his head with a grin that made you tremble.

«Oh... baby, that was a big mistake on your part,» he murmured in a low and husky voice, his hands slid naturally over your thighs, just clutching them but you felt a lot of chills go through your body because of his touch.

His rational side knew that he had to stop, that it was just a game of provocation between you. But Venom... Venom didn’t want to stop at all. He wanted to taste you, feel your body give in under his grip, and hear every sound you could make for him.

«Tell me, what do you think of that guy?» asked Jay, with a mischievous grin as he heard you disinfect him carefully

You bit your lip. "It’s... intriguing. After all, it is for everyone, isn’t it?" you said looking at his expression.

Jay nodded slowly. «Yeah. Maybe a little too much.»

You raised an eyebrow.

"Well, when something spectacular happens it always ends up on social media. That’s normal."

Jay bowed his head, his piercing gaze. «And you’re happy about it, aren’t you? You can’t wait for something exciting to happen to snoop around and talk about it on the radio so are you happy to have new material for your show?»

You smiled. "Sure. I love my work, both on radio and social media."

Jay came a little closer, his fingers slid down your back in a barely perceptible touch. «You’re too curious,» he murmured. «You also have the habit of asking too many questions.»

"Informed," you corrected.

«Curious,» he repeated, bowing his head with a clever smile

You looked him straight in the eye. "What questions?"

He chuckled. «I see and hear the questions you say you would ask if you found him in person: Who is he? Where does he come from? Why does he do it? What is it like to live two lives? What is it like to have the human part but also the monster part inside? You would like to find out, right?»

You raised your chin in defiance "Maybe yes, you know I was always too curious when we were little"

Jay shook his head, his eyes became darker. «You know, girls who are too curious have a bad end»

You didn’t look down. "I’m not afraid."

Jay was silent for a few seconds, then smiled. «You should.»

You came even closer, challenging him. "I’m afraid of murderers, rapists... not a boy who transforms to save people."

Something changed in him. His breath became heavier, his eyes shone with a dangerous light. Maybe it wasn’t just Jay at that moment Maybe it was something else.

A soft growl made its way through his lips, a low, almost animalistic sound. Venom was emerging. He wanted to test you, to see if you really wouldn’t be afraid when you were in front of him. And Jay couldn’t stop touching you, tightening his grip on your thighs, imagining what it would be like if he gave in to his instincts.

It was at that moment that something changed in Jay. His gaze became darker, more intense. Without giving you time to understand, Jay grabbed your face in his hands and smashed his lips on yours. The kiss was sudden, hungry, almost brutal. There was not only Jay at that moment. There was also something more dark, something more dangerous.

His hands clenched around your hips, holding you glued to him, while his tongue invaded your mouth with a security that made your head turn. You couldn’t even think. All you could do was hold on to him, arms around his shoulders, while your body instinctively reacted to contact.

You felt his fingers sink slightly into your skin, exploring every curve with a possession that made you shiver. Every touch sent sparks down your back, and before you knew it, your body was starting to respond to his.

"Jay..." moaning against his lips when you felt something hard press under you.

Jay smiled at your mouth, but there was something more. That smile wasn’t just his. It was also Venom’s.

His lips fell down your neck, initially leaving gentle, almost sweet kisses. But then the kisses became more insistent, more possessive. You felt him sucking, biting your skin slightly, marking you, leaving marks. Signs that no one else could have erased and you still didn’t know what you were getting into.

Jay’s lips were hot, and hungry, moving on yours with disarming security. His taste was intense, the breath barely altered as his hands clenched more tightly on your thighs, holding you firmly against him. Every touch of it seemed to leave a mark on your skin, an invisible mark that made you shiver and want even more.

He detached himself from you only for a moment, his dark eyes full of something indecipherable, a mix between the Jay you knew and another presence that seemed more and more domineering.

«Tell me...» he murmured, his voice was husky, charged with something that made you tremble and light at the same time. «Would you like to interview Venom?»

You looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and excitement, the chest rising and falling faster. "Yes," you answered without hesitation, with the desire to dig into that mystery that attracted you like a magnet. "I would ask him a lot of questions."

Jay smiled, but there was something dark behind that grin, a shadow that fascinated and frightened you at the same time. A hand slid under your shirt, fingers touching the bare skin of your side with an exasperating slowness. You shivered and he noticed it, lowering himself slightly to whisper in your ear.

«Venom has never been interviewed by anyone...» he paused, letting his warm breath caress your skin. «And if he did, he would want something in return.»

You looked into his eyes, your heart beating hard in your chest. "How do you know?" you asked, even if deep down you already sensed the answer.

Jay tilted his head to the side, his smile became sweeter, but no less predatory. "Maybe because Venom is much closer to you than you think.»

And as he said it, the change came before your eyes.

The black of the suit seemed to emerge directly from his skin, wrapping it in a slimy and eerie embrace, making it look bigger, more imposing. The symbol of Spider-Man shone on his chest, his body now a perfect balance between muscles and the dark power of Venom. But his face, which was still uncovered, as if he wanted you to see the man behind the monster.

Your breath stopped in your throat when you felt something cold and sinuous slip under your shirt.

A black tentacle touched your bare skin, caressing you with an exasperating slowness, making you shiver.

Jay- or maybe Venom- looked at you with bright eyes, his voice now more guttural, deeper.

«I want you all to myself,» he murmured, and her tone was an obscure promise. «And not only today.» His hands came back on you, stronger, safer.

«You may ask me any question,» he added, a mischievous grin spreading on his lips. «To Venom... or Jay.»

Your hands trembled as they slid over the black suit, feeling the strange but fascinating texture of the living material that enveloped it. It was warm under the fingers, pulsating as if it had a life of its own. When your fingers touched his biceps, the consistency changed, revealing the hard and sculpted flesh of his muscles.

Without thinking too much, you started sliding the suit off, slowly discovering her body. And fuck... it was beautiful. Perfect in an almost surreal way, with the skin stretched on defined muscles, some scratches here and there, and those damned tentacles that seemed to move with a will of their own. But for some reason, you didn’t feel scared. Maybe you should have, but the idea didn’t even occur to you.

Jay looked at you with a mixture of surprise and something else, something darker. «You... aren’t afraid?»

His rational part was confused, but Venom... Venom was damn smug. You could feel it in the air, in the tension between you. Her already overblown ego seemed to grow even more when she saw you so close, so curious instead of terrified.

You leaned over him, letting your lips touch his skin. Your warm breath tickled his neck as you began to kiss the heart-shaped birthmark perhaps a butterfly- that he had there. Jay closed his eyes for a moment, a sigh escaped from his lips, but when he opened them again there was something more dangerous in that look.

«You’re getting into trouble, you know?» he murmured in a husky voice.

I murmured in a hoarse voice. «Because when I fill you... it will not be just me.»

Those words made you shiver, but you did not stop. You continued to kiss his skin softly, savoring the warmth of his body. You looked up at him, your eyes shining with curiosity.

"Who did you save today?"

Jay barely smiled, a crooked smile, almost amused by your attempt to distract him. «A bank. There was a robbery.»

Annuded, without stopping to leave him little kisses on the tense muscles. He was seriously the vigilante, you had had him in front of your eyes for a long time and your doubts had come to light some time ago but you finally knew the truth. When your lips touched a scratch, he made a slight movement, almost imperceptible.

"Then you did a good job," you whispered, sliding your fingers over another mark on her skin.

Jay bowed his head, looking at you. «Do you want me to make the tentacles disappear?»

For a moment you considered the idea, and then you looked up at him with a curious smirk. "Venom would be happy if you let go of your tentacles?"

His expression changed. Jay puffed, but his eyes darkened slightly as a tentacle slowly brushed your back under your shirt. «Yes,» he admitted. "It would be.»

He paused, then added in a lower tone: «It’s hard to live with two personalities. Venom only comes out when I transform... Otherwise, I’m just the usual Jay.»

You looked at him, tilting your head slightly. "So, in a way, you are two different people?"

Jay stared at you, then smiled. «You’re not stupid at all, are you?»

You were winning. You felt it. You were asking questions, asking questions, taking him exactly where you wanted. But what you didn’t expect was that, at some point, Venom would notice. And it wouldn’t have worked out for him.

Your lips kept coming down her body, tracing a line of kisses on her warm, scratched skin. When you reached his navel, you heard Jay moaning softly your name, his irregular breath against your neck.

«You’re playing with fire, you know?» he murmured, his voice roaring, crossed by a thread of fun and something darker.

But before you could answer, a deep growl vibrated in the room.

"You’re too slow, Jay," Venom hissed into the boy’s mind. "This prey is ours. We must claim it."

Jay clenched his jaw, trying to maintain control. But he knew it was impossible with you. With you, Venom had too much desire to emerge.

Then, without warning, he pushed you gently backward, making you lie down under him. His dark eyes were burning reflections of something more primordial. More dangerous. You instinctively caressed his hair, your fingers intertwining between the dark locks. Jay closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to taste your touch but it was only a moment.

When he opened them again, a grin cut off his lips.

«Do you realize what you’re doing?» he whispered, lowering her head to the edge of your ear. «Do you know how tempting you are? Or maybe... are you doing it on purpose?»

Its length rubbed against thy center, and thy breath broke.

Venom chuckled in Jay’s mind. "Look how she reacts. So hot. So ready. She’s ours. I want to hear her pleading."

Jay swallowed, fighting the way Venom was trying to overwhelm him. But he was on the edge of the abyss too.

«I can’t wait to fill you up,» he said in a loud, low, hypnotic tone. «Both me and him.»

His hands slipped on your hips, holding you tight as he lifted you slightly towards himself. His fingertips drew fire lines on your naked skin.

He took off your shirt slowly, with a deliberate slowness that made you shudder. Then he looked down at you, his eyes shining with desire.

«You are so sensitive,» he murmured, his lips resting on your hard buds, his tongue caressing them, his teeth teasing them with sweet cruelty. «Tell me, how will you take all of me?»

You rolled your back, "Jay" a moan escaped from your lips and inside him, Jay was struggling. A part of him wanted to take you with an almost painful sweetness, like a cat that enjoys teasing his prey before giving it the final blow but Venom... did not want to play. Venom wanted to eat you and you didn’t know what you were into.

His lips moved along your skin, descending ever lower, leaving a trail of warm and possessive kisses. Jay’s breath deepened as it reached your breasts, his tongue drawing circles around your tight buds before wrapping them completely.

You moan his name, your head slightly bent backward, your senses now completely overwhelmed by him.

Jay looked up at you with a satisfied grin, his eyes shining with something darker, deeper.

«Call me as you like,» he whispered, his voice stinging and dangerous. «Jay... or Venom.»

His tone made you shudder, but you nodded, hands still clinging to his hair. " Yes..." you murmured, your breath broken by excitement.

Jay smiled at your skin before coming down again, his hands caressing you with exasperating slowness. He took off your pajamas without haste, enjoying every second that your body revealed itself to him.

Then he looked down at your exposed center and a lascivious whisper slipped from his lips.

«You are already so soaked...» he muttered, the fingers that touched your intimacy with a light but devastating touch. «It is so sensitive... only for me.»

He looked at you carefully, tilting his head slightly.

«Tell me...» whispered, the fingers that kept exploring you without ever giving you enough. «Have you ever thought of me in this way?»

His question hit you in the chest. Your breath stopped, and for a moment there was only silence between you. Then, with a slight movement of the head, you nodded no.

But you couldn’t stand his gaze.

Inside him, Venom hissed amused. Liar.

Jay laughed softly, but his eyes were dark, full of something that made you tremble. «You are a terrible liar,» he said with a smirk. «I see how you look at me.»

And without giving you time to answer, he slipped a finger inside you.

A moan immediately escaped from your lips. "Venom..."

Jay smiled. Or was it Venom?

«Good girl,» he whispered against your skin, while his finger moved slowly inside you, exploring you, testing every reaction.

You shudder, the heart pounding in your chest. " Perhaps... in the past..." your voice was trembling, full of desire, "I... I fantasized about you..."

Jay laughed, satisfied, while inside of him Venom was boiling with pleasure.

«Oh, honey,» whispered Jay, his mouth back to bite your neck, leaving red marks on your skin. «You belong to me now.»

Venom became more brazen, his desire almost tangible. You are ours.

Jay’s breath was erratic, his body tense as he watched you with those deep dark eyes. Venom, however, was scrambling to take control. You felt his presence, a hungry shadow growing in him, ready to claim you.

"Look how fragile she is... so small in our hands," the voice of Venom resounded in the room, low and guttural. "It’s ours. Nobody else can have it, nobody else can touch it."

Jay clenched his jaw, fighting with the creature inside him. "Venom, calm down."

"No," hissed the symbiote. "Can’t you see what he calls it? He wants us both. He wants to feel us inside him. Why should we wait?"

Wet and sloppy sounds fill your ears and Jay’s as he pumps another finger into you, Jay feels how well you took it and how excited your pussy was as he pumped and curls his fingers up and down, Your legs are wriggling as you hear Jay’s tongue slowly pinch and suck on your swollen clitoris for the stimulation you’re receiving, Contrast the muscle with a moan so pronounced that Jay could come all on himself because it was for whole months that he dreamed of hearing your moans, Instead Venom from the first day you met you had thought about how beautiful you were and how much he would want to make you feel good but at the same time take you and make you his and fill you.

"mmhm! It’s too much, I need to come" Your eyes spill into the skull as you feel your body be pervaded by shivers and feel your excitement slowly increase as you come between Jay’s fingers. Jay took his fingers full of white cum into his tongue and tasted you.

«delicious,» he said to you with a rock voice and a shiver ran across your back as Jay touched your face with his fingers, his warm fingertips on your skin. «Are you all right?» His voice was sweet and worried, but there was something deeper in his eyes. Desire.

You looked at it and nodded slowly. "I want both."

It was all that Venom needed to hear. A low growl vibrated in Jay’s chest as the symbiote took over, his hands clenching tighter on your hips. " You hear that, Jay? She wants it. She wants to be ours."

Your trembling fingers slid along the elastic of his suit, slowly lowering it down with his boxers. Your breath stopped for a moment when you saw it in its entirety.

"Fuck... will it fit me completely?" whispering, biting your lip as you watched.

Jay laughed softly, shaking his head. «Only you could make fun of me at a time like this.»

You curled your lips, letting your fingers slide along its length before gently squeezing it and starting to pump it with slow movements, knowing exactly how to make it go crazy. You felt his breath getting heavier as the pre-sperm liquid started to wet the tip.

"I want you..." you said in a low, sensual voice, moving closer to his ear. "But I want both the Jay and Venom parts."

Jay held his head for a moment. «Are you sure?»

You bit your lip, brushing its chest with your nails. "I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. Did you think I would let someone else touch me like that?"

Venom made himself feel inside him, a shiver shook Jay as his deep voice resounded in his head. It’s perfect. Cheeky, provocative. She wants to make it ours. he wants to fill it and brand it.

Jay swallowed hard as he felt his darker side take over. With the tip of his member, he began to touch your entry, slowly teasing you, driving you crazy.

"Jay..." moans, the need in your voice was clear.

«Tell me exactly what you want,» he said with a satisfied smile.

You bent slightly, trying to push against him, but his hands stopped you, holding you still.

"Asshole," you hissed, eyes burning with desire. "Move."

A guttural growl escaped from Jay’s lips, or rather of Venom. «You are so impatient... and so excited for us.»

Then, without further ado, it pushed itself inside you, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch as your body adapted to its size.

He withheld a groan, seeing you shudder beneath him, your body wrapped around his.

"Fuck, you’re perfect...» murmured Jay, caressing your face softly. "I want you to like it.»

"Move," you whisper, the voice full of need.

It was at this moment that Venom took control. His hands seized your hips with force, his movements became deeper, faster, and more brutal.

«You hear him» he growled, his voice lower, darker. «Are you enjoying being filled like this?»

The pleasure overtook you, you clung to his shoulders, your nails sinking into his skin.

"Yes, fuck!" you panicked, your body responding to every push. You felt something fresh and sinuous enveloping your belly, sliding along your body with an unnatural precision. A glossy black tentacle crept towards your center, pressing firmly on your clitoris. A shiver ran down your back, making you shudder.

"Oh God..." groans, squeezing Jay even harder.

«Do you like it, baby?» Venom’s voice was deeper, darker. Jay was still there, but you could hear him leaving more and more room for the creature. The tentacle wrapped around your body, stroking you in places you didn’t even think were so sensitive. The pressure on you increased, each pushes more intense, deeper until you lost your breath.

«Look how well you treat us... You were born to be ours.» Venom’s voice was a hoarse whisper against your skin, a sinful murmur that made you shiver.

Jay stuck his fingers in your hips, his blows getting stronger and faster. The pleasure accumulated in your belly, each push sent waves of heat into your body, while the tentacle kept on tickling you without respite.

«Tell me you’re coming for us.» Jay clenched his jaw, holding back with difficulty.

"S-yes... I’m coming..." you panicked, your body shaking.

And when the pleasure finally exploded inside you, Venom emitted a guttural sound of approval.

«Beautiful...» whispered Jay. You felt the heat spread within you, as the tentacle slowly retreated, leaving behind a trail of electric chills.

Jay panted as Venom pushed deeper, feeling your orgasm grip him perfectly. With an animalistic growl, Jay let go of every brake, pushing himself inside you one last time before filling you.

It remained inside you for a few seconds, the heavy breath, the body still tense from pleasure.

«You are beautiful with my seed inside you,» he whispered against your neck, slowly licking your skin.

You still felt trembling, exhausted, and completely possessed by them.

«Now you are ours,» added Venom with a satisfied grin.

Jay hugged you and felt that the "human" Jay you knew was back. Both of you had a long breath, the bodies still intertwined, and you gently brushed the bruises that began to form on her skin. He sank his head into the hollow of your neck, tickling you with a warm breath, and with a thread of voice asked you:

«Did you like it?»

He seemed almost embarrassed by the question, which made you smile. You stroked him gently and with a slight smile, you replied:

"Jay, it was crazy. I was so stupid not to know that you were the guy I talked about every day..."

He stood up slowly, pulling a strand of hair from your face and touching your cheek with his fingertips. His gaze was full of sweetness but also a veil of apprehension.

«You won’t tell anyone, will you?» he asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

You smiled and, without a word, gave him your little finger. Jay burst out laughing but crossed his finger with yours, sealing that secret with a swearing oath.

After a few seconds of silence, you looked at him with curiosity.

"But... are there others like you?"

Jay just made a gesture with his boss, pointing to the little picture you had on your bedside table. In that photo were you, him, Jake, and Hoon. You felt the breath cut and brought a hand to your mouth, surprised.

"Wait... they too...?"

Jay nodded with a clever smirk. «You’ll find out for yourself. But not in spicy situations!»

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as a shiver of excitement ran down your spine. This story was becoming much more interesting than you ever imagined.

If you like the genre tell me if you want to discover also the other members with their powers:)

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Comments and rebblog are appreciated

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[shapard]

Tantrum🕷️

Satan x Succubus!fem!reader

Tw: Smut, slow burn, therapist x client, Satan being Satan to the low life, p in v

6k

Satan is so Hot

Part 1 > Part 2

The story begins after the cut

You exhaled slowly, your breath shaky as your eyes scanned the list of today's clients. One name stood out like a drop of blood on pristine parchment: Satan. Yes, the Satan. You’d laughed when the receptionist first told you. Surely, it was some dark joke, right? But the chilling sincerity in her eyes told you otherwise. For the next month, the King of Wrath himself would be your client. His personal therapist—or "anger coach," as they called it—was conveniently on vacation, leaving the responsibility to you.

Your fingers hovered over the file, tapping lightly on the thick paper. His profile was sparse yet enough to send a chill down your spine. Anger issues. As if that needed to be stated. Brutal, cruel, unpredictable. Lies often. Has a dangerously short temper. And the last line, hastily scrawled like a warning, stood out the most: Approach with caution.

The note on your pad detailed when and where you were to meet him: Satan’s castle. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn. The clock on your desk screeched, breaking your trance. It was time.

Your palms were clammy as you left your room, dread curling around your spine. The limousine waiting outside was overkill, with its glossy black finish and an interior too luxurious for comfort. You sank into the seat, but even its plush softness couldn’t ease the knot tightening in your chest. Your fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of your shirt. "Why am I doing this to myself?" you muttered, your voice a hoarse whisper.

The drive stretched on, the limousine cutting through a landscape that seemed to grow darker, more twisted with every passing mile. Gnarled trees loomed like skeletal hands, their shadows dancing over the cracked road. The closer you got to his estate, the more oppressive the air became, thick with heat and a faint metallic tang that clung to your throat. When the car finally stopped, your breath hitched.

The castle loomed above you like a blackened wound carved into the earth itself. Jagged spires clawed at the sky, and the air was heavy with the faint stench of sulfur. The gates creaked open, revealing a procession of imps scurrying about with feverish purpose. Their glowing eyes briefly landed on you before darting away, like vermin avoiding a predator.

You swallowed hard, stepping out of the limousine. The ground beneath your sneakers radiated an uncomfortable heat, as if the very earth resented your presence. You hesitated, looking up at the fortress before you. Every instinct screamed for you to run. But you were a therapist—for Lucifer’s sake, you’d dealt with impossible clients before. Just not ones who could incinerate you with a single breath.

A small, hunched imp dressed in a tattered butler’s uniform approached, its head bowed. Without a word, it gestured for you to follow. You obliged, your legs moving stiffly as if weighed down by chains. The castle’s interior was worse. Shadows seemed alive, twisting and curling around corners like smoke. The halls were cavernous and eerily silent, save for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.

You were led through corridors that gleamed with wealth. Gold littered every surface, accompanied by piles of glittering jewels—rubies, diamonds, and sapphires, carelessly heaped as if they were nothing more than pocket change. It was suffocating in its opulence, but it was the odd details that unsettled you. A scorch mark on the wall, as if something—or someone—had been obliterated there. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone.

When you entered his chamber, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Heat rolled over you in waves, and the room smelled faintly of ash. Your eyes roamed over the space, catching glimpses of heavy iron chains, monstrous workout equipment, and a hulking throne that seemed carved from molten rock. And then, your gaze rose.

He was there.

The dragon loomed in the far corner, a creature of pure, terrifying majesty. His scales shimmered like molten obsidian, and his horns, wickedly curved and sharp, glinted faintly in the dim light. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop. His chest rose and fell with a deep, growling breath that reverberated through the floor.

"So," he rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural drawl that made the air vibrate. "You’re the replacement.”

You froze, your body rigid as his gaze raked over you. His tone dripped with disdain, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. You felt like a mouse under the eye of a serpent.

“A succubus?” he sneered, the word laced with contempt. His massive frame shifted as he lowered his head, bringing his razor-sharp teeth dangerously close to your trembling form. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths. “For a succubus, you look... innocent.”

You flinched as his claw moved, its sharp tip hooking under the edge of your buttoned shirt. With terrifying ease, he pulled you closer, the heat radiating from him suffocating.

“Sir,” you managed, your voice wavering as you fought to hold your ground, “this is… inappropriate.”

The dragon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Inappropriate?” he repeated, his tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, little one, we’re far beyond ‘appropriate’ here.”

For a moment, the tension was unbearable, his golden gaze locking onto yours, unyielding and searing. Then, with a huff, he released you, his massive claw retracting as he settled back.

“Let’s see how long you last,” he muttered, his voice laced with dark amusement. “They always break, you know.”

Your knees felt weak, your breath shallow as you took a hesitant step back. This wasn’t going to be like any other client you’d dealt with. And as his gaze lingered on you, predatory and calculating, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into a game you didn’t fully understand—a game where the rules were written in blood.

“Let’s start with something simple—an introduction.” You tried to project confidence, raising your voice slightly to ensure he could hear you clearly. The weight of his molten gaze bore down on you, but you kept your posture straight. “Before we can trust each other, we need to know each other.”

Your words hung in the air, daring to challenge the suffocating silence. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his reptilian features. You forced a smile and continued, your voice steady despite the thrum of fear in your chest. “My name is Y/n L/n. I’ll be your therapist for the time being. In my spare time, I enjoy drawing. Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”

The room seemed to grow hotter. A deep huff escaped from Satan’s nostrils, the force of his breath stirring the papers on your clipboard. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying you from a new angle. “You know who I am.” His words were low and blunt, carrying the faintest edge of impatience.

You kept your expression neutral, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Of course, I know. But I’d like to hear it from you.” Your tone was calm, measured, even as the edges of his form seemed to ripple with heat.

That caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their predatory sharpness. His breathing, which had been fiery and erratic, grew slower, more controlled. “I am Satan,” he said at last, his voice still low but tinged with pride. “The Sin of Wrath. The first sin.”

You didn’t flinch, though the words carried a weight that pressed against you. Liar. The truth was well-known—Lucifer was the first. But you kept that observation to yourself, instead lowering your gaze to jot something down on your notepad.

The scratch of your pen seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“What are you writing?” His tone was sharper now, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. You glanced up cautiously, noting the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his claws flexed against the stone floor.

“It’s nothing important,” you assured him, your voice soft but deliberate. “Just a few notes for me. Is that okay?”

His eyes narrowed further, glowing faintly as if testing your words for deceit. After a tense moment, he leaned back, the massive muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

You allowed yourself a small exhale, the pen trembling faintly in your grip as you made another note. “Thank you. So, tell me—what’s your favorite hobby?” you asked, keeping your tone light, almost conversational.

Satan blinked, clearly caught off guard again. “Hobby?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. A pause stretched between you, and then he shrugged. “Uh… I like working out.”

Internally, you groaned. Great, you thought, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. A gym bro with anger issues. But outwardly, you smiled, though your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.

As you scribbled his answer, you felt a subtle shift in the air. His gaze hadn’t left you, and there was something unsettling about the way he watched you now—curious, calculating, like a predator studying its prey. The edges of his mouth twitched, as if he were amused by something only he understood.

“Do you always write so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual.

You froze for half a second before looking up. “Only when it helps me understand my client better,” you said evenly.

Satan’s lip curled faintly, exposing a hint of razor-sharp teeth. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His massive frame seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around you. “You seem… different. For a therapist. For a succubus.”

The word dripped with disdain, but there was an odd curiosity in his tone as well. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I don’t think I fit the usual mold,” you replied lightly, though the words felt thin against the heavy atmosphere.

Satan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you don’t. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The way he said it felt more like a warning than a casual remark. And as the room grew unnervingly quiet again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just stepped into something far more dangerous than you were prepared for.

“Anyway,” you began, trying to dissipate the strange tension in the air, “what do you usually do to calm yourself?” Your voice was steady, professional, but you were acutely aware of the weight of his golden gaze lingering on you.

Satan tapped his claw against his chin, the sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. “I work out,” he said simply.

You nodded and placed your notepad down. “Have you ever tried anything else? Something less… physical?”

He shook his head, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “No.”

“Interesting.” Your pen hovered over the page, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Bingo. A potential breakthrough, something to work on next week. “Maybe you should try something new,” you suggested, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

Satan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something new?”

You nodded, maintaining your professional tone. “Yes. There might be situations where you aren’t able to work out. Finding an alternative that brings you calm can help—something you enjoy that doesn’t rely on strength or exertion.”

You could see him thinking, his gaze becoming distant for a moment before snapping back to you. Then, he said it, blunt and unapologetic:

“Sex.”

Your pen slipped slightly, leaving a faint mark across your notepad as your head shot up to meet his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Sex,” he repeated, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I enjoy it. Specifically, I love to dominate. It brings me a sense of calm, of control.”

The heat in the room seemed to spike as his words hung in the air, heavy and electric. You felt your breath hitch slightly, your professionalism faltering under the weight of his admission. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, a subconscious reflex as your mind betrayed you with images you hadn’t invited.

Satan, towering over you, his claws dragging possessively over your skin. His deep growls vibrating against your neck as his body pressed you into the bed like prey. The way his molten gaze would devour every inch of you, a predator savoring its prize.

The thought was dangerous, forbidden—and utterly intoxicating.

“You’re quiet,” Satan observed, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He leaned forward, resting his massive claws on the table between you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit straighter in your chair, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your inner turmoil. “Not at all,” you lied, your voice wavering slightly.

His smirk widened, the sharp tips of his teeth glinting faintly in the low light. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched again as he stood, the sheer size of him making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. His shadow fell over you, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety growl. “Have you ever let someone take control of you? Completely?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his golden eyes boring into you with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare.

“Let me guess,” he continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “You play the role of the confident therapist. Always in control, always composed. But I wonder…” He leaned closer, his claw tipping your chin up slightly. “What would happen if you let go? If you surrendered—for once?”

Your pulse raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. The air between you was charged, thick with tension that felt ready to snap at any moment.

“I—” You barely managed to speak before his smirk deepened.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body reacts to me.”

Your breath quickened, your mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen—this wasn’t professional. But the pull of his presence, the raw magnetism of him, was impossible to ignore.

As he leaned back, giving you a moment to catch your breath, his smirk softened into something darker, more sinister. “We’ll see how long you can resist,” he murmured, his voice like a promise—a challenge.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your notepad like it was a lifeline. Whatever line had just been crossed, there was no going back now. And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of you didn’t want to.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking seconds echoing louder in your ears as you realized the session had come to an end. It felt like both a relief and a punishment. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Our time is up for today.”

Gripping your notepad tightly, you rose from your chair, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the inner conflict you fought to suppress. “I’ll see you next week?” you asked, your voice carefully measured, though the second heartbeat between your thighs throbbed mercilessly, reminding you of how thin the line was between professionalism and raw, unspoken desire.

Satan leaned back into his seat, his massive frame exuding power and ease as his ever-present smirk stretched across his face. “You’re quite interesting, you know that?” he said, his golden eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous.

The way his words curled in the air, dripping with molten heat, sent a shiver down your spine. And then he said it—your name.

“See you next week, Y/n.”

The sound of your name, as it rolled off his tongue like a lazy threat, like a predator marking its prey, felt like fire licking at your skin. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was the way he owned it, as if your name wasn’t yours anymore but his to use, to savor, to command.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you fought to maintain control of yourself. His gaze lingered on you, heavy and consuming, as if he could see every thought, every reaction you tried to bury. The room felt smaller, hotter, as if the very air bent to his will.

You took a deep breath, willing the flush creeping up your neck to subside, and bowed your head slightly—a courteous gesture, but also an excuse to break free of his burning gaze. “I’ll… take my leave now,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though your body betrayed you with every trembling step toward the door.

The silence stretched, but you could feel him watching you, his presence looming even as you turned your back to him. Each step felt heavier, your legs weaker, as if some invisible tether pulled you back to him.

“Y/n,” he called softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. It was enough to stop you in your tracks, your hand hovering just above the door handle.

You turned slightly, not enough to meet his gaze but enough to let him know you were listening.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk audible in his voice. “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.”

Your breath caught, and you didn’t trust yourself to respond. With a hurried nod, you pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hall as quickly as you could without outright running.

As the door closed behind you, the weight of his words lingered, wrapping around you like a vice. Each step away from his chamber only made the ache within you stronger, and the echo of his voice—dark, commanding, possessive—played on repeat in your mind.

When you finally reached the outside air, you exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest as if to steady the wild beat of your heart. But no matter how much distance you put between you and him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trapped—bound not by his hands, but by his voice, his gaze, his presence.

And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.

______________________

Your mind drifted to Satan again, as it often did these days. His golden eyes, the low timbre of his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it lingered with you like an intoxicating haze. It was wrong to think of him this way, wasn’t it? You're the therapist. A being of ancient power. Yet his words from the last session whispered through your mind, sending a shiver down your spine: “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.” What did he mean? The thought left you breathless, your lip caught between your teeth as you tried to push the memory away.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the mirror, pulling yourself together. Today was a new session, and you needed to remain professional. No room for fluttering thoughts or the heat that crept up your neck every time he said your name. After all, you had a job to do, and you’d prepared exercises meant to calm, not... whatever this was. You brushed out your hair, adjusted your outfit, and gave yourself one last look. You could do this.

The drive to his mansion felt longer than usual, the limousine’s quiet luxury giving your mind too much space to wander. By the time you arrived and stepped out, your palms were clammy despite the crisp air. You gathered your supplies—a palette, brushes, a canvas—and headed to the imposing doors. They opened with a creak, and there he was, standing tall, his figure sharper than usual in a tailored outfit that clung just enough to his form to make you notice. Was he doing this on purpose? The thought made your cheeks flush.

“Satan,” you greeted, keeping your voice steady as you stepped inside.

“Y/n,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. He always said your name like it was a secret, something sacred.

You set your supplies down, the clinking of brushes breaking the charged silence. He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over the items with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with intrigue.

“Painting,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s something that can help channel emotions. I thought it might be worth trying with you.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the flicker of interest in them was unmistakable. “You think this will calm me?”

“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, your tone light. “But first, I need you to… shrink a bit. Your current size might make it tricky.”

He arched a brow but complied without argument, his towering form diminishing to something more manageable. Even so, he still loomed over you, his presence filling the room in a way that made your breath catch.

You handed him one of your favorite brushes, your fingers grazing his. The brief contact sent a spark through you that you tried to ignore. “This one’s precious to me, so don’t break it,” you said with a teasing smile.

His golden eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “Why would you entrust me with something so valuable?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Because I think you’ll manage,” you said simply, turning to demonstrate. The truth was, you trusted him in a way you couldn’t explain, and the weight of his gaze as you worked was almost palpable.

You dipped your brush into the paint, your movements fluid and purposeful as you applied color to the canvas. You explained the process, your voice calm, almost hypnotic, as you encouraged him to let his emotions guide him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” you said, glancing at him. “Just let it flow.”

Satan watched you intently, his focus shifting between your hands and your face. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved—graceful, confident, entirely at ease. He tried to mimic your strokes but grew frustrated when his didn’t have the same beauty. Fire flickered briefly at the corner of his mouth as his grip on the brush tightened.

“Take your time,” you said gently, your voice softening. “You’ll manage.”

Those words seemed to echo in his mind, silencing his frustration. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes settled on you again, and this time, there was something softer in them—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Pretty,” he murmured, the word so quiet you almost missed it.

You glanced up, assuming he meant his canvas. “It’s not bad for a first try,” you said, smiling.

But when your eyes met his, you realized he wasn’t looking at the canvas at all. He was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you were lost in it.

“I… meant your canvas,” he said quickly, the faintest hint of a stammer in his voice. He turned away, focusing on his painting as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I suppose this isn’t for me,” he added, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.

You sighed softly, setting your brush down. “That’s okay. We’ll find something else to try next time.”

When it was time to leave, you gathered your supplies, his lingering gaze following you to the door. “Till next time, Y/n,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, bidding him goodbye before stepping into the limousine. As the car pulled away, you stared out the window, your reflection blushing faintly. “Cute,” you muttered under your breath, thinking of his fleeting shyness.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think of him a little differently too.

As the limousine glided down the winding road back into the city, Y/n leaned their head against the cool glass of the window. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but their mind was too preoccupied to notice. Their chest tightened as they replayed the day's moments, each interaction with Satan etched into their memory with vivid clarity.

His golden eyes watching them, the way his brows furrowed in frustration only to soften when he heard their encouragement, and that one unguarded word he’d uttered—“pretty.” Y/n sighed and closed their eyes, the image of his intense gaze surfacing unbidden. He had said it so quietly, yet it echoed in their ears, lingering like a secret between them.

Why am I letting this get to me? Y/n thought, shaking their head. Satan was their patient. A being to be studied and guided, not… admired. And yet, there was something about him—something magnetic and impossible to ignore. His raw power was undeniable, but beneath the towering presence and occasional flashes of anger, there was a vulnerability that Y/n couldn’t help but find fascinating.

When the mansion’s doors had first opened to reveal him, standing there like some otherworldly figure carved out of the very shadows of the underworld, Y/n had been struck by how human he seemed despite his demonic origins. He was capable of humor, of curiosity, and, at times, even shyness—like when he stammered over his compliment and turned away. That brief flash of awkwardness had been disarming, endearing even, and it left a warmth in Y/n’s chest that refused to fade.

_______________

The past few weeks had been a blur of trial and error as you and Satan searched for a way to calm his tempestuous nature. Every method—meditation, physical exercises, even music—had ended in failure. Yet, with every attempt, the two of you had grown closer. Comfort had crept in between the boundaries you’d initially set, a warmth that softened the edges of your professional relationship. Perhaps it was too much comfort.

Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair, tugging slightly as you let out a groan. “What’s left?” you muttered, mostly to yourself. You hated admitting defeat, but the lack of progress was wearing on you.

“Are you okay?” Satan’s deep voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned your face. Concern lingered in his tone, though there was something else in his expression—something darker, more intent.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I’m just… out of ideas,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “Nothing seems to work. Maybe you were right all along—this isn’t going to change.”

A low growl escaped him, and he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with every step. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried,” he said, his voice a seductive rumble. He reached out, his clawed fingers brushing along the curve of your neck with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. The ruby necklace he’d given you weeks ago caught the light, glinting like a drop of blood between you.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I’m open,” you replied, though your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but the tension in the air was thick enough to drown in.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Let me please you,” he said, the words both a question and a command.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower, taking yours in his. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm, and you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened. “For weeks, I’ve been thinking of you. Not just as a distraction from my anger, but as something—someone—I want to consume. Every thought I’ve had has been about how to lure you in, how to make you mine.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your body tingling with the weight of his confession. He slipped a delicate, shining ring onto your finger, the smooth metal cold against your skin.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “I’m throbbing for you, aching to show you what it means to be claimed by me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. His clawed hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The first touch of his tongue against your neck made you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to the side to give him better access as he traced slow, burning lines along your skin.

“Satan…” His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as his claws found the waistband of your pants, the sharp tips grazing your skin without breaking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice raw with need. “Tell me you want it too.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if to ground yourself. That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, and the pain mingled with pleasure in a way that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body, one clawed hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place.

You gasped as he tore open your shirt, the fabric giving way like paper under his strength. His golden eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the heat in his gaze made you shiver. “Perfect,” he growled, his lips descending to your collarbone as his claws worked your pants down, leaving you bare beneath his burning gaze.

He pressed his body against yours, his skin hot like fire but not unbearable. The sensation was intoxicating, his power and desire radiating off him in waves that left you trembling. His mouth found your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fought to keep some semblance of control.

But control was the last thing Satan allowed. “Let go,” he commanded, his voice a low snarl as his hand slipped between your thighs. His touch was rough but precise, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the heat of his body searing into your palms. His growls deepened as you touched him, and when you whispered his name again, it seemed to drive him over the edge.

He latched onto your nipple, his hot, eager tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as though it held the key to quenching a deep, unrelenting hunger. The heat of his mouth sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching instinctively to press closer to him. Each flick and tug of his tongue was deliberate, rough yet skilled, and it drove you wild with every second.

Your hands found his horns, gripping tightly as a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips. The sensation of his horns beneath your fingers—solid, commanding, and so uniquely him—only heightened the intensity of the moment. He groaned in response, the vibration of it against your skin adding a tantalizing edge to the pleasure.

As you opened your mouth to say something—perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse his name—his massive hand moved swiftly, covering your mouth and silencing you with an almost possessive dominance. His palm was warm, his claws just barely grazing your jawline, a silent reminder of his power.

“Shh,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with desire and control. “No words. Just feel.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your muffled protests turning into needy whimpers against his hand. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race. He didn’t need to say more; the look alone spoke volumes. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.

His free hand trailed down your side, the sharp edge of his claws leaving ghostly trails that tingled with a mix of anticipation and pleasure. He shifted slightly, his lips abandoning one nipple to lavish attention on the other, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you gasp against his palm.

“Such sweet sounds,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a deep, sinful growl that left you trembling. “I want to hear every single one.”

He claimed you fully then, his movements powerful and relentless as he pushed you to your limits and beyond. The roughness of his touch, the possessiveness in every kiss and thrust, sent you spiraling into a state of pure bliss. He was consuming, overwhelming, but it was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When it was over, you were both breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together on the floor. His claws traced lazy circles on your skin, the sharp tips surprisingly gentle now.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left no room for argument.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Yours,” you whispered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.

“I need to take you fully,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, though his burning gaze made it clear his control was hanging by a thread. His golden eyes bore into yours, aflame with desire and something deeper—possessiveness, perhaps, or the primal need to claim you completely. His hot breath fanned across your face, each exhale like a spark threatening to ignite you from within.

You swallowed hard, your body trembling beneath him as you nodded, unable to form words. He stood, towering over you even in his "smallest" form, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open made your heart skip. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, his claws brushing lightly against his skin as he stroked himself. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he smeared the slick arousal you’d already left on him along his length. The sight of it was utterly mesmerizing.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice a rumble of raw need. His eyes darted to your smaller frame beneath him, the contrast between your softness and his powerful figure making his jaw tighten. Your body trembled under his intense scrutiny, and the way you shuddered only seemed to spur him on.

“You’ll take all of me,” he promised darkly, his lips pulling into a feral smirk before he positioned himself at your entrance. Slowly, he began to press in, the stretch almost overwhelming as he filled you inch by inch. The thickness of him made your breath hitch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate him.

When he was fully seated inside you, he let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward as if savoring the way your body gripped him so tightly. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice laced with awe and lust. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

He started to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, his pace building with every stroke. The wet, sinful sounds of your body meeting his filled the den, mingling with the guttural sounds he made as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his rough movements perfectly hitting every sensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with pride as he watched your body arch beneath him, your moans spilling out freely. “Taking me so well—every inch of me.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, claws digging in just enough to leave marks as he pulled you into each thrust. His pace quickened, his breathing harsh and uneven, a symphony of raw need that filled the space around you.

Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you harder, the force of it making your head spin. The pressure building inside you was unbearable, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He growled your name, the sound reverberating through the air as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he thrust even harder, his control finally snapping. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure and submission. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in him, his movements becoming even more relentless. His growls deepened, and the way he pounded into you left you utterly breathless. Every nerve in your body was aflame, and as you reached your peak, the intensity of it shattered you completely, your cries echoing through the den.

Moments later, he followed, his movements faltering as he let out a deep, primal groan. You felt him shudder above you, his body rigid as he spilled into you, marking you in a way that felt both physical and otherworldly.

For a moment, the only sounds were the two of you catching your breath, the heat of his body still pressed against yours. He leaned down, brushing a surprisingly tender kiss against your forehead, a stark contrast to the ferocity he’d shown moments before.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, almost as if reassuring himself.

And as you lay there in his arms, thoroughly claimed and utterly sated, you knew he was right. You were his. And you didn’t want it any other way.

Saw no one making shit about him so here I am your savior. Damn y'all.

💫

Masterlist

[aspenmissing]

Hiii,I love love your arcane headcanons!!!I’m your fan!!!!

I’d like to read some headcanons about reader that got into fight and how different arcane characters would react.Maybe some aftercare,yk?))

Thanks if you notice ^•-•^~

ʜᴇʀ ꜰɪꜱᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 6977 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ!! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

The streets of Piltover were supposed to be safe. Orderly. Civilized.

Yet here you were, standing in a dimly lit alleyway just off the main thoroughfare, knuckles aching, a fresh cut on your lip, and the taste of blood on your tongue.

The scent of damp stone and steam filled the air, the distant hum of Hextech-powered streetlamps casting elongated shadows against the brick walls. Piltover’s golden elegance rarely reached places like this—alleyways that served as the hidden veins of the city, where the respectable and the wretched sometimes crossed paths.

And right now, you were dealing with the latter.

=

The man in front of you—scruffy, lean, his coat torn at the edges—staggered slightly. His nose was already crooked from your first punch, and his lip bled from where your knuckles had connected. Yet, despite his battered state, he still had the audacity to smirk.

"You've got a mean right hook, sweetheart," he drawled, wiping blood from his mouth. "But you don't belong here. Run back to your fancy little Council boyfriend before you get hurt."

Your fingers curled into fists again. You hadn't gone looking for a fight tonight, but the moment this bastard opened his mouth about Jayce—mocking his seat on the Council, calling him a spineless sellout—you saw red.

Jayce had worked tirelessly to bring progress to Piltover. He wasn’t perfect, but he had more integrity than any of those pompous bureaucrats in their ivory towers. And you weren’t about to let some bitter, gutter-rat spread lies about him.

"Big words for someone who can't even stand straight," you taunted, wiping at the blood on your split lip with the back of your hand.

The man’s sneer twisted into something darker. With a growl, he lunged.

You sidestepped, your foot sweeping beneath his, sending him sprawling to the cobblestone ground. Before you could capitalize on his disadvantage, a sharp tug at your collar yanked you backward.

You barely had time to register the second attacker—a bulkier man with a rough beard—before he slammed you against the alley wall. The bricks bit into your spine, pain rippling through you, but you gritted your teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing you cry out.

"Feisty little thing," he sneered, his breath reeking of cheap liquor. His grip tightened on your collar, twisting the fabric.

You spat in his face.

The instant your saliva hit his cheek, his expression twisted with fury. He raised a fist—

Bad move.

Before he could bring it down, you twisted sharply, using the momentum to break free. The moment your feet hit the ground, you drove your elbow into his ribs, followed by a swift kick to his knee. He yelped, collapsing onto one leg.

But his friend was already scrambling to his feet.

They weren’t skilled fighters—just brawlers looking for trouble—but two against one was never an easy fight. You barely had time to react before the first man was swinging again, his fist clipping your shoulder. You hissed at the pain but retaliated immediately, driving a hard punch into his side.

"Enough!"

=

The voice was thunderous, cutting through the fight like a blade.

You barely had time to register the sound of heavy boots against the cobblestone before a figure stepped between you and the men. A flash of gold and blue. The unmistakable hum of Hextech energy crackling in the air.

Jayce.

Your breath hitched as he stood in front of you, his broad frame tense with barely restrained fury. His Hextech gauntlet whirred softly, arcs of blue energy pulsing through the intricate metalwork as he glared down at your attackers.

The bulky man still on his knees went rigid, while the other took a shaky step backward. They weren’t stupid—Jayce Talis wasn’t just a politician. He was a warrior, a man who had built his name with his own two hands. And right now, he looked ready to tear them apart.

Jayce took a step forward. Just one.

The first man flinched. The second bolted, scrambling toward the main street like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. His friend followed soon after, stumbling as he vanished into the shadows.

Silence settled over the alley.

Jayce turned, his gaze raking over you from head to toe, his jaw tight. You expected anger, maybe frustration—but what you saw instead was something raw. Something worried.

“Y/N…” His voice was softer now, his hands reaching out, hovering just above your arms before settling on your shoulders. “Are you okay?”

The adrenaline started to fade, leaving behind only aching muscles and exhaustion. You let out a breath, wincing slightly as you shifted. “I’ve had worse.”

Jayce didn’t laugh. His fingers brushed against your split lip, his brows furrowing deeply. “Damn it,” he muttered. “What were you thinking?”

You exhaled through your nose. “He was talking about you. Calling you a sellout. I wasn’t gonna let him get away with that.”

Jayce let out a slow, measured breath, closing his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, his frustration was still there, but it was softened by something else—something warmer. Something fond.

“You are so damn stubborn.” He shook his head, his thumb brushing your cheek. “You can’t just go picking fights in dark alleys because someone runs their mouth.”

You arched a brow. “I wasn’t picking a fight. I was finishing one.”

That did it—Jayce huffed a short laugh despite himself. But then he sighed again, his forehead resting against yours. “I love that you care about me, but next time…” His fingers tightened slightly. “Let me be the one protecting you for once, alright?”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

Jayce groaned. “Y/N.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, chuckling. “Next time, I’ll let you throw the first punch.”

He shook his head, amusement flickering behind the exasperation. Then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms locking around you as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“You scared me,” he murmured into your hair.

You softened, your arms wrapping around him in return. “I’m okay, Jayce.”

He pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

His arm stayed firmly around your waist as he led you back toward the glowing streets of Piltover, away from the dark alleys and the violence left behind—back to where he could keep you safe, where you both belonged.

VIKTOR

The streets of Piltover were never quiet, even at night. The soft hum of Hextech lamps bathed the cobbled roads in an eerie blue glow, flickering where the city’s wealth had begun to crack. Y/N wiped the blood from her cheek with the back of her hand, wincing as she made her way up the steps to the Academy. She had won the fight—barely. Her ribs ached, knuckles were scraped raw, and she could already feel the bruises blossoming under her clothes.

The bastards deserved it.

It had started at a tavern in the Lower City, a place she had no business being, according to Viktor. But when she overheard a group of men talking about how the Academy was hoarding Hextech advancements, keeping them away from the people who needed them most, she couldn't just sit there and listen.

"Piltover's golden scholars, building miracles while the rest of us rot," one of them had sneered, slamming back a mug of ale.

She could have ignored it—should have—but when they started slandering Viktor, mocking the way he walked, the way he obsessed over his work, the way "a cripple shouldn't be trusted with progress"—she saw red.

Her chair scraped against the floor as she stood. "Say that again," she challenged, voice calm, measured.

The biggest one—probably the ringleader—laughed and turned to face her, towering over her with the confidence of a man who had never lost a fight. "I said—"

His words never finished. She slammed her fist into his jaw, sending him stumbling into the table behind him. The tavern erupted into chaos.

Two of his friends jumped in. One tried to grab her from behind, his thick arms locking around her waist, but she stomped down hard on his foot and wrenched herself free. She twisted, driving an elbow into his ribs. Another one lunged at her. She ducked under his swing and drove her knee into his gut. He doubled over, gasping, just in time for her to send him sprawling with a solid right hook.

A punch to her side made her stumble, pain exploding in her ribs. She barely had time to recover before the ringleader came back for revenge, rage written all over his face. He swung, a clumsy, telegraphed blow fuelled by drunken anger. She dodged, then landed a brutal uppercut to his chin.

Blood sprayed. He hit the ground with a dull thud, unconscious.

The tavern fell into stunned silence, the few remaining patrons watching her with wide eyes. She wiped the blood from her split lip, ignoring the sting, and turned on her heel, stepping over the groaning bodies of her defeated opponents.

She won.

=

The walk back to the Academy was longer than she remembered, every step sending a fresh wave of pain through her body. But she knew where she wanted to be.

Viktor’s lab was a sanctuary of light and invention, the scent of oil and ozone thick in the air. The rhythmic clinking of metal told her he was still working, utterly absorbed in whatever project had captured his mind tonight.

She pushed open the door and winced as the brightness made her squint.

"Vik," she called, her voice hoarse.

The sound of his cane tapping against the floor was immediate. "You are back—" Viktor turned to face her, his amber eyes widening as he took in the sight of her. His expression darkened, lips parting in a sharp inhale.

"Y/N." His voice dropped into something dangerously quiet. "What happened?"

She shrugged, stepping inside fully. "Had a disagreement."

Viktor set down his tools with slow, deliberate care. "A disagreement?" His eyes scanned every bruise, every cut. His fingers ghosted over her split lip before he sighed, tilting her chin up slightly to inspect the damage. "You fought someone."

"They started it."

"You finished it," he muttered, shaking his head.

She smirked. "Obviously."

Viktor let out a sharp breath, rubbing his temple. "Y/N..." He rarely used that tone with her—low, edged with quiet frustration and something deeper.

Without another word, he turned and retrieved a small metal tin from one of his shelves, pulling out a cloth and a vial of antiseptic. He sat on the stool beside her, his grip careful, mindful of her bruised wrist as he guided her to sit.

"You are reckless," he murmured, dabbing at the cut on her cheek.

She winced. "Ow."

"Good. Maybe you will remember it next time before you throw yourself into a fight."

She scoffed. "They were talking shit about you."

Viktor froze for a moment. Then, his grip tightened ever so slightly before he resumed his work. "I do not care what they say about me."

"Well, I do."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but there was no real anger there. Only something softer. More careful. "You are impossible."

"That's why you love me," she teased.

Viktor didn't respond immediately. Instead, he finished tending to her wounds with practiced precision. He worked in silence, his fingers gentle as they brushed over her knuckles, lingering just a fraction too long.

Only when he was satisfied did he lean in slightly, his eyes searching hers. "I do," he admitted softly.

Her breath hitched slightly. Viktor rarely said things so plainly.

Then, with a smirk of his own, he added, "But next time, perhaps try not to start a brawl in a tavern, Ano?" (Yes)

She grinned, despite the ache in her face. "No promises."

Viktor sighed, but the corners of his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face before pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.

"Then I suppose I will always have my work cut out for me," he murmured.

She leaned into him, letting herself rest for just a moment.

"Yeah," she whispered. "You will."

JAYVIK

The streets of Piltover were alive with the usual hum of industry, the scent of metal and oil clinging to the air. The golden afternoon light gleamed against the polished brass of street lamps and the intricate latticework of the city’s architecture. Y/N walked between Viktor and Jayce, their usual trio dynamic at play—Jayce animatedly discussing some new Hextech breakthrough while Viktor interjected with sharp-witted corrections, a smirk tugging at his lips as he did so.

Y/N wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation, more lost in the comfort of their presence, the way Viktor’s voice dipped into a teasing lilt when he corrected Jayce, the way Jayce rolled his eyes but still grinned at the challenge. It was familiar. It was theirs.

Until the voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Tch. Didn’t think the golden boy would stoop so low—walking around with a cripple and his lapdog."

The insult wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t even the usual underhanded jabs that Viktor received from the more snobbish sectors of Piltover. No, this was deliberate. Sharp-edged and meant to wound.

Y/N barely registered the man—some self-important merchant dressed in expensive silks, his face permanently twisted in the kind of arrogance that came from old Piltover money. The scent of cologne barely masked the stench of entitlement.

Jayce let out a long sigh, shoulders tensing, his jaw clenching briefly before he forced himself to loosen up. He was used to it. Viktor, too. The scientist merely scoffed under his breath, as if the insult wasn’t even worth his time.

But Y/N?

She saw red.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Jayce barely had time to react before Y/N slammed her fist into the man’s face.

The crack echoed down the cobbled street, loud enough to startle the onlookers who had been watching with mild amusement. The merchant staggered back, hands flying to his face as blood immediately spurted from his now-broken nose. His once-arrogant expression twisted into one of pure shock.

“You fucking—!” he sputtered, but before he could even think about retaliation, Y/N was already on him again.

Her knuckles collided with his gut, driving the air from his lungs in a sharp wheeze. He barely had time to double over before she grabbed his collar and yanked him down, slamming her knee into his face with enough force to send him sprawling onto the ground.

There were gasps. Someone murmured about the Enforcers. Others merely watched in stunned silence.

The man tried to retaliate, swinging wildly in her direction, but Y/N was already three steps ahead. She dodged effortlessly, then slammed her elbow into his jaw, making his head snap to the side with another sickening crack.

She should have stopped.

She couldn’t.

Not when she could still hear his voice sneering at Viktor, at Jayce. Like Viktor wasn’t a genius beyond comprehension, like Jayce hadn’t bled for this city. Like they weren’t everything to her.

Her fist cocked back, intent on shattering what was left of his arrogant, self-important face—

But suddenly— Her feet left the ground.

A yelp of frustration left her lips as strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her clean off the street.

"Alright, that’s enough, tiger," came Jayce’s too amused voice, though there was an unmistakable edge of authority in it.

"Put me down!" Y/N snapped, thrashing, but he only hoisted her higher, adjusting her until she was slung over his broad shoulder like she weighed nothing.

"Yeah, not happening," Jayce chuckled, though there was tension in his grip. "You’re making a scene."

She could see Viktor now, calmly watching the entire display from where he stood, leaning slightly on his cane. His golden eyes flickered between the groaning, barely-conscious merchant and Y/N, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He lifted his cane, tapping it lightly against the ground.

"Hm," he mused. "An impressive display. Not entirely necessary, but effective."

“Are you serious right now?” Y/N growled, still struggling as Jayce carried her effortlessly down the street.

Jayce sighed dramatically. “Vik, can you at least pretend to be mad?”

Viktor tilted his head, considering. “Well, I did plan to let him wallow in his own ignorance rather than in a pool of his own blood.”

Y/N huffed, crossing her arms as she gave up trying to pry herself free. "He deserved it."

Jayce chuckled, adjusting his grip to keep her from slipping. “I won’t argue with that, sweetheart. But let’s try not to get arrested today, yeah?"

A low chuckle came from Viktor, warm and laced with something dangerously close to admiration.

"Though," he added with a smirk, "I must admit, it was rather… attractive."

Y/N’s face burned.

Jayce groaned. "Great. Now she’s gonna fight even more people."

Viktor smirked. "Perhaps."

=

By the time they made it back to their shared apartment, the adrenaline had begun to fade, leaving behind a dull ache in Y/N’s knuckles.

Jayce had finally set her down, but not before grumbling about how much of a menace she was. Viktor, on the other hand, had been quiet—watching her with that careful gaze, his fingers occasionally tapping against his cane as if lost in thought.

The apartment was dimly lit, the warm glow of the fireplace flickering over the exposed brick walls and the cluttered workbenches scattered with blueprints and half-finished projects. It smelled of oil, parchment, and home.

“Sit,” Viktor finally said, gesturing toward the couch. His voice was softer now, lacking its usual teasing edge.

“I’m fine,” Y/N muttered, flexing her fingers. A mistake. The second she moved, a sharp sting lanced through her knuckles, making her bite the inside of her cheek.

Jayce scoffed from the small kitchenette, where he was already rummaging through a drawer. “Yeah, and I’m Noxian royalty. Sit down.”

Reluctantly, she did, sinking into the plush cushions. Viktor settled beside her, the worn wood of his cane resting against his leg. He reached out, his fingers featherlight as he turned her hand over, inspecting the split skin with a mix of fond exasperation and concern.

His touch was cool, a contrast to the warmth still burning under her skin.

“…You shouldn’t hit with your bare knuckles like that,” he murmured, running a thumb gently over the bruising. His voice dipped into something thoughtful, almost amused. “You’ll break your hand before you break their jaw.”

Y/N smirked, despite the throb in her fingers. “Then I’ll learn how to throw a stronger punch.”

Viktor let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Jayce returned from the kitchen, a damp cloth in one hand and a small metal tin of salve in the other. He didn’t say anything. Just knelt in front of her, took her injured hand in his own larger, calloused one, and pressed the cool cloth against her bruised knuckles.

Y/N flinched, hissing through her teeth.

“Hold still,” Jayce muttered, gently dabbing at the dried blood. There was no real bite to his words—just concern.

“I told you, I’m fine,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jayce drawled, still carefully cleaning her hand. “Just let us take care of you for a second, alright?”

Y/N blinked.

Something about the way he said it made her stomach twist—not in discomfort, but in that deep, unspoken kind of warmth that settled in her chest whenever she looked at them.

Viktor reached for the tin of salve, opening it with a quiet scrape of metal. He dipped his fingers inside, then began applying it to her knuckles in slow, gentle circles.

“We appreciate the sentiment, really,” he murmured, his golden eyes flicking up to meet hers. “But you don’t need to fight our battles, Y/N.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

Jayce leaned against the couch beside her, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

"Do you?"

She swallowed.

She did know Viktor and Jayce could handle themselves. She knew they were more than capable of ignoring the cruelty of people like that merchant. But she couldn’t.

Because she had spent too long watching people like them underestimate Viktor, dismiss Jayce’s efforts, mock the brilliance of two men who had given everything to this city.

Viktor must have seen something in her expression, because his hand paused on hers, his thumb stilling against her skin.

His golden eyes softened, and his voice dipped into something quieter.

“…We love you for it, you know,” he murmured, finishing the last wrap of the bandage. “For caring that much.”

Jayce nodded, his usual cocky grin gone, replaced with something gentler.

“Just… don’t get yourself hurt, okay?” he added, nudging her knee with his own.

Y/N exhaled, glancing between them. The fight had left her buzzing, but this? The warmth of their hands, the softness of their words—this was grounding. She let herself relax, just a little.

“Alright,” she murmured. "I'll be more careful next time."

Jayce snorted, shaking his head. “Oh, there’s gonna be a next time?”

Viktor smirked, tying off the bandage with a deliberate slowness. “…I’m quite sure of it.”

Y/N grinned. Yeah. She wouldn’t stop fighting for them.But at least she’d let them take care of her after.

VANDER

The Last Drop was bustling with the usual crowd—tough faces nursing their drinks, smugglers whispering deals in dark corners, and a handful of bruisers keeping watch for any trouble. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and the low hum of conversations layered over the occasional clang of mugs meeting wood. You sat at the bar, leaning comfortably against Vander’s broad frame, your fingers lazily tracing the rim of your drink as you spoke.

Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor were gathered close, their eager expressions making it clear they were hanging on to every word of your latest story.

"—and that's when I knocked the guy flat on his ass," you finished, lips curling into a smirk as you took a sip of your drink.

Vi practically vibrated with excitement, fists clenched in anticipation. "You gotta teach me that move!" she exclaimed, her freckled face lit up like she’d just been handed a treasure map.

Vander chuckled, the deep rumble of his voice cutting through the noise around you as he rested a firm, grounding hand on her shoulder. "Maybe when you're a little older," he said, his tone warm but edged with a fatherly finality.

Vi frowned but didn’t argue, though the fire in her eyes didn’t dim.

"Yeah, but when they are, they are," Mylo muttered, rolling his eyes as he took a swig of whatever watered-down drink he’d managed to snag.

Vander’s sharp gaze flicked to him, and Mylo immediately looked away, pretending to be very interested in the state of his boots.

You chuckled, reaching out to ruffle Powder’s hair as she leaned against you, her small frame almost vibrating with the same excitement as Vi. Just as the warmth of the moment settled in, a loud crash from the entrance shattered the cozy atmosphere like glass against stone.

Heads turned as a lanky, mean-looking thug staggered into the bar, his boots dragging heavily against the floorboards. His greasy hair hung in damp strands over a face twisted with fury, his nose bloody, and his lower lip split open. One of his hands clutched his jaw as though trying to hold it together, but his narrowed eyes locked onto you with unmistakable rage.

"You bitch," he spat, his voice thick with anger and the slur of someone whose pride had been bruised far more than his face. "You broke my damn tooth!"

The room tensed like a coiled spring.

Vander’s expression darkened, his broad frame subtly shifting as he placed himself just slightly ahead of the kids—a protective instinct honed over years of looking after them.

But you? You barely reacted. Exhaling through your nose, you leaned on the bar as if you had all the time in the world, your fingers drumming lazily against the wood. Unbothered. Unshaken.

"You shouldn't have tried to grab that girl in the market," you said evenly, your voice calm, but carrying an edge sharp enough to slice through his bravado.

Vi’s eyes widened slightly, flicking between you and the man, the gears in her mind turning fast.

"You made me look weak!" the thug barked, his face twisting as his pride bled through his rage. "In front of my crew!"

"You made yourself look weak," you corrected, standing up from your seat with an unhurried grace. "Attacking someone smaller than you? That’s not strength. That’s cowardice."

A low murmur rippled through the bar—agreement, amusement, anticipation.

The thug snapped.

With a furious growl, he lunged at you, fists swinging wild and reckless.

Everything happened in a blur.

You sidestepped effortlessly, your movement fluid as water, and before he even realized he’d missed, you hooked your foot around his ankle. The moment his balance faltered, you struck—grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him forward. He hit the floor with a dull thud, his breath escaping in a painful wheeze.

The bar erupted into hushed gasps and scattered cheers, but you weren’t done yet.

Before he could recover, you crouched down and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him up just enough to drive your elbow hard into his gut. The impact sent a sharp gasp from his lips, spittle flying as his body curled inward in pain.

"You wanna fight?" you asked, your voice as smooth as silk but laced with quiet menace. "Pick on someone who hits back."

The thug wheezed, his eyes squeezing shut in pain before he snarled and threw a desperate punch.

Sloppy. Predictable.

You caught his wrist with ease, twisting it sharply enough to force him onto his knees with a strangled yelp. His body jerked under your grip, his free hand scrabbling at your arm, but you didn’t let up, twisting just enough to make sure he understood exactly how much control you had.

The entire bar watched in stunned silence.

Then, with a wicked smirk, you released him.

"Now get out," you ordered, your voice low but carrying through the room like a judge’s verdict.

He scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with pain and humiliation. Muttering curses under his breath, he stumbled toward the door, his pride more broken than his body.

Only then did the noise return to the bar—whispers, murmurs of admiration, and a few low whistles of appreciation.

And then—

"Holy shit," Vi breathed, her eyes wide with something you recognized all too well—pure, undiluted awe.

"You were so fast!" Powder gasped, bouncing on her toes, her blue eyes practically glowing with admiration. "Can you teach me that?! Please?!"

Mylo, for once in his life, was speechless. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, before he finally just nodded in agreement with Powder.

Claggor let out a low whistle, shaking his head with a grin. "That was somethin’ else."

Vander, however, wasn’t impressed in the way the kids were.

He stood with his arms crossed, his jaw set in that way that told you—without a single word—that he was not happy.

"Y/N," he said, his voice level but firm. "A word?"

You exhaled through your nose, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly as you gave the kids a glance before nodding. Vander led you toward the back, and the moment the door shut behind you, the shift in his energy was subtle, but unmistakable—concern woven deep beneath the frustration.

"You alright?" he asked first, his sharp eyes scanning you like he expected to find an injury you hadn’t mentioned.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you assured him, though you could see in his expression that it didn’t ease his worry.

Vander exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his beard. "You could’ve let it go."

Your brows lifted slightly. "You really think that?"

Vander sighed, shaking his head. "No. But fighting in front of the kids—Vi especially—you know what that does? It makes her think solving everything with her fists is the way."

You folded your arms, your gaze steady. "That guy attacked me. You wanted me to let him get away with it?"

"Of course not," he said, stepping closer, his hands settling firmly on your shoulders. The warmth of his touch was grounding. "But you know how Vi is. She looks up to you. " his voice softened just a fraction—"I just don't want her getting hurt is all."

Your anger deflated slightly, because—damn it—he was right.

"I’ll talk to her," you muttered.

Vander gave a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering just a second longer than necessary. "That’s all I ask, love."

When you walked back out, Vi was still looking at you like you’d just walked out of a legend.

"So," she said, grinning from ear to ear. "When’s my first lesson?"

You sighed. Vander groaned. And Powder? She just cheered.

SILCO

The Undercity was no stranger to violence. Blood spilled over petty squabbles, territorial disputes, or just sheer desperation. You knew this well—you had lived it, breathed it, fought in it.

Tonight was no different.

The air inside The Last Drop was thick with smoke and sweat, the usual murmur of hushed conversations and drunken laughter filling the space. You had come to relax, to wind down after a long day, but fate had other plans.

“Oi, watch it,” a gruff voice sneered as a heavy shoulder knocked into yours, nearly making you spill your drink.

You turned slowly, taking in the broad-shouldered thug who had dared to cross you. His sneer widened when he saw your face, recognition flickering in his dull eyes—but he underestimated you.

“You’ve been running your mouth, sweetheart,” he continued, cracking his knuckles. “Heard you’ve been gettin’ a little too close to power.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass. So that’s what this was about. A power struggle. A warning.

They didn’t know you were Silco’s lover.

And even if they had, it wouldn’t have stopped them. People always thought power could be taken if you just spilled enough blood.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips as you set your drink down. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

The first punch came fast, but you were faster. Ducking, you slammed your fist into his gut, feeling the satisfying crunch of ribs beneath your knuckles. His friend lunged at you from behind, but you twisted, kicking a chair into his shins and sending him sprawling.

The room exploded into chaos.

Fists flew, bottles shattered, tables overturned. You moved like a ghost in the storm—dodging, striking, evading. The leader of the thugs managed to grab you by the collar, yanking you forward to land a brutal hit to your side. Pain flared, but you gritted your teeth and retaliated, elbowing him across the jaw.

By the time you stood over his body, breath heaving, knuckles bleeding, the rest of the bar had fallen into a hush. A few men groaned on the ground, others scrambled to get out of your way. You wiped your lip, tasting copper.

And then you heard it.

A slow, deliberate clap.

Your stomach twisted—not in fear, but in something deeper, something more dangerous.

Silco stood at the entrance, one hand in his coat pocket, the other lazily applauding as he strode forward. His mismatched gaze flickered between the unconscious men and your bruised form, a slow smirk curling at his lips.

“Impressive,” he murmured, voice like silk laced with amusement. “Though I do wonder why I wasn’t invited to the show.”

The remaining thugs scrambled away at the mere sight of him, leaving you standing alone in the aftermath.

“You should have told me you were coming,” you teased, wiping blood from your knuckles.

Silco sighed, stepping closer until his fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face up to inspect the damage. His touch was deceptively gentle, his sharp eyes tracing each bruise with something unreadable—concern masked behind indifference.

Then, in one fluid motion, he drew his pistol.

The metallic click of the hammer being pulled back echoed through the hushed room.

“Silco—”

Your voice didn’t stop him. He pressed the cold barrel against the thug’s temple, his grip steady, unshaken. The man, now barely conscious, groaned weakly as he felt the impending threat of death.

“I believe I made myself clear,” Silco said smoothly, his finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t take kindly to those who try to harm what belongs to me.”

The man whimpered, fear flooding his eyes.

You stepped forward, placing a hand over Silco’s wrist. Not forceful—just enough. Your touch, where others would have trembled, was sure.

“He didn’t know,” you murmured, your gaze locked with Silco’s. “Killing him now? It’s a waste.”

His mismatched eyes flicked to you, searching, calculating. “Is it?”

You smiled then, slow and deliberate. Not pleading—commanding. “He’ll be more useful alive, don’t you think? He’ll remember tonight, and he’ll spread the word. That will do far more damage than a corpse rotting in the gutters.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, with an exhale that sounded almost amused, Silco lowered the gun. The thug gasped in relief, trembling.

You crouched in front of him, gripping his bloodied jaw and forcing him to look at you. His fear was palpable, his breath ragged.

“Next time, pick your fights more carefully,” you murmured, voice like velvet over a blade. “Because if you ever cross me again, Silco won’t need to put a bullet in you.”

You smiled, running your thumb over his chin almost mockingly.

“I’ll do it myself.”

The man nodded frantically, scrambling backward the moment you let him go.

Silco watched you for a long moment before chuckling under his breath. “A show of mercy… or a display of power?”

You stood, dusting off your hands. “Both.”

His smirk widened, pride flickering in his gaze as he tucked the pistol back into his coat. He extended his arm to you, as if the moment of violence had never occurred.

“Come, my dear,” he said smoothly. “I believe I owe you a drink.”

And just like that, the fight was over. But the power?

That was yours to wield.

SEVIKA

The dim glow of Zaun’s neon lights flickered above, casting long shadows through the damp alleyway. The air was thick with the scent of metal and smoke, a pungent mix that clung to the underground city like an old wound. The Sludge Rats, a gang of lowlifes trying to make a name for themselves, had picked the wrong day to piss you off.

The fight had started—like most of your fights did—with a smart mouth and a bad attitude.

“Didn’t know Sevika kept a little pet,” one of them sneered, the group laughing like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

You didn’t wait for another word. Fist met face. A satisfying crunch. Blood sprayed across the damp pavement as you knocked the guy flat on his ass.

The others jumped in fast. You were outnumbered, but that never stopped you before. Five against one? Sounds about fair.

Your heart pounded with adrenaline as you weaved between blows, every movement precise, every hit calculated. One punch to the gut. A knee to the ribs. A solid hook to the jaw. You felt the satisfying give of flesh against your knuckles, the sharp intake of breath from someone who had underestimated you.

A knife glinted under the dim light—too slow. You grabbed the wrist before it could reach you, twisted until you felt the sickening pop of bone, and slammed your forehead into the guy’s nose. He howled in pain as blood poured from his nostrils, and you shoved him backward, sending him crashing against the alley wall.

You should have stopped there. But you never knew when to quit.

Another came at you, fists swinging wildly. You dodged one, two—then a sudden sharp burn sliced across your side.

Your body reacted faster than your mind. A kick to his knee. A grab. A slam. The bastard crumpled at your feet, groaning in agony.

The world slowed for a moment as you exhaled through the pain. Blood seeped into the fabric of your shirt, warm against your skin. Another fight. Another scar.

Breathing heavy, you wiped the blood—yours and theirs—off your lip with the back of your hand. You stood there, triumphant, waiting to see if any of them had the guts to get up again. None did.

And then—a voice. Low, sharp, and unmistakably pissed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You turned, wiping the sweat from your brow. Sevika.

She stood at the entrance of the alley, her bionic arm gleaming under the neon glow, her expression dark with barely restrained anger. Her usual scowl was deeper now, eyes flicking from your face to your side where blood had started to soak into your shirt.

Shit.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, Sevika was on you. Her grip was firm but careful, like she was resisting the urge to shake some sense into you.

“You just got over your last fight,” she muttered, pulling your shirt up just enough to examine the wound. Her fingers traced the torn fabric, her jaw tightening at the sight of fresh blood. “And now this?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a scratch.”

Her glare shut you up fast.

“Do you have any idea how fucking tired I am of this?” Sevika’s voice was low, but there was a rough edge to it—an exhaustion deeper than anger. “Every damn time I turn around, you’re either bleeding, bruised, or pissing off someone who could kill you.”

“I can handle myself,” you shot back, though you knew that wasn’t the point.

Sevika’s nostrils flared, her bionic fingers flexing before she let out a slow, measured breath. “You shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

That stopped you.

The words hit harder than any punch. You weren’t afraid of fights, but this—the way Sevika looked at you, like you were something fragile in her hands despite all your scars—this scared you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant hum of Zaun’s underbelly filled the space between you.

Then, Sevika let out a frustrated sigh, stepping closer. Her forehead pressed against yours, the tension melting from her shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she muttered, voice quieter now.

You exhaled, closing your eyes for a second before leaning into her. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered back.

She didn’t look convinced. Her fingers, rough and calloused from years of battle, brushed against your cheek, lingering there like she was committing you to memory. “You say that like it’s up to you.”

You swallowed hard. She had a point. In a city like Zaun, survival wasn’t promised.

Sevika let out a slow breath, then stepped back. Her hand curled around your wrist, firm and unwavering.

“Come on.”

You frowned. “Where?”

“To get you patched up before you bleed out all over this alley."

You chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sevika shot you a look, but there was something softer in her eyes now, something almost fond.

She started walking, pulling you along without another word. You followed—because no matter how many fights you picked, no matter how many times you ended up bruised and bloodied, you knew you had somewhere to go back to.

You had her.

=

The walk back was mostly silent, save for the hum of neon signs and the occasional groan from you when the cut throbbed too much. Sevika didn’t let go of your wrist the whole way.

When you finally made it back to her place, she wasted no time, forcing you onto a chair while she grabbed bandages and a rag.

“Shirt off.”

You smirked. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Sevika gave you a flat look before yanking the fabric over your head herself. The cool air hit your exposed skin, making you shiver slightly, but the warmth of her fingers brushing against your ribs more than made up for it.

She cleaned the wound in silence, jaw clenched, brows furrowed. Her touch was gentle despite her obvious irritation. You watched her. The way she concentrated. The way her shoulders tensed like she was holding something back.

After a long moment, she finally spoke. “You can’t keep doing this.”

Your smirk faded. “Sev—”

“No,” she cut you off, looking up at you now. “You think you’re untouchable, but one day, you’re gonna pick a fight you can’t win. And then what?”

You had no answer for that.

She sighed and pressed a bandage over the wound before cupping your jaw in her hand. “You scare the shit out of me, you know that?”

Your chest tightened. Sevika didn’t do soft. She didn’t do vulnerable. So hearing her say that? It hit deeper than any blade ever could.

Slowly, you reached up, fingers brushing against hers. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “You’re damn right you are.”

You chuckled, even as warmth spread through your chest. Maybe, just this once, you’d try not to fight the next idiot who opened their mouth. Maybe.

But knowing you? Probably not.

[wendichester]

Omg, i Love your stories!! I have been reading them everyday before i go to sleep 💞💞 Could i make a request for a story inspired by sabrinas Carpenters song 'Skin' with dean or sam please??? 💞💞💞

.ೃ࿔* skin,

summary. things got messy with dean and now he's trying to get under your skin.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. bitchy toxic angst

wordcount. 1429

notes / warnings. sabrina is the biggest queen! i so love her songs. thank you for requesting and for the support sweets 🩷🩷

♬⋆.˚ now playing. skin by sabrina carpenter

You didn’t mean to be here. Not really. Harvelle’s was supposed to be a pitstop, a place to stretch your legs and grab a drink before heading back out.

But you should’ve known he’d be here.

Dean Winchester—tall, golden, and still full of the kind of anger that only comes from watching someone you never really had move on.

You spot him before he sees you. Leaning against the bar like it owes him something, a whiskey in hand, tongue tucked in his cheek like he’s waiting to punch someone. His eyes flick toward your laugh before the sound even finishes.

And that’s when you know he’s already noticed who you’re with.

The guy beside you is harmless. Nice enough. Handsome in a safe kind of way. He touches your waist too gently and laughs a little too loud. But he doesn’t come with heartbreak in the shape of leather jackets and green eyes.

Dean’s eyes track the guy’s hand. Down your back. To your hip. His jaw flexes.

You smirk. Let him watch.

You don’t speak at first. Just wait until you pass behind him, fingers grazing the curve of his spine like muscle memory.

“Still drinkin’ the cheap stuff?” you murmur, lips almost brushing his ear.

He stiffens. But doesn’t turn around.

“Didn’t know you were in town,” he says. His voice is darker than you remember.

“Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t,” he lies instantly. So instantly it’s embarrassing.

You laugh—quiet, cruel. “Sure.”

Then you drift away, back to your booth, back to your date. And you let your fingers curl around your glass slow, give Dean a front-row seat to the way you smile at someone else.

It works.

You feel him before you see him. That weighty heat of Dean Winchester standing too close. A shadow at your side.

“Hey, man,” your date greets, polite and dumb.

Dean ignores him completely. “Can I borrow her for a second?”

You glance up. He’s looking at you, not asking. He’s doing that thing he always does—like the world still spins because he tells it to.

And the worst part? You let him.

You follow him into the hallway, past the jukebox, past the memories that scrape at your ribs.

He doesn’t say anything. Just slams the door to the back storage room and turns.

You lean against a shelf full of broken barstools and expired liquor. “You’re real subtle, y’know that?”

“What the hell are you doing with him?”

You smile. “Oh, that’s what this is.”

Dean’s pacing now. Running a hand through his hair like it’ll help.

“You show up lookin’ like that, hanging all over some guy, laughin’ like you’re—”

“Like I’m happy?” you cut in, sharp.

He stops. Doesn’t say it. But the silence says everything.

“You hate that, don’t you?” you whisper. “That I’m happy. That someone else is making me laugh.”

Dean takes a step closer. “He’s not me.”

You scoff. “God, thankfully.”

His jaw ticks. “You think this is over?”

“It was never real, Dean.”

That’s a lie. A poisonous, loaded lie. And you both know it.

His eyes darken, flicking down your body like a bad habit. “You’re full of shit.”

You shrug. “Maybe. But at least I’m not the one still stuck in a hallway crying about what could’ve been.”

“You think I’m crying?”

He’s on you in a second.

Mouth ghosting over your jaw. Not touching—not yet—but close enough that your breath stutters. His hand presses to the wall beside your head.

“You think he touches you like I did?” he whispers.

“Dean—”

“You still dream about me, don’t you?”

You shouldn’t answer. You shouldn’t let him win. But your silence is louder than a confession.

His lips almost touch yours. “You can try to forget me. Pretend I didn’t ruin you.”

“You didn’t ruin me,” you breathe, too soft, too honest.

“Yeah?” he whispers, dragging his knuckles down your throat. “Then why are you shaking?”

You shove him back.

Hard.

But he just laughs—low and breathless, like he likes it. Like he loves that he can still get under your skin.

“I hope she was worth it,” you snap, eyes burning.

“She wasn’t you.”

Your throat clenches.

Dean watches you with a bitter sort of awe. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me? You want me to feel bad? Baby, I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

And you hate him for it.

Because deep down, somewhere under all that anger, you haven’t stopped either.

But you square your shoulders. Tilt your head. Give him that same soft, poisonous smile from earlier.

“I’m still not yours.”

Dean leans in close, breath brushing your lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m done trying.”

Something hot and electric crackles between you like static in a storm. You should walk away. You should. But you don’t.

Because it’s Dean.

And Dean Winchester has always been your favorite bad idea.

You don’t speak.

You just grab the front of his flannel, hard, and yank him in.

Your mouths crash—messy, angry, too much and not enough all at once. It’s not sweet. There’s nothing gentle about it. Just teeth and heat and everything you’ve been pretending you don’t still feel.

Dean groans into your mouth like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide around your waist, grabbing, gripping, claiming. You can feel the desperation in the way his fingers dig into your hips. Like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

You pull him closer, mouths moving faster, hungrier. Your back hits the storage shelf with a thud. Bottles rattle. Dean doesn’t care. His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“Still taste like summer,” he growls against your lips.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Still talk like a damn cliché.”

His mouth crashes into yours again before you can finish smiling. Tongue slipping past your lips like he owns the place. Like you’re still his. And for one dangerous second—you let yourself pretend you are.

His body presses flush to yours, warm and hard and familiar. You can feel just how badly he still wants you, the tension coiled in every muscle, the way his hips roll against yours like he needs friction or he’ll die.

Your hands roam his chest, slow and teasing, just to remind yourself you still can. Just to hear the way he breathes harder when your fingers slip beneath his shirt and drag over warm skin.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters, voice low and cracked and wrecked.

You lean up, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Good.”

His breath catches. His hands slide lower, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. He moves to lift it—but that’s when you stop him.

Your hands close around his wrists, firm.

Dean freezes.

You tilt your head and look him right in the eyes. “That’s enough.”

His mouth parts, confused and flustered, cheeks flushed. “What?”

You step back, slowly, deliberately. Straighten your shirt. Smooth your hair.

“Hope you enjoyed that,” you murmur, biting down a smile. “Because it’s not happening again.”

Dean blinks, like he’s still trying to process it. “You’re serious?”

You nod. “Dead.”

The silence turns thick and ugly.

“But you—you kissed me back,” he says, voice low, almost accusing.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I did.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

You smile. Sweet. Cruel. “Closure.”

His mouth twists. “Closure doesn’t usually involve tongue.”

“Guess I’m sentimental.”

He stares at you like he’s never seen you before. Like the person in front of him is brand new and it’s killing him.

“You wanted to prove something,” you continue softly. “You wanted to show me I wasn’t over you. That one kiss would ruin everything I’ve built without you.”

Dean’s jaw tightens.

“But here’s the thing, Dean,” you whisper, stepping in close again. Just close enough for him to feel your breath. “You didn’t get under my skin. Not like you used to.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“He’s under my skin now.”

That does it.

Dean flinches like you slapped him.

And God, it feels good. Not because you want to hurt him—but because he’s been trying to break you since the moment you walked in the door. He wanted control. Wanted proof that he still owned some part of you.

But you’re not his anymore.

You walk to the door without looking back.

“Take care, Winchester.”

And just before you disappear into the hallway, you hear him mutter, low and bitter:

“Yeah. You too.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[dearlenore]

HIS OTHER GIRLFRIEND • S.REID

SUMMARY: Highschool wasn’t Spencer’s proudest year by far, let alone college where he continued getting bullied for being so intelligent for his age, still, there was one girl who showed him kindness, his first girlfriend. However, with her recent passing he begins to see things…

PAIRING: ghost!fem!reader x spencer

tags: slightly toxic relationship, obsession, schizophrenia mentions, blood mentions, manipulation, yes reader is an adult please don’t hurt me…

a/n: i usually write fluff so i wanted to write something darker, I promise it’s nothing criminal, this is based on the song sex with a ghost and Coraline a lil bit so enjoy!!

w/c: 2.1K

THE FIRST TIME you appeared, Spencer thought he was dreaming.

He’d been working late — mind spinning through pages of case files, each crime scene photo bleeding into the next. Bloodstains blurred in his vision, each detail twisting in his mind like puzzle pieces that refused to fit. He hadn’t eaten in hours, hadn’t slept much longer. His apartment felt cold, the hum of the overhead light grating against his nerves.

And then he saw you — just a flicker at first, a flash of movement near the window.

He blinked hard, assuming it was his overtired brain playing tricks. But when his vision cleared, you were still there — standing just beyond the glass, eyes wide and watching.

“…No,” he whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You couldn’t be here. You couldn’t be real.

He shot up from his desk, crossing the room in hurried strides. When he reached the window, you were gone — like smoke dissipating in the wind.

He barely slept that night.

The next time he saw you, Spencer was at work.

He’d been sitting in the bullpen, flipping through notes on a string of homicides in Nevada. The team was busy around him — Hotch pacing near the conference room, JJ whispering urgently into her phone — but Spencer barely noticed. His focus kept breaking, thoughts scattering like marbles across a tile floor.

That’s when he caught sight of you again — standing just beyond the glass doors that led to the hallway.

His heart stopped.

You stood there, half-hidden in shadow. That familiar smile — soft and crooked — tugged at the corner of your lips. For a moment, it felt like school all over again. You, sitting next to him in the library, whispering quiet jokes when no one was watching. You, pulling him aside in the hallway when his classmates left cruel notes taped to his dorm.

You’d been kind. One of the only people who had.

“Spence?”

His head snapped up.

Emily stood beside him, brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“I… yeah,” he lied, throat dry. “I’m fine.”

When he glanced back at the doors, you were gone. He almost felt… disappointed.

By the fourth time you appeared, Spencer knew he couldn’t keep ignoring it.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself one night, pacing his apartment. “This isn’t real. You’re just… stressed. Sleep-deprived.” He dragged a shaky hand through his hair. “You’re not actually seeing her.”

But then you spoke.

“You always did overthink things, didn’t you?”

He froze.

Slowly — cautiously — he turned toward his couch.

You sat there, curled up comfortably like you belonged in his apartment. The you two had always dreamed of before. Your head tilted against the cushion, that familiar glint in your eyes like you knew something he didn’t.

“You’re not real,” Spencer whispered.

You shrugged. “Real enough.”

He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, no, no…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Spence.” you said softly.

When he opened his eyes, you were still there — still smiling, still you.

Spencer didn’t tell anyone.

He couldn’t. How could he explain that the ghost of his high school crush was following him? Watching him? Speaking to him?

You lingered everywhere — in his apartment, at work, even in the passenger seat of his car during long drives. Sometimes you were quiet, watching him with a small smile like you were waiting for him to say something. Other times, you weren’t so silent.

“You’re overcomplicating this,” you murmured one night as he agonized over a file.

Spencer flinched, your sudden voice slicing through his thoughts.

“Could you not do that?” he muttered.

“Do what?” you teased, stretching out across his couch.

“Interrupt me.”

“Oh please,” you scoffed. “You’re so lost in your own head you’d forget to breathe if I wasn’t here.”

“I was doing fine before you showed up,” he shot back.

“You sure about that?”

Spencer’s jaw tightened.

“Look,” you said softly, sitting up now. “I just… I want to help.”

“You can’t help,” Spencer snapped. “Because you’re not real.”

“I’m real enough to know what you need.”

“And what’s that?”

“You need someone who understands you.”

Your voice had softened again — low, familiar, almost warm.

“You’ve been drowning in this job,” you murmured. “All these faces… all that blood…” Your hand reached toward his, fingers curling gently around his wrist. He couldn’t feel it — not really — but somehow, it still sent a chill racing down his spine.

“I know what it’s like,” you whispered. “I know how hard it gets.”

“I don’t need your help,” he said, but his voice faltered.

“You always say that,” you murmured, your gaze darkening. “But you always did need me, didn’t you?”

Spencer’s chest tightened. It wasn’t long before you became… persistent.

You lingered closer, appearing at his desk more often — your voice slipping between his thoughts like static on a radio.

“You’re not going to find him if you keep looking in the wrong places,” you chided one day, glancing at his map of crime scenes. “You’re too focused on the bodies.”

“I have to focus on the bodies,” Spencer muttered, voice low enough that no one around him could hear.

“You’re missing the pattern,” you said, your voice dancing at his ear. “You know better than that.” You slung your arms around his neck from behind, smiling kindly at him.

Spencer’s breath hitched. “What pattern?”

You laughed — sharp and knowing. “Think, Spence. You’re smarter than this.”

For hours, he scoured the files, your words crawling under his skin. And then — suddenly — it clicked.

“Hotch!” Spencer practically shouted, bolting upright. “He’s targeting bus stops — not just random locations, but stops near hospitals. He’s watching doctors and nurses.”

The entire team turned toward him in surprise, but Spencer barely noticed.

When he glanced back at his desk, you were gone.

It wasn’t until he found himself arguing with you — loudly — in an empty elevator that Spencer realized how bad things had gotten.

“Go away!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’m only trying to help you,” you shot back, your voice calm and sweet, almost understanding .

“You’re not helping!”

“Then why do you keep listening to me?”

Spencer’s breath came fast and shaky. “Because I don’t have a choice…”

“You always have a choice,” you murmured.

And suddenly, you were closer — standing just inches away, so close he could almost feel your breath against his face.

“You love me,” you whispered.

“I don’t, not anymore… I moved on” Spencer choked out.

“You do,” you insisted. “You still do, you wouldn’t leave me like that!”

His chest felt tight, his vision swimming.

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” you said sweetly, reaching for his hand. “I’m the only one who ever could.”

Spencer’s heart pounded so hard it hurt.

“You’re not real,” he murmured. “You’re not real…”

But when the elevator doors opened, you were still there — pouting like you used to when you were extra upset at him.

“Here I am working my butt off for you while you chase that blonde girl and this is the thanks I get?!”

The first few days without you felt like static — a dull hum in the back of Spencer’s mind, easy to ignore if he kept himself busy enough.

But the quiet didn’t stay quiet for long.

His apartment was colder without you. The empty space on his couch, the silence in his head — it gnawed at him. At first, he told himself it was a good thing. He needed focus. He needed to clear his mind.

But then came the mistakes.

He started showing up late to meetings, misplacing notes he swore he’d written down. His mind drifted during briefings, and even when Morgan elbowed him or JJ shot him worried glances, Spencer couldn’t pull himself together.

He told himself he just needed sleep.

But sleep never came easily without you there.

It wasn’t until the team was knee-deep in a case in Seattle that Hotch finally confronted him.

“Reid,” Hotch said sternly as they gathered in a conference room. “This is the third time you’ve mixed up victim details this week.”

“I know,” Spencer mumbled, rubbing his temples.

“You knew the details, but you still got them wrong,” Hotch pressed. “That’s not like you.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer snapped too quickly.

“You’re not,” Emily cut in, her voice softer but still firm. “We’re worried about you.”

“I said I’m fine,” Spencer barked, pushing back from the table.

“Where are you going, kid?” Morgan called after him.

“Out.”

Spencer didn’t know where he was going — only that the walls felt like they were closing in.

By the time Spencer made it back to his apartment that night, his mind was buzzing — loud and sharp.

“Where are you?” he muttered under his breath, pacing restlessly.

He checked the couch — empty. The kitchen — still cold. The corner of his bedroom where you sometimes liked to linger — nothing.

“You can’t just — just leave like this,” Spencer stammered, his voice rising. “I need you.”

The silence stretched out, sharp and unbearable.

“I said I needed space, I know,” he mumbled, his breathing quickening. “But I didn’t mean it like that. I was… I was frustrated. I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Still nothing.

Spencer’s chest tightened.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Just… just come back.”

His apartment stayed cold.

The next morning, Spencer barely made it through the briefing.

“Did you even hear a word I just said?” Hotch asked, his sharp gaze locking on Spencer.

“I… yeah,” Spencer lied.

“No, you didn’t,” Hotch said flatly. “You’ve been out of it for days.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer muttered, gripping his pen tightly.

“You’re not,” JJ said gently. “Spence, whatever’s going on… you can talk to us.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Spencer snapped, shoving his notes into his bag. “I have work to do.”

That night, when Spencer stumbled back into his apartment, you were there.

He froze in the doorway.

You sat on the arm of his couch, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Your gaze — once warm and teasing — was cold and sharp.

“You’re back,” Spencer breathed, his chest tightening with relief. “Thank God…”

“Don’t,” you said flatly.

Spencer’s face fell. “What?”

“Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care,” he insisted, stepping closer. “I’ve been losing my mind without you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you muttered bitterly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your gaze hardened. “You’ve been busy,” you said, voice cold. “Too busy to notice.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t?” you scoffed, standing up now. “You’ve been flirting with every girl who smiles at you. Coffee shop girl, the one from the bookstore, that waitress the other night… I’ve been right here, and you’ve barely even noticed.”

Spencer’s breath caught. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you cut in, voice quieter now. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it… but it still felt like you forgot about me.”

Spencer’s chest tightened, the guilt heavy and sharp.

“I could never forget you,” he said softly, taking a step closer.

You scoffed faintly, but there was no real bite behind it.

“I mean it,” Spencer pressed, stepping closer again. “I was… I was trying to forget how much I missed you.” His voice faltered for a moment. “I thought you left for good. I thought… maybe you were done with me.”

Your expression softened, a flicker of the warmth he’d been missing in your eyes.

“You’re the only person who’s ever really understood me,” Spencer said quietly. “I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to,” you murmured.

“I mean it,” Spencer promised. “I won’t — I won’t do that again.”

For a moment, you just watched him — searching his face for something, maybe to see if he really meant it before hugging him, despite the chilling touch, he felt … warm.

“I believe you,” you said softly.

Spencer exhaled, shoulders sagging with relief.

“You’re stuck with me, you know,” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips.

“That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Spencer murmured.

The next morning, Spencer walked into the bullpen feeling… normal. His head was clearer, his thoughts sharper. For the first time in weeks, he felt like himself again.

“Morning, genius,” Morgan called from across the room. “Look who’s back.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said, smiling faintly as he set his bag down.

“You seem better,” JJ added, giving him a warm smile.

“I feel better,” Spencer admitted.

When he turned to his desk, you were perched comfortably on the edge, legs swinging slightly as you grinned at him.

“Told you,” you said smugly. “You’re hopeless without me.”

Spencer chuckled softly, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath, “I know.”

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ bloodonmyhands . . . c.s

in which . . . you just can’t forget about your broken relationship with chris.

warnings . . . unresolved angst, arguing, crying, mentions and descriptions of blood, mentions of a break up, chris and reader are in a toxic relationship.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #4

the water runs red. it twists and curls in the porcelain sink, a delicate dance of crimson spirals before it disappears down the drain. you stand there, motionless, watching the color dissolve, but it never truly leaves. no matter how much you scrub, no matter how raw your skin becomes, the stains won’t fade—not necessarily from your hands, but from your mind.

your breath is unsteady, shallow. every inhale feels like swallowing glass. the bathroom light above you flickers, buzzing faintly, casting erratic shadows across the cracked mirror. you force yourself to look up, meeting your own reflection. hollow eyes stare back, rimmed with panic and something else…something darker, something you don’t want to name.

your lips are parted, trembling, like you’re about to speak, but no words come. what is there to say? you can’t even remember when your hands started shaking, but they haven’t stopped since it happened.

it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

your mind replays it in fragments, broken flashes of a moment that should have lasted longer. the room, dimly lit. his voice, thick with something you couldn’t quite place—guilt? anger? fear? the way his fingers twitched at his side, like he was deciding whether to reach for you or push you away. the argument had been bad, it left a permanent stain on you. the stain was dried up, but not gone.

“please,” chris had said, voice cracking. “just listen to me.”

but you had already listened. you had already heard. the messages on his phone. the ones sent late at night, words dripping with promises that were never meant for you. the lies, sweet as honey, rotting the moment they touched your skin. the weight of his betrayal pressed against your ribs, suffocating, suffocating—

you had started crying before you even realized it.

then silence, chris went completely silent as you desperately sobbed.

a silence so deep it swallowed the whole world.

you cried, longing and begging for chris to just talk this out with you, but nothing worked. was it just miscommunication? or did the two of you truly not work out together? you didn’t know, but the moment chris stormed out of the room, you felt yourself falling apart.

and now you’re here, scrubbing at your hands as if you can erase it. as if you can go back to a time before tonight, before the lies, before love turned into something that tasted like iron and regret. you take a step back from the sink, gripping the counter to keep your legs from giving out. the light above you flickers again, humming, filling the silence where his voice used to be, trying to forget about all the happy moments between you two, the moments that quickly turned sour.

you look at your hands once more, raw from the relentless scrubbing. your skin is clean now, but it doesn’t matter. because no matter how much you wash, no matter how hard you try to forget…

the blood will always be there.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[anjeliquesworld]

Thaddeus x reader

Note: yes,I love Thaddeus 😭

I tried to highlight Thaddeus abandonment issues and his dark side so here's the final version,I hope you enjoy it 💋

Cw: obsession, stalking, thriller, manipulation, abandonment issues

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Twisted Love

The moon lies high in the sky, full of stars, illuminating the empty streets of Kowloon Hell with its tender light, where darkness reigns and the nights seem endless.

Lying on the edge of the main rooftop:

Thaddeus.

His head full of thoughts.

~HIS POV:

Loneliness isn't just a horrible feeling; it's a companion that doesn't leave. My mind replays my past, each abandonment reminding me of how fragile I truly am. It's the weight of how easily people I cared about left me, as if I were a burden in their lives. It happened many times before—people have come and gone, and each departure left a scar deeper than the last.

"Ah, little bunny," I say, closing my eyes as I visualize your pretty face.

Your existence haunts me. The way you laugh when I make a stupid joke makes my heart skip a beat. That’s strange because I’ve always been good at keeping my distance, but with you, it's different. I can't stay away from you.

When I feel alone, I remember your small hands touching my face—gentle, soft strokes caressing me. You treat me as if I were someone worthy of your love. That’s why sometimes I’m overprotective: you’re too precious, and I don’t want you to suffer.

It’s funny, isn’t it? I pretend to be the good guy around you... I pretend to be the good friend—when in reality, I want to take you away from everyone. I just want to keep you safe from anyone who could hurt you. I’m the only one who can give you what you need.

You said it yourself the other day as we were walking to the park:

"You're the only one who truly understands me."

The affection in your eyes, that smile—no one ever gave me that. And I told you, playfully, "That's because we're meant to be." You blushed, looking so cute. But I wasn’t joking. We are meant to be. Together. Forever.

Sometimes, when the cold breeze of my domain envelops me, I wonder if this is what I deserve—being abandoned, left to face this cruel world alone. But when those thoughts overwhelm me, you come to mind. You’re the light that chases away the monsters.

I want to be the only one to whom you give your attention, your warmth, your smiles.

What I feel is not love.

No, it’s something darker, deeper.

Something I can’t control, something lurking in the back of my head, a sickening feeling—it’s obsession.

You’re not aware of the way I hide in the shadows to capture a glimpse of you. You don’t know how many times I’ve climbed up to your room to watch you sleep... so peaceful and innocent.

Too innocent for this world. Too innocent for me.

You’re too pure to be with someone as dark and twisted as me, but I am a selfish man. I have no intention of letting you go, little bunny.

My heart wouldn’t bear the sight of you in the arms of another man.

Before meeting you, it felt like I was invisible to everyone... a shadow fading into the background. Just one step away from being forgotten. But you, with your kindness, taught me that even I matter.

Sometimes I wonder if you feel it—if you feel my twisted love for you. When you look at me, I see it in those pleading, soft eyes of yours.

You can’t deny it, little one. You’re attracted to me, I know you are. You’re just too afraid to admit it.

But don’t worry. I’ll keep playing the charming prince for now. After all, I’m good at it.

"You're so cute when you blush, little bunny."

I chuckle, teasing you. "I'm sorry for teasing you... but I can't help it. It's just too fun."

We'll keep playing the cat and mouse as long as you want. I don’t mind.

At least I get to stay close to you.

Sooner or later, you will succumb to your desires.

You will come to me.

You have to.

You need me as much as I need you.

And I’ll be more than happy to satisfy you, my little bunny.

-------------------------------------------------------🎀

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.

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[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Interlude: Six Becomes Five

Prev | Next

The gentle crackle of the fire, admist the soft crickets chirping, was all the noise coming from the camp. Gingerbrave, Strawberry Cookie, Wizard Cookie, and Carameleon Cookie were all sleeping soundly, light snores coming from them.

Nearby, you rested with White Lily Cookie nearby, soft breath coming from your mouth.

Pure Vanilla Cookie sat in front of the fire, staring at it with an unreadable expression in his face. Wind gently blowed and rustled his hair for a moment, not held down by his hat. That and his staff rested on the tree near you.

Pure Vanilla Cookie didn't know what to think now that things had truly settled down.

He still felt.. lied to, in a sense. Not by you, or White Lily Cookie, but by Shadow Milk Cookie. The taunts and lies of the Cookie still swirled in his mind like toxic waste, gripping at him and drowning him.

That.. and he couldn't get your look out of his mind. The expression on your face when Shadow Milk Cookie had slammed you against a wall. The look of horror, shock, and terror before you fell unconscious.

It made him feel sick. The healing spells he desperately tried to cast before Shadow Milk Cookie chased them off still made him feel lightheaded.

He looked at his trembling hands. He exhaled shakily, clenching them.

Are you awake still?

He jolted at the sound of the Light of Compassion. "Ah!" He then exhaled to calm himself and his trembling. "C-Compassion. You surprised me."

Don't try and lie. I'm a part of you currently, Pure Vanilla Cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie paused before he pulled his knees to his chest. "I can't get their face out of my mind." He swallowed thickly. "How they looked when they slammed into that wall, I.." His hands came up to run through his hair. "I thought Shadow Milk Cookie had crumbled them."

Primordials are far harder to kill than your mind allows you to realize.

Pure Vanilla Cookie gave a small nod, but he was still trembling. He was too far in his own thoughts to even notice the footsteps coming from behind him. He only noticed when the figure sat beside him - it was you.

"You're awake still?" You asked, frowning. "Did something happen?"

Pure Vanilla Cookie chuckled softly. "If something did happen, you would be the first to realize, my friend."

"Friend," you repeated. "Friend, friend, friend." Pure Vanilla Cookie blinked, confused as he watched you repeat those words. "Are we really still friends?"

His cheeks turned a shade darker. "What do you mean..?"

"I mean, I shared the Light of Compassion with you, I saved your life, you saved mine, and just.." You looked at him, frowning softly. "Does that.. seem like something just friends would do?"

Pure Vanilla Cookie glanced away, resting his hand over his mouth. He chuckled softly. "Hm.. to some, maybe." He then smiled at you. "But I'm guessing that you want to be something more?"

You grinned. "How'd you guess?"

He hummed, opening his eyes to look at you. "Just a hunch, it seems."

With a soft laugh, you gently grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it. Then you looked up at him, then his mouth. "May I?"

His blush darkened. "Of course."

You moved forward and kissed him, the both of you closing your eyes. Pure Vanilla Cookie felt his body relax, resting his hands on your shoulders. After a few more moments, you both broke apart, small breaths escaping the both of you.

You kissed his head. "I love you, Pure Vanilla Cookie."

He smiled. "I love you too, Sparkling Joy Cookie."

taglist: @snail-noodle @average-crk-enjoyer @looking4userthatworks @ori-stole-the-cheese-again @sqiddgie @justalittledumb @ax0lotly @ihatemyselffromthestart-blog @ravenkake @ohnoivefallen @craixe @xxcrispxx @hrtsy2 @imaginarydreams

[callsigns-haze]

Traitors War: 1

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

An Eris x assassin reader mini series! (which may be followed by oneshots)

Eris, the heir to the Autumn throne, along with his brothers wishes to get rid of his father. Never did he know this journey would start 200 years ago with an assassin exiled from the Night court.

This series contains mature themes: Explicit depictions of violence, including physical and emotional. Themes of secrecy. Descriptions of difficult relationships, including strained familial and romantic dynamics. Mature sexual content. Themes of power, control, and manipulation within complex interpersonal relationships. Topics of war and death.

The council chamber of the Night Court is darker than ever, steeped in an oppressive silence that suffocates as you step forward. Shadows cling to the polished floors, stretching toward you like silent accusers, and the bitter taste of magic hangs thick in the air. You can feel the weight of the room bearing down, its chilling atmosphere a testament to the wrath that awaits you.

In the centre of it all, Rhysand sits with an eerie stillness, his face a mask of lethal beauty. But beneath his façade, fury radiates from him in waves, setting his violet eyes alight with a malice that chills you to the bone. Flanking him are Cassian and Azriel, as immovable and unreadable as statues carved from stone. Their stony expressions give nothing away, but the hardened edge in their postures speaks volumes.

“Do you even comprehend what you’ve done?” Rhysand’s voice is low, each syllable sharp as a blade, slicing through the silence with a vicious precision. The scorn woven into his tone sends a shiver down your spine. He does not wait for you to answer. “Of course you don’t. Because if you did, I doubt even you would be foolish enough to stand here, expecting leniency.”

His words strike deep, leaving a sting that blossoms into shame. You try to meet his gaze, but his expression is unyielding, his eyes alight with something dark and unrecognizable. You search for any hint of understanding, any sliver of the Rhysand you’ve known—but he has vanished, leaving behind this cold, merciless figure in his place.

“It was my job,” you manage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat, each syllable heavy with the weight of your conviction. “I believed it was right.”

“Right?” he sneers, a contemptuous laugh escaping his lips, empty of humour. “You believed?” His voice drips with sarcasm, each word twisted and spat out like venom. “How very noble of you, to decide what’s right for me, for this court, for everyone.”

The force of his fury presses against you like a physical weight, but you force yourself to stand your ground, your hands clenched at your sides. Yet, the truth looms over you—a crushing reminder of the choice you made, the loyalty you gambled away.

His gaze narrows, and his tone drops to a cruel, mocking whisper. “Did you think yourself so wise, so indispensable, that I would forgive such treachery? That I would welcome you back with open arms after you conspired with him? With Eris?”

The hatred in his eyes is a dagger, and you feel it twist with every venomous word he hurls at you. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, and you want to shrink away, but there is nowhere to hide from the cold, unyielding judgment that fills the room.

“How dare you,” he hisses, his voice like thunder, reverberating through the chamber. “How dare you undermine me, betray me—after everything I’ve given you? I gave you power, status, trust. And this is how you repay me?”

The accusation hangs in the air, suffocating, and you feel the sharp sting of his betrayal as deeply as he does. Words die on your tongue, and you’re left with nothing but silence—a silence he seizes upon, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

“Look at you,” he sneers, his eyes raking over you with disgust. “The so-called assassin of the Night Court, reduced to this—a traitor, a coward. Did you ever think your lies would not come to light?”

He rises from his seat with deliberate slowness, his every movement a display of dominance and scorn. Cassian and Azriel remain impassive, but you sense their quiet fury, the simmering anger held back by sheer force of will.

Rhysand takes a step forward, and the air between you crackles with magic, raw and potent. The bonds that have marked you as his, that have stained your skin with his trust, begin to burn. You feel them unravel, one by one, slipping away like sand through your fingers, leaving behind a searing emptiness.

“Your place here is gone,” he says, his voice a venomous whisper. “As far as I’m concerned, you are nothing—a stain on this Court, a shame I will gladly erase.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze, your throat thick with the urge to plead, to defend yourself. But you know it would be pointless. He has condemned you already, cast you aside with a cruelty that leaves you hollow.

“Leave,” he orders, his voice cold and final. “And let it be known that from this moment forward, you are banished from the Night Court. Should you ever set foot here again, it will be as my enemy.”

The finality of his words sinks in, and for a moment, the room spins around you. You look at Azriel and Cassian, but their faces remain stony, offering no solace, no reprieve.

With a last, pained glance, you turn and walk away, the silence behind you as heavy as the bonds that now lie shattered at your feet.

-

The bench beneath you is rough, weathered by time and use, but it’s familiar—a place of respite amid the chaos that has engulfed the Autumn Court. The air is thick with the scent of woodsmoke and pine, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood on your lips. You tilt your head up slightly, trying to steady your breathing, wincing as a fresh wave of pain pulses from the bruises littering your body.

Eris kneels in front of you, his auburn hair glowing like embers in the dim light. His expression is carefully composed, but his gaze flickers with a rare softness, tinged with something unreadable as he delicately presses a damp cloth to your split lip. His fingers are steady, skilled, and his touch is uncharacteristically gentle, a contrast to the ruthless, calculating male the world knows him to be.

“I told you to stay out of the skirmish,” he murmurs, not meeting your eyes as he dabs away the dried blood. His voice is low, almost a whisper, but edged with frustration. “But you never listen, do you?”

You manage a weak smile, though it sends a fresh jolt of pain through your lip. “Where’s the fun in that?” The words are light, but the weight of the past, the years since you’d last shared such closeness, presses heavily between you.

He sighs, a hint of exasperation in his tone, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way he holds himself with a rigid precision, as though he’s one wrong move from unravelling. “I don’t need another ghost on my conscience,” he mutters, pressing the cloth a little harder than necessary, and you hiss, but his eyes are still fixed on his work. “Especially not yours.”

Your heart twists at his words, at the flicker of vulnerability he’s revealing, rare and raw. “Eris…if I wanted to stay safe and quiet, I wouldn’t have come here.” Your voice is soft, and his hand pauses for a moment as he absorbs your words, the truth in them, the history that binds you to his fight.

He finally looks up, his amber eyes intense, studying you with a scrutiny that feels as if he’s searching for something lost. “And yet,” he says slowly, his tone cold but his gaze warm, “you are still here, fighting alongside me. After everything.”

You meet his gaze, the memories flooding back—the years in the shadows, the loyalty you once swore to Rhysand that had ended with such bitter finality. And yet, in this moment, here with Eris, there is an understanding, an alliance you’d never expected to find.

“Beron has to be stopped,” you say quietly, a hardness slipping into your voice. “We both know it. We've known it for two hundred years. The things he’s done… he doesn’t deserve the power he holds over these lands. He has to fall.”

Eris’s expression darkens, and his hand, still cradling your chin, trembles slightly. “I know,” he says, his voice thick with something darker, more personal. “But it’s not that simple. Killing him means more than just power shifting—it’s risking everything, for everyone. It means blood on my hands, blood I can’t wash away.”

You reach up, your fingers brushing his, grounding him. “You’ve done this much already, led so many to stand against him. I’ve seen the way the court follows you, Eris. They believe in you.” You pause, searching his eyes. “And so do I.”

A shadow passes over his face, softening the harsh lines of his expression. “Why, after everything that’s happened, do you still believe in me?” His voice is so quiet you almost miss it, but the question lingers in the air, laden with years of unspoken words.

You hold his gaze, your voice firm, unwavering. “Because you chose to be better than him, better than I ever thought a man like you would. You chose a path that no one else would. And no matter what, that choice will always matter to me.”

He swallows, the barest hint of emotion flickering across his face, and he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Then maybe I am a fool, too, for keeping you here—for wanting you to be by my side when it’s all over.”

You shake your head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the pain. “You’re no fool, Eris. We’re both haunted by our choices, our pasts. But right now, we have a chance to make something right.” You reach out, your fingers grazing his cheek. “And I think it’s worth it, even if it costs us everything, well.... I personally don't have anything to lose.”

For a moment, he leans into your touch, closing his eyes as though savouring the fleeting solace. Then he straightens, his face hardening once more, but there’s a spark in his eyes now, a fierceness that rekindles the fire within him.

Eris’s fingers slip under your arm, steady and firm as he lifts you off the bench. The suddenness of it makes you gasp, but he merely quirks an eyebrow, as if amused by your surprise. His hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, the rough pads of his fingers brushing your bruised skin, grounding you in the moment as he releases you. Then, with a silent understanding, the two of you begin to walk.

The camp sprawls before you, tents set up in rough but orderly rows, each one a mark of defiance against Beron’s reign. Soldiers mill around, sharpening blades, tending to wounds, and whispering quiet plans and reassurances. Fires crackle, sending up thin curls of smoke into the crisp air, their warmth a stark contrast to the heavy chill that hangs over the camp.

Eris keeps a brisk pace beside you, his gaze intense, eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. There’s a palpable energy about him, something sharp and restless, as if he’s a blade just waiting to be unleashed. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as he passes, but there’s a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope, of trust in him that you’ve seldom seen in this court. Despite the darkness, they believe in him. Just as you do.

As you walk, a figure comes jogging toward you, his familiar auburn hair catching the light of the dying sun. Lucien’s face is flushed from exertion, but there’s a victorious gleam in his russet eye as he slows to a stop before you and Eris.

“We’ve taken down another one of Beron’s forces,” Lucien announces, his voice edged with satisfaction. He places his hands on his knees, breathing heavily but grinning. “One of his inner forces. His numbers are dwindling, and his support… well, it’s hanging on by threads now.”

Eris’s lips curl into a slow, calculating smile, his gaze sharpening as Lucien’s words sink in. “Good,” he murmurs, his tone a dark satisfaction laced with bitter triumph. “That’s one less hand Beron has to wield against us.”

Lucien’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes softening as he takes in your injuries. “You look worse for wear,” he remarks, though there’s a flicker of concern beneath his teasing tone. “You should be resting.”

You give him a small, tired smile, shrugging slightly. “Couldn’t leave all the fun to you, could I?”

Eris’s fingers brush your arm, guiding you forward with an unspoken insistence. “Rest will come after Beron is gone,” he says firmly, his voice brokering no argument. He looks to Lucien, his expression hardening. “With this win, we’ll need to reinforce the eastern front. Beron may be desperate, but that will only make him more dangerous.”

Lucien nods, his face growing serious. “The soldiers are preparing as we speak. Morale is high—they know Beron is losing ground.” His gaze sharpens, a glint of satisfaction sparking in his eye. “And they know they’re not just fighting for a cause. They’re fighting for you, Eris.”

Eris’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable, his mask slipping just enough for you to see the weight he carries. But then he straightens, his shoulders squaring with renewed resolve. “Then let’s give them a reason to keep believing,” he says, his voice steely and resolute.

Eris’s hand brushes against yours as he guides you away from Lucien, slipping through the bustling camp. The soldiers and spies nod respectfully as you pass, but you can feel the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions and curiosity that ripple in your wake. They’ve heard of you, the once-assassin of the Night Court who has returned to fight beside Eris. You can practically feel the stories they must tell—legends whispered in the dark, half-believed tales of your skill, your ruthlessness.

Eris leads you to a tent set slightly apart from the others, tucked away from the main cluster. He steps inside first, holding the tent flap open for you. As you enter, the scent of leather and steel greets you, sharp and familiar. Your old assassin’s gear is laid out on a small table in the centre, the black leather as supple and deadly as you remember. Knives and throwing blades glint in the firelight, each one meticulously sharpened, waiting for your touch.

You move to the table, fingers brushing over the leather armour, the silent weapons that were once an extension of yourself. You slip out of your travel-worn clothes, letting them fall to the ground. Piece by piece, you put on the gear, feeling the familiar weight settle over you like a second skin. The leather is snug, perfectly fitted to your body, and you secure the buckles and straps with practiced precision, feeling the transformation as the assassin within you stirs, roused after all these years.

Eris watches in silence, his gaze unwavering, intense. There’s something in his expression, a flicker of worry that he tries to mask but cannot entirely hide. You reach for the knives, fastening them to your belt, slipping blades into hidden sheaths along your thighs and forearms, every movement precise, deliberate.

Finally, you turn to him, adjusting the last strap on your wrist. He takes a step closer, his hand hovering just near your arm, as if he wants to touch you, to steady you, but holds back. His face is a study of quiet turmoil, the calm, composed mask he wears slipping ever so slightly.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, his voice low, almost pleading. “Sending you, alone, to Beron’s camp… It’s dangerous. Even for you.”

You meet his gaze, holding it with a steady conviction that leaves no room for doubt. “This is what I’m meant for, Eris. I know how to do this.” Your voice is calm, controlled, yet there’s a fire in your eyes, a certainty that hardens your resolve.

He looks down, his fingers clenching and unclenching as he battles with something unspoken. “You’re to burn the camp,” he murmurs, his tone almost bitter, as if the thought of sending you into that inferno cuts him deeply. “To wipe out anyone who stands in your way. You… shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

You lift your chin, reaching up to touch his face, your fingers brushing along his jawline. “If we’re going to end this war, Beron’s camp needs to fall. And I am the best suited to do this. I’ve done things like this before.”

Eris’s hand finally finds yours, his fingers entwining with yours, strong and steady. “Those days are behind you. You’re… more than just an assassin now. More than just a weapon.” His voice is barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words louder would make them real, and in that moment, you see the worry, the raw, aching fear he’s been hiding.

You squeeze his hand, grounding him, your voice a gentle reassurance. “And I’m still a fighter. I’m still someone who knows how to end a battle.” You step back, straightening, every inch the assassin who once served the Night Court. “You’re leading your forces, Eris. Let me do what I do best.”

He hesitates, his eyes darkening as his thumb grazes your knuckles, the touch tender, lingering. “If anything happens to you…”

“Nothing will,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ll be back before dawn.”

Eris swallows, his gaze never leaving yours, and you see the war within him—the tension between his duty as a leader and his fear as… something more. Finally, he releases your hand, stepping back, his expression once again composed, though his eyes betray him.

“Take my smoke hounds,” he says, voice hardening with reluctant resolve. “They’ll be at your command, lethal and loyal. If anyone stands in your way…” His mouth tightens, as though the thought of what you’re about to do pains him. “Do what you must.”

You nod, feeling the finality of his words settle over you like a cloak. The smoke hounds are Eris’s most trusted creatures—vicious, swift, creatures of shadow and flame. With them by your side, Beron’s camp will fall, reduced to ash and memory.

As you turn to leave, Eris’s voice stops you, a soft, broken whisper. “Come back to me.”

You glance back, meeting his gaze, a silent promise passing between you.

-

The forest blurs around you, dark and thick with shadows as you sprint through the trees, each stride light and precise. The silence of the woods is broken only by the quiet rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the soft, nearly soundless patter of twelve pairs of paws moving in sync beside you. Eris’s smokehounds, shadows among shadows, run with you, their sleek bodies rippling with the restrained power of creatures forged from flame and darkness. Their eyes gleam in the dim light, flickers of red and gold mirroring the embers deep within them.

Your breath comes in steady, controlled puffs, each one carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. You push your pace, weaving around trees, ducking under branches, letting the familiar rhythm of running take over. The hounds follow you with fierce loyalty, twelve shadowed phantoms keeping stride with ease, their eyes never straying from you. You’ve trained with creatures like them before; they know your signals, can read your smallest gestures. And tonight, they know their purpose as well as you do.

Ahead, you see the cliff edge through the trees, the canyon beyond stretching wide and deep, a gaping chasm that offers the perfect vantage point. Twenty-five minutes until the fire, just as planned. You mentally mark each step of the mission: secure the perimeter, then unleash the hounds. They’ll tear through Beron’s forces with merciless precision, a deadly warning sent by Eris himself.

With a soft hand signal, you urge the hounds to pick up the pace. They respond instantly, surging forward in a silent wave, each one attuned to your every movement. You can feel their excitement, their hunger to fulfill their purpose—a lethal harmony that mirrors your own resolve.

At the cliff’s edge, you pause for just a moment, looking out over the vast expanse of trees, campfires flickering faintly in the distance. Beron’s forces are spread across the valley below, unsuspecting, oblivious to the doom that will descend upon them in a matter of minutes. You breathe in, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs, centring yourself.

Then you leap into motion again, running along the edge of the cliff, the hounds fanning out beside you. The ground is uneven, treacherous, but you move with confidence, your steps sure and steady. The hounds move effortlessly, their eyes fixed forward, waiting for your command to unleash them upon the enemy below.

The minutes tick by, and you count each one, your mind focused, calculating. You know that Eris will be watching the clock, timing your return. He’ll know the moment his hounds have done their work, the moment the fires ignite, marking the beginning of the end for Beron’s camp. And he’ll be waiting, trusting that you will return alongside them.

You feel the power thrumming through your veins, the familiar thrill of the mission, the anticipation of the flames that will soon light up the sky. You glance down at the hounds, each one poised and ready, their bodies taut with barely-contained energy. With a small, barely perceptible nod, you give the signal.

You crouch low, hidden among the dense trees at the edge of the camp. The flickering glow of campfires illuminates the chaos below. Beron’s forces move with the sluggish confidence of men who believe themselves safe, unaware of the inferno waiting to consume them. You pull the bow from your back, your fingers steady as you nock an arrow soaked in pitch. With a deep breath, you draw back the string, the familiar weight and tension grounding you.

The torch at your side flickers in the cool night breeze, casting your shadow long against the forest floor. With a deliberate motion, you dip the arrowhead into the flame. Fire bursts to life, licking up the shaft, bright and hungry. The light reflects off the sharp edges of your assassin’s gear, and for a moment, you’re bathed in a fiery glow.

You take aim at the largest tent—the command centre, judging by its size and central position. The arrow flies, cutting through the air in a deadly arc, embedding itself into the canvas. Flame spreads instantly, roaring to life as the tent is consumed. You don’t wait to watch it burn. Another arrow is already in your hand, aflame and ready. This time, you aim for the storage tent where supplies are stacked high. It ignites with a burst of heat, the fire leaping from one crate to the next.

One more arrow—this time toward the soldiers’ quarters. The shot is perfect. The flames catch, and panic spreads like wildfire. Shouts rise as soldiers scramble to put out the blaze, but it’s too late. Smoke curls upward, dark and thick, a signal of chaos rising to the stars.

You sling your bow across your back and run, feet pounding the forest floor as you follow the path you memorized earlier. Your mind maps out every turn, every slope: the sharp left at the leaning oak, the shallow stream you leap across without hesitation, the narrow ridge that runs parallel to the cliffside. Your breath comes in short bursts, your heart hammering in your chest, but your focus remains razor-sharp.

Then you hear it—shouts behind you. The sound cuts through the night like a blade, and when you glance back, you see them: Beron’s soldiers, torches in hand, spreading through the trees like a swarm. One of them spots you, his shout echoing across the forest, and suddenly the hunt is on.

You push harder, adrenaline surging through your veins, but the weight of your gear slows you. The thick leather straps dig into your shoulders, the metal clasps clinking faintly with every stride. It feels like a leaden anchor dragging you down.

With a frustrated growl, you strip the bow from your back, tossing it aside into the underbrush. Next, you unbuckle the heavier pieces of your armour mid-stride, letting them fall as you run. The bracers follow, the daggers strapped to your thighs discarded one by one. You leave a trail of discarded weaponry in your wake, the promise of lighter steps driving you forward.

But the soldiers are everywhere. Torches light up the forest in jagged lines, cutting off your escape routes. Their shouts grow louder, closer, and the realization hits you: they’re herding you, pushing you toward the cliff. Panic sparks in your chest, but you keep moving, feet skimming over rocks and roots, muscles burning with the effort.

The cliff looms ahead, the forest giving way to open sky and the deafening roar of the river far below. The soldiers close in, their shouts a cacophony that drowns out your pounding heartbeat. There’s no time to think, no time to hesitate. You sprint toward the edge, the ground disappearing beneath your feet as you leap.

For a moment, there’s only silence. The world drops away, the wind rushing past you in a deafening roar. Your stomach lurches as you fall, the vast canyon walls blurring on either side. Below, the river churns violently, a silver ribbon that grows larger with every passing second.

You hit the water hard, the impact stealing the breath from your lungs. The freezing cold engulfs you, dragging you down, the current tugging at your limbs with relentless force. You fight to the surface, gasping for air, the icy water shocking your system into focus.

The river carries you away, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You let it take you, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, knowing that survival is your only thought now. Above the churning waters, the smoke from Beron’s camp rises into the night, the promise of fire and destruction marking the beginning of the end.

A/N: this series was supposed to be posted in February but as you can see part one is out now but it will be a while till part 2!

part 2

[ragetears]

What do you need to hear right now? - pick a card!

~ this is a generalized reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn’t! ~

Pile 1 - Phantomwise Tarot with pyrite

Pile 2 - Deviant Moon Tarot with rose quartz

Pile 3 - Crow Tarot with labradorite

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Pile 1 - The High Priestess, Four of Wands, and the Queen of Wands reversed.

Key themes: anxiety, fear, self love, creativity, trusting yourself.

My friend - Spirit is telling you that you need to trust yourself! You find yourself hiding away from the unknown, and even the unknown within you. Tap into those darker, deeper parts that you've been shying away from. It's only by integrating those parts that you can become whole. You don't need to be afraid of your own darkness, you need to embrace it, celebrate it. Very much a commitment to yourself kind of vibe.

You need to learn to care for and love yourself, truly and deeply. You aren't nearly confident enough in your abilities - but you should be! Shed that self-consciousness, that fear, all that nasty stuff that doesn't serve you and step into the creative power that's inside of you.

For some of you this might look like practicing self love through ritual or other spiritual methods, diving deep into shadow work and/or therapy, or restarting creative projects you stopped because you weren't confident enough to finish them. (Also I feel a strong need to say this for my pagans out there - some of you should think about connecting with Aphrodite because she really would like to work through this with you.)

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Pile 2 - Queen of Wands, Queen of Cups, and the Page of Wands reversed.

Key themes: Feminine and/or intuitive power and energy, manifesting, confidence.

You are one powerful person! You are in control of yourself, capable of handling many things at once. You have all the skills and abilities you need to manifest your desires - and it's time to take that step. Two queens next to each other tells me that it's time for you to step into a more "feminine" energy. Feminine, but not necessarily in the "receptive" sense. More in an "intuitive power" sense, and for some of you this might be a transition into being your true self. For others, it's a sign to take that step into what you desire. You are in control of this journey, you can trust that you know who you are, and by doing this you are healing parts of yourself.

They key word that keeps popping up for you is "manifesting". You have such an insane ability to create your own reality and bring your desires to fruition. Now is not the time to second guess yourself. You are not taking wobbly steps forward, you're far too skilled for that. There's no room for self doubt here - you know what you desire. You're past the point of walking away from your calling. The reversed Page says you might fall down but the two Queens say to get right back up because you will succeed. You can do this.

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Pile 3 - Death, Eight of Wands, Six of Pentacles.

Key themes: freedom, excitement, relationships, rebirth, caution.

Your life is about to change, you are on the cusp of (or perhaps you've already started!) shedding all that doesn't serve you. This has been an active process that you've been heading or even working towards, not something passive that's happening to you. This won't be easy, but you already know that and you're prepared, no matter how bad it might hurt. Something new lies just beyond the horizon of this change, something better. For some of you this might be a breakup, breaking bad habits, or cutting off toxic friends or family. You know it won't be easy, but you also know that a happier, healthier you is waiting.

It's time to move on from your old life - and swiftly. Your previous situation stifled you, held you back from your true potential. Others may not understand why you needed to leave it all behind, but that's okay, you need to put yourself first. It's time for full steam ahead on your dreams, and this movement will aid you even more in shedding all that held you back. This might be a metaphorical or literal move (for some of you I'm getting cross-country or even an international move), and don't be afraid of either.

You are reborn and you have never felt lighter or more free, but don't act rashly. Humans are social creatures after all, and we are made to rely on each other. Don't be afraid of the generosity and care of others, and freely give to those around you in return with open arms and an open heart. You will need people who love and support you, and they'll need you just as much.

It may be a good idea to take a close look at your old self, your old life, and evaluate what led you here because without active work you are at risk of falling back into old patterns and into your old ways. Also I'm getting for some of you that you really need to learn how to better manage your finances specifically or you're at high risk of ending up back in your old situation, or at least a very similar one.

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 17✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language, Dean on pain meds, reader is struggling - a fucking lot

Word Count: 7061

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

The hallway was quiet as you made your way back to Dean’s room, your steps soft on the cold floor. Your heart still raced from the conversation with Sam, but there was a strange calm that had settled over you as well—one that came from knowing he understood and accepted what was between you and Dean.

You carefully pushed the door open, slipping inside as silently as you could manage. The dim light from the hallway spilled in for a moment before the door clicked shut behind you, plunging the room back into shadow. You froze, your eyes adjusting to the faint glow of the bedside lamp.

“You know, you’re not exactly stealthy”, Dean’s voice rumbled softly from the bed, startling you.

You turned toward him, your heart skipping a beat. He was awake, of course. His hunter’s instincts rarely let him sleep deeply, and you should’ve known he’d notice you slipping out of bed. His green eyes, sharper than they had been in days, flicked up to meet yours, and a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Where’d you run off to?”, he asked, his voice low and gravelly, though there was no trace of annoyance—just curiosity.

You bit your lip, slipping out of your sweater and climbing back into bed beside him. His arm automatically lifted to let you curl against his uninjured side, and the warmth of his body enveloped you. “Bathroom”, you said softly, your fingers resting lightly on his chest.

Dean’s smirk softened as you settled back into his side, your fingers tracing light patterns over his chest. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he leaned down, his lips brushing against your jawline. The kiss was slow and deliberate, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he trailed soft kisses along your jaw toward your ear.

His broken arm rested gently on your hip, his fingers curling slightly to keep you close. You felt him tense as he shifted, a quiet wince slipping from his lips as the motion pulled at his injured ribs.

“Dean”, you whispered, concern lacing your voice. Your hand immediately went to his arm, your fingers resting lightly over the cast. “Careful. You’re supposed to be resting”.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips hovering just below your ear. “I am resting”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “This is my kind of resting”.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, even as you tried to keep your worry in check. “Resting doesn’t usually involve wincing in pain”, you pointed out gently, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, his green eyes still soft but tinged with determination. “It’s fine”, he said, his voice gruff but affectionate.

You glanced down, your heart skipping a beat as you instinctively searched Dean’s shirt for any sign of fresh blood. Relief washed over you when you didn’t see any new stains—this time, at least. But your relief was short-lived as your eyes caught sight of his broken arm resting on your hip. The fingers peeking out from the edge of the cast were dark purple, bruised and swollen, and they twitched slightly as he tried to move them.

Dean’s rough fingertips brushed over your hip in a featherlight, tentative motion. The small gesture made your breath hitch, but you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers barely moved, like every slight touch was an effort.

“Dean”, you murmured, your voice soft but filled with concern as you placed your hand over his cast. Your fingers lightly traced the edge of the plaster, careful not to press too hard. “You shouldn’t be moving this arm at all”.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was a flicker of exhaustion in his eyes. “Doesn’t hurt that much”, he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction, and the lines of pain etched into his features betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, not buying his bravado for a second. “Dean”, you said again, your tone firmer this time.

Dean sighed heavily, a mix of defeat and that ever-present stubbornness. “Alright, alright”, he grumbled, letting his bruised fingers relax against your hip. “I’ll hold it still, okay?”. But before you could feel relieved, he added with a small smirk, “But lemme kiss you”.

The sudden shift in his tone made your cheeks flush, and the warmth shot through you before you could stop it. Your eyes flicked to his face, and despite the bruises and the exhaustion, that teasing, irresistible charm was still there. It wasn’t fair how he could make you feel like this, even in his condition.

You rolled your eyes playfully, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “You’re impossible, you know that?”, you muttered, tilting your head toward him.

Dean’s grin softened into something warmer as he leaned forward just enough to meet your lips. The kiss was gentle, his movements careful as if he was more concerned about not hurting you than himself. His lips, slightly cracked but still so soft, moved against yours in a slow, tender rhythm that made your heart flutter.

The heat in your chest grew, and you tried to push it away, knowing he needed rest far more than anything else. But his good arm tightened around you slightly, his fingers brushing against your back in a way that sent shivers down your spine. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make you lose track of everything else.

“Dean”, you mumbled against his lips, your voice barely audible. You tried to pull back, but he followed, capturing your lips again with a quiet hum of satisfaction.

“What?”, he murmured, his voice rough but playful, his forehead resting against yours when he finally let you pull away. “You’re the one who keeps saying I need to rest. Pretty sure this counts as rest”.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the warmth that spread through your entire body. “This isn’t exactly what I meant”, you said softly, your fingers brushing over his chest, careful of his injuries. “You’re supposed to be healing”.

Dean’s green eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked at you, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your side. “Sweetheart, this is the best medicine I’ve ever had”.

You rolled your eyes at Dean’s words, but you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back in, pressing your lips to his again. The kiss was soft, slow, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy either of you. You felt yourself moving closer, careful of his injuries but unable to resist the pull of his warmth and the way his lips molded perfectly to yours.

Dean’s thumb brushed lazy circles against your side, his good hand slipping under the hem of your shirt as his fingers traced your skin. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent shivers coursing through you. When he pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice was rough and laced with mischief.

“You know”, he murmured, his words slurred just enough to remind you how tired he still was, “I can think of a way… where I wouldn’t have to do much of anything”.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. His green eyes, dark with desire but softened by exhaustion, held yours, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Dean..”, you said, your voice a mixture of nervousness and anticipation.

“I know, resting”, he whispered, his good hand sliding a little further up your side, the warmth of his palm against your skin making you shiver. “That’s the beauty of it. You’d be in control, sweetheart. All you gotta do is…”. His voice trailed off as his smirk deepened, his eyes flicking down your body before returning to your face.

The implication in his words made your cheeks burn, and you couldn’t help the way your thighs pressed together at the heat building between them.

He grinned at your reaction, his thumb still tracing small circles on your skin. “C’mon”, he teased, his voice dipping lower, huskier. “I’d just lay here, lookin’ at you—watchin’ you do all the work”. His words were laced with a lazy confidence, but there was a rough edge to his tone that told you just how much the idea affected him, too. “Bet you’d look so damn good ridin’ me”.

Your breath hitched at his words, and your face grew impossibly hotter. You’d never heard Dean talk to you like this before—not this openly, this unabashedly. It was overwhelming, making your heart race and your stomach twist in nervous excitement. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, spreading through your body, and you couldn’t deny how much his words affected you.

“I’ve… I’ve never—”, you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but Dean cut you off with a soft kiss.

He shifted slightly beneath you, his good arm keeping you close as his eyes roamed over your face, drinking in your reaction.

“That just makes it better”, Dean continued, his voice dropping even lower, taking on a soft, teasing edge. “Means I get to teach you everything, make sure you do it just right”.

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that slipped from your lips. “Dean”, you mumbled, trying to keep your composure, but his grin only widened.

“What?”, he teased, his thumb dipping just a little lower, brushing the bare skin above your waistband. “Just sayin’—I’d love to see you on top of me, takin’ your time. You’d look so damn good, movin’ just how you want”.

Dean’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a soft groan as he tilted his head back against the pillow. His thumb continued to tease the bare skin above your waistband, but his grip on your hip tightened ever so slightly, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice rougher now, tinged with a frustrated whine that caught you completely off guard. His head lolled to the side, his green eyes locking onto yours, hazy with exhaustion and pain meds. “Don’t make me beg”, he grumbled, his words slurred slightly but still carrying that signature Dean Winchester charm.

You blinked, taken aback, your lips parting as you tried to process his tone. He sounded desperate, his usual confidence muddied by the haze of medication. The sight of him—battered and bruised but still so determined—made your heart ache and your stomach flutter at the same time.

“I’m serious”, Dean continued, his good hand sliding further up your side, his fingertips brushing just under the edge of your bra. His breath hitched slightly as he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t make me beg, sweetheart. You’re killing me here".

“Dean”, you whispered, your voice soft but tinged with amusement. “You’re not exactly in any condition to—”.

“I don’t care”, he interrupted, his tone suddenly more urgent, though still laced with exhaustion. “C’mon, baby. I’m just… I’m too damn tired to argue. Just wanna feel you, okay?”.

The vulnerability in his words, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, made your resolve crumble. You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you considered his request.

“Fine”, you murmured, your voice barely audible as you leaned in closer. “But you tell me if it’s too much”.

Dean’s lips curved into a faint, victorious smirk as his thumb traced a slow, lazy line up your side. “Wouldn’t dream of stoppin’ you”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire despite his weakened state.

The anticipation in the air was electric, your heart pounding as you shifted slightly, your thighs brushing against his. Dean let out a low groan, his head falling back as his good hand guided you, his bruised and battered body completely at your mercy.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pushing them down over your hips. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the heat pooling in your stomach drove you forward. Biting your lip, you glanced at Dean, who was now fumbling awkwardly with his boxers, his injured body making every motion slow and deliberate.

Dean grunted, his frustration evident as he tried to push the fabric down without jostling his broken arm or pulling at his stitched-up chest. “This is harder than it should be”, he muttered, shooting you an apologetic but amused glance. His lips quirked into a lazy smirk as he caught the flush on your cheeks. “You could help, you know”.

You rolled your eyes, though the blush on your face deepened. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, leaning over to help him tug the boxers down just enough, careful not to hurt him. His warm skin brushed against your fingers, and the contact made you shiver, your curiosity bubbling over.

As you sat back, Dean’s smirk turned into a grin, his good hand settling back on your hip. “See? Teamwork”.

You shot him a look, your voice laced with mock annoyance but softened by your shy smile. “I’m not sure if I like this version of you, high on painkillers”, you grumbled, though the playful edge in your tone gave you away. “You’re too bold”.

Dean chuckled lowly, his voice rough and teasing as he tilted his head back to look at you. “Bold, huh? Sweetheart, this is just me being honest. The filters are gone”. He let out a soft groan as you settled back against him, his hand tracing a slow, lazy line along your side.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though the warmth spreading through your body betrayed you. “Is this the Dean women usually get?”, you asked softly, your voice tinged with both curiosity and embarrassment. “The ones who aren’t… like I was?”.

Dean’s smirk softened into something warmer, more sincere as he looked up at you. His thumb continued its gentle path along your side, his touch deliberate and grounding. “You”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, “you get whatever you want. Always”.

His words sent a shiver through you, and you bit your lip, your blush deepening as you sat on his lower stomach. You were acutely aware of the hard length of him pressing against you, the heat of his skin searing against your own. Dean’s good hand moved with purpose, his fingers sliding down your body until they brushed against your inner thigh.

“C’mere”, he murmured.

You felt his thumb find its way to your slick folds, brushing through them with a slow, deliberate stroke that made your entire body tremble. Dean let out a low groan, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he felt just how ready you were.

You whimpered softly, the sound escaping your lips before you could stop it. His touch was skilled but gentle, his thumb moving in slow circles as his fingers teased you, spreading your arousal.

Dean let out a soft, strained chuckle, his fingers gliding through your wetness again as he murmured, “Don’t even need to get you ready, do I?”. His voice was rough, edged with a mix of desire and exhaustion, but the heat in his gaze burned into you, making your entire body tingle.

You bit your lip, unable to meet his eyes as the embarrassment and need warred within you. “Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling, but he didn’t let you say more. His good hand slipped away from your folds, settling back on your hip to steady you.

“Alright, sweetheart”, he said, his voice softer now, though still tinged with that teasing edge. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna take control, yeah? Move just how you want. I’ll… guide you… a bit”.

You hesitated for a moment, your hands braced lightly against his chest. The thought of taking control, of being the one to lead, was both thrilling and terrifying. You nodded slowly, swallowing hard as you looked down at him.

“Good girl”, Dean murmured, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you. His thumb traced small circles on your hip as he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “Start slow. Take your time, okay? You’ll figure it out”.

You let out a shaky breath, lifting yourself slightly and aligning your hips with his. The feeling of his tip brushing against your entrance made you gasp softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you pressed down just enough to let him begin to stretch you.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his good hand tightening on your hip as he felt you envelop him inch by inch. “That’s it”, he rasped, his voice strained. “Slow, sweetheart. Nice and slow”.

You nodded, following his guidance as you sank lower, your body adjusting to the unfamiliar stretch. The sensation was overwhelming but in the best way, a mix of pleasure and anticipation as you took him deeper. Dean’s head fell back against the pillow, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep still, his broken arm resting awkwardly at his side.

“Feel so damn good”, he muttered, his voice hoarse and full of awe. His hand on your hip gave a soft squeeze, urging you to keep going. “That’s my girl. Just like that”.

You blushed deeply at his words but let them encourage you.

As you slowly sank down further, the stretch grew more intense, the last couple of inches making you inhale sharply. Your body tensed instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you tried to steady yourself. Your hands fluttered near Dean’s shoulders, hesitant to press down, not wanting to hurt him further or strain his injuries.

Dean’s eyes flickered open at the sound, and his gaze softened when he saw the tension in your face. “Hey”, he murmured, his voice low and rough, but filled with reassurance. “You’re alright, sweetheart. My shoulder’s fine”.

You bit your lip, looking down at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as your body struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation.

Dean’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Trust me”, he muttered, his tone taking on that familiar teasing edge, even though his voice was heavy with desire. “If this is hurting me, it’s the kind of pain I’d happily live with”.

His words made your cheeks flush, the tension in your body easing just slightly. He tightened his grip on your hip, guiding you down another inch, groaning low in his throat as you took more of him. “That’s it”, he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours. “Nice and easy. You’re doing so good”.

The way he looked at you—half-proud, half-crazed with need—sent a rush of heat through your body. You nodded shakily, your breaths coming in short gasps as you tried to relax around him.

“Take your time”, he said softly. “No rush, sweetheart. Just feel it”.

You followed Dean’s guidance, your body trembling as you slowly, carefully, sank all the way down until you were fully seated against him. The stretch was intense, overwhelming, but the way his warmth filled you sent a rush of heat through your entire body. A low, guttural groan rumbled in Dean’s chest, his fingers flexing against your hips as he felt you clench around him.

“Fuck”, he muttered, his voice thick and breathless. His head fell back for a moment, his eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again to meet your gaze. “You’re so tight, sweetheart”, he rasped, his good hand stroking your side. “I’ll never get over how good you feel”.

Your breath hitched at his words, your hands still braced on his chest for balance as you tried to adjust to the sensation. The intimacy of the moment, the way Dean looked at you like you were the only thing in the world, made your heart race. But as much as his touch grounded you, there was an uncertainty flickering in your mind—you weren’t sure what to do next.

You searched his face, your blush deepening as your eyes met his. “What now?”, you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with nervousness.

“First, you’re gonna take that bra off”.

Slowly, your hands moved up to the straps of your bra, your fingers trembling as you slipped them off your shoulders. You reached behind to unclasp it, letting the fabric fall away before tossing it aside.

Dean’s good hand immediately slid up from your hip, his palm warm and calloused as he trailed it up your side. His eyes roamed over you appreciatively, his gaze darkening with awe and hunger. “That’s my girl”, he murmured.

The weight of his gaze made you shiver, your hands instinctively moving back to his chest for balance as you tried to steady yourself. Dean’s fingers brushed lightly over your ribs before his hand settled just below your breast, the motion both tender and teasing.

Dean’s hand lingered just below your breast, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin there in a way that made your breath hitch. His green eyes, darkened with desire, never left yours as he leaned in slightly, his voice a husky murmur. “Just move, sweetheart”, he whispered, the heat in his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you nodded, but the truth was, you had no idea what you were doing. You’d never done this before—never taken control like this—and the vulnerability of that realization made your heart race.

Dean seemed to sense your hesitation, his good hand sliding back down to your hip. His grip was firm, reassuring, as he guided you gently. “Start slow”, he murmured, his voice softer now, tinged with patience and encouragement. “Just lift up a little, then come back down. You’ve got this”.

You placed one hand on Dean’s shoulder, the firm muscle beneath your fingers grounding you as you tried to follow his guidance. Slowly, you lifted yourself just a little, your thighs already trembling with the effort, and eased yourself back down. The stretch was still intense, a sharp reminder of just how new this was for you, and you bit your lip to keep from wincing. Every movement felt awkward, uncertain, and you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

Dean groaned softly beneath you, his grip on your hip tightening slightly, but instead of reassuring you, it only made you hyperaware of your inexperience. A wave of doubt washed over you as your mind spiraled. You knew how many women Dean had been with, how effortlessly skilled and confident they must have been, and here you were, fumbling through something that was supposed to feel natural.

Your cheeks burned, and you avoided meeting his eyes, the vulnerability threatening to overwhelm you.

You took a deep breath, determined to try again despite the uncertainty twisting in your stomach. Slowly, you lifted yourself once more, using Dean’s shoulder as leverage. The movement felt awkward, uncoordinated, and when you sank back down, the stretch was still sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs burned from the effort, and you couldn’t ignore the growing sense that this wasn’t at all what it was supposed to feel like.

Your blush deepened as your insecurities bubbled to the surface. Your small breasts barely moved with your motions, nothing like the exaggerated scenes in the movies you knew Dean used to watch. Your mind raced, comparing yourself to the women you imagined had shared his bed before, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t measuring up.

The self-consciousness made your movements stiffer, more hesitant, and your frustration grew with every awkward attempt. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to stop entirely.

Dean was trying his best to focus on the overwhelming pleasure that came with feeling you around him, tight and warm and so incredibly perfect, rather than the sharp, persistent ache radiating from his injuries. Despite the awkwardness you felt, every movement you made sent jolts of heat coursing through him, the sensation so intense it nearly made him forget the throbbing in his chest and arm.

His good hand gripped your hip firmly, helping guide your slow, uneven motions as he gritted his teeth against the mix of pleasure and pain. He was already close, the sheer intensity of you—how good you felt, how new and raw this was—enough to push him dangerously near the edge. But then he noticed the shift in your body language, the way you hesitated, your movements faltering.

“What’s wrong?”.

Dean’s thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away a tear as he tilted your chin up gently, trying to catch your eyes."Hey". His voice softened further, concern laced through every word. “Sweetheart, talk to me. You´re hurt?”.

Dean’s thumb continued its soothing path along your cheek, his green eyes searching yours with a mixture of tenderness and worry. “(Y/N)”, he mumbled softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Are you hurt? Did I—did I do something?”.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip as you tried to find the words, your hands clutching his shoulders for support. “No”, you whispered, your voice trembling. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not that”.

His brow furrowed, his gaze filled with confusion and concern. “Then what is it? You’re shaking like a leaf”, he murmured, his tone patient and encouraging, even as his thumb brushed away another tear. “Talk to me. I need to know what’s going on”.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. The warmth in his eyes, the softness of his touch, made it impossible to keep your insecurities hidden. “I just…”. You paused, your cheeks flushing as the words caught in your throat.

You took a shaky breath, the words heavy in your chest as you finally forced them out. “I just… I’m so bad at this, Dean”, you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “I know I’m disappointing you right now”.

The confession hung in the air between you, the weight of it pressing down on your chest as embarrassment clawed at you. You felt so exposed, so small, and the silence that followed only made it worse. “I’m clumsy, I don’t know what I’m doing, and… and you’ve probably had so many women who were amazing at this”, you continued, your voice trembling. “And here I am, just… failing”.

Your hands fell from his shoulders, wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the vulnerability you’d just laid bare. “I feel so stupid”, you added, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill over again. “I just… I want to be good for you”.

Dean’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. There was no frustration, no hint of disappointment or irritation. Instead, his green eyes softened, his expression melting into something so tender and full of love that it nearly stole your breath.

“Baby”, he said, his voice rough but impossibly gentle, “you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried”.

You blinked up at him as his hand cupped your cheek again, his thumb brushing away another stray tear. He shifted slightly, careful of his injuries, and fixed you with a look so full of warmth and sincerity that it made your chest ache.

“You’re not clumsy”, Dean said firmly, his voice steady and full of conviction. “You’re not stupid. And you sure as hell aren’t failing”.

Your lip trembled as you met his gaze, the knot in your chest loosening just slightly at his words. “But I—”.

“Listen to me”, Dean interrupted. “This isn’t about how many people I’ve been with or what anyone else has done. This is us, okay? Just you and me. No comparisons, no expectations“.

Your lip quivered as you whispered, “I’m sorry”, the words barely audible as you bit down on your bottom lip. The vulnerability you felt was overwhelming, but Dean’s thumb brushed against your cheek again, grounding you.

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “Don’t apologize”, he murmured softly, but then his lips quirked into a small, teasing smirk. His eyes darkened just a little, a spark of heat flickering there. “Do you even know how hard it is for me to hold back right now? Because, sweetheart… you’re so fucking hot like this”.

The unexpected boldness in his words sent a shiver through you, your cheeks burning even hotter. “I…”, you started, but the way his voice dropped lower made your breath catch.

“Let me finish”, he whispered, his tone deep and rough with sincerity. His good hand slid back to your hip, his fingers tightening slightly as if to emphasize his next words.

“You have no idea what it does to me”, he murmured, his gaze unwavering. “Knowing that I’m the only one who’s ever felt you. That no one else has ever touched you like this, made you feel like this”.

His hand tightened slightly on your hip, anchoring you in place as his words sunk deep into your chest. “You’ve given me all of yourself—your trust, your body, everything. And, sweetheart, I don’t take that lightly. Not for a second”.

Your cheeks burned, the weight of his words crashing over you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes searched yours, their green depths softened by the tenderness in his expression.

“You’re all mine”, he continued, his voice soft but firm, like he needed you to understand just how much he meant it. “Every sound you make, every time you tremble under my touch, it’s because of me. And no one else gets to have that. Just me”.

The possessiveness in his tone was undeniable, but it wasn’t harsh or overwhelming—it was filled with love, a deep-seated need to cherish and protect you. His forehead pressed gently against yours, his lips brushing over yours in the faintest of kisses.

“You’re perfect to me”, he whispered against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Every inch of you, every moment we’ve share. It’s all mine, just like I’m yours”.

Dean let the heavy silence linger for a beat longer, his forehead still pressed against yours. The raw, emotional intensity in his eyes softened just slightly, and you could see the faintest flicker of mischief returning to his expression. His lips quirked into a small, teasing smirk, and you could feel the shift in his demeanor.

“Besides”, he murmured, “if you keep clenching like that, sweetheart, I’m not gonna last long enough to keep making these romantic speeches”.

Your eyes widened, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as his words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. “Dean!”, you squeaked, your cheeks burning hotter than ever.

He chuckled, the sound low and raspy. “Just being honest here. Thought you liked that about me”.

You bit your lip, torn between laughing and burying your face in your hands to hide your embarrassment. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, but the small smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

Dean grinned wider, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Impossible? Nah”, he teased. “I’d say I’m pretty damn good at this”. His gaze darkened slightly. “And judging by how tight you’re holding onto me, I’d say you agree”.

You groaned softly, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder, hiding your face. “Stop”, you mumbled, though the breathy laugh that followed betrayed you.

Dean chuckled again, his good hand moving up to stroke your back gently. “Alright, alright”, he said, his tone softening as he kissed the top of your head.

Dean’s fingers brushed over your back in slow, soothing strokes, the rough calluses on his hands a comforting contrast to the softness of his touch. Your forehead remained pressed against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you. His good hand trailed up and down your spine, a silent reminder of his patience and care, even as his thumb occasionally dipped to your hip in a way that sent little jolts of electricity through you.

His lips moved closer to your hair, and you felt his breath warm against your scalp as he murmured, his voice low and tinged with amusement, “You wanna try again, sweetheart? ’Cause, uh… in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m still rock hard here, baby”.

You froze for a moment, your face heating at his words.

“No pressure, though”, he added, his voice softer now, the teasing edge giving way to genuine reassurance. “I mean it, sweetheart. If you’re not feeling it, we stop. Simple as that”.

You lifted your head slightly, your gaze flicking to his face. Despite the smirk playing at his lips, his green eyes held nothing but warmth and understanding. He wasn’t rushing you; he wasn’t pushing. He was just… waiting, patient and steady, letting you decide.

You bit your lip, letting out a shaky breath as your fingers brushed lightly over his chest. “You really don’t make this easy, you know”, you mumbled, half teasing, half shy.

Dean’s grin widened, the wince from his earlier movement fading into the background as his good hand slipped down to your hip again, grounding you. “That’s kinda the point”, he murmured, his voice rough with affection and just a hint of heat. “But I’ll behave if you want me to”.

The glint in his eyes told you he was lying—Dean Winchester didn’t do “behaving” very well—but the sincerity in his tone reassured you nonetheless. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers playing with the edge of his shirt, before you nodded.

"That’s my girl”, Dean whispered, his voice low and laced with pride. He shifted slightly beneath you, wincing as he reached out with his good hand to grab the edge of the blanket. The movement was clumsy, the effort clearly costing him as his chest tightened in protest, but he managed to pull the blanket up and over your shoulders, draping it around you. The gesture was so Dean—thoughtful, protective—and it made your heart swell.

“You’re good”, he murmured. “Take your time”.

The blanket helped you feel less exposed, and the warmth of it, combined with Dean’s steadying touch, gave you the courage to try again. You lifted your hips gently, the stretch still intense as you moved slowly, carefully. You settled back down with a shaky breath, the motion awkward but filled with intention. Your hands clutched his chest for balance, your fingers grazing over his warm skin as you found a rhythm, though it was far from perfect.

Dean’s breath hitched as you moved, and his fingers flexed against your hip. “That’s it”, he rasped, his voice strained but encouraging. “Just like that, sweetheart”.

You bit your lip, focusing on the way his body felt against yours, the way he filled you completely. But despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Your movements felt unsure, your thighs trembling with the effort, and you couldn’t shake the thought that you weren’t doing this right.

“You’re perfect”.

You glanced at him, your blush deepening. “I’m… I’m not”, you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’m doing”.

Dean’s lips quirked into a small, crooked smile, his green eyes gleaming despite the exhaustion etched into his features. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his tone a mix of teasing and affection, “if this is you not knowing what you’re doing, I’m in trouble”.

The words made you laugh softly despite yourself, your nervousness easing just a little more.

You were trying your best, but the rhythm wasn’t quite right, your thighs burned, and you felt self-conscious about every little shift and wobble. It was impossible not to wonder how it compared to what Dean had experienced before.

But Dean? Dean didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he didn’t care.

“You feel incredible”.

What he didn’t say—what he would never say—was that yeah, maybe the mechanics weren’t exactly flawless, but none of that mattered. Not when it was you. His feelings for you were doing all the work, filling in every gap with the overwhelming love and desire that had been building between you two. You could’ve been the clumsiest, least experienced partner on the planet, and it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference to him.

Dean’s grip on your back tightened slightly, his good hand slipping further down to guide your movements just a little. “Slow it down”, he whispered, his voice strained but gentle. “Take your time. You’re doin’ so good”.

You nodded, biting your lip as you followed his guidance. The slow, deliberate pace made the stretch more manageable, though it still left you trembling with effort. Dean groaned softly beneath you, the sound rumbling through his chest, and the heat in his eyes darkened.

Dean’s groan deepened, his voice thick with both pleasure and restraint. His head tilted back against the couch as his grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Sweetheart”, he murmured, his lips curling into a faint, teasing smirk. “I’m pretty close down here”.

You felt your face heat at his words, but the pressure building in your thighs and the ache in your body made it hard to focus on anything else. While Dean was on the verge of release, you weren’t even close. No matter how hard you tried to keep moving, to find the right rhythm, your nerves and inexperience kept holding you back.

You let out a frustrated breath, your movements faltering slightly as you tried to ignore the growing sense of inadequacy. But Dean was always tuned into you—your emotions, your body, everything. His green eyes opened, meeting yours with a warmth that instantly made your chest tighten. He didn’t say anything at first, just watching you with that same mix of affection and desire.

Then, without warning, his good hand slid from your waist to your thigh, his calloused fingers brushing over your trembling skin. “C’mere”, he muttered, his voice rough but tender. His thumb pressed gently against your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it slowly with a deliberate, practiced touch.

Your breath hitched sharply, your entire body jolting at the sudden wave of pleasure. “Dean”, you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as your hips instinctively bucked against his hand. The sensation was overwhelming, all-consuming, and you could feel your muscles beginning to tense as his thumb worked in perfect, steady circles.

“Relax”, Dean whispered, his voice like gravel and honey, grounding you even as he pushed you closer to the edge. “Let me take care of you. Just focus on this”.

His fingers didn’t falter, his movements precise and gentle yet insistent, coaxing every little reaction from you. The strain in his own body was obvious—his breathing ragged, his muscles tense—but he didn’t stop, his focus entirely on you.

“You’re so beautiful”, he rasped, his words tumbling out between groans as you clenched tighter around him. “So damn perfect. Let go for me, baby. I’ve got you”.

His thumb pressed just a little harder, and the tension in your body snapped, a wave of pleasure crashing over you so intensely that it stole your breath.

Dean’s good hand stayed firm on your thigh as the intensity of your release rippled through you, your entire body trembling as waves of pleasure coursed down your spine. The feeling was overwhelming, raw, and utterly consuming. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped for breath, and his voice—low, hoarse, and full of praise—grounded you in the moment.

“That’s it, sweetheart”, Dean rasped, his voice strained but filled with admiration. “You’re so damn perfect… so good for me”.

His grip on your hip tightened slightly, guiding you through the aftershocks as your body pulsed around him. The sensation was too much, pushing him over the edge. With a guttural groan that sent shivers through you, Dean followed, his entire body tensing beneath you as his own release tore through him.

His groans of pleasure turned strained as his stomach muscles scrunched in the process, pulling at his injured chest. He winced, his face contorting in a mix of pain and bliss, but he didn’t stop.

You could feel the tension radiating through him as his release claimed him fully, his breathing ragged and uneven. Despite the obvious discomfort, he didn’t let it detract from the moment. His hand brushed over your thigh again, soothing and grounding as he let out a final, exhausted groan, his head falling back against the couch.

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your shared, heavy breaths. Dean’s chest rose and fell beneath you, and his good hand moved to your back, tracing slow, lazy patterns in an effort to steady you both.

Finally, his green eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a soft, lopsided smile that made your heart ache.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 18

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[hisfavegirl]

Fallen Loyalties - Aemond Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : Now, all that remains is the echo of the lies Aemond told and the weight of the betrayal he never saw coming. And as the consequences unfold, he realize—it’s too late for apologies, too late for redemption. The loyalty you once shared is gone, and what’s left is nothing but the ruins of what you once were. The price of betrayal is always paid in regret. And now, he am paying it with his heart.

Aemond Masterlist.

Being born as Aemond Targaryen’s twin sister meant your fate was sealed from the moment you took your first breath. From the very beginning, your life was entwined with his, bound by blood, secrets, and the unyielding honor of House Targaryen. But your bond with Aemond had always been more than mere siblinghood. There was something deeper, darker, something no one dared to name aloud.

After the birth of Maelor, Aegon’s son, your marriage to Aemond was arranged without question. It was destiny, they said—a union that would strengthen House Targaryen. You accepted it with your head held high, even as your heart swirled with fear, confusion, and curiosity about how your life would change.

Now, you are carrying your first child. Years have passed since your marriage, and while you’ve grown accustomed to Aemond’s stern and controlling nature, the unspoken tension between you remains.

In your chambers, Aemond stood near the window, gazing at the flames burning in the distance. His silver hair flowed freely down his back, catching the warm glow of the candlelight. He turned when you entered, his sharp eye immediately locking onto yours.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked softly—a rare gentleness in his voice.

“Fine,” you replied briefly, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly.

Aemond approached, his steps deliberate and measured. Despite his calm demeanor, his intensity was palpable. He stopped in front of you, his gaze fixed on your stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“He will be our legacy,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “We will ensure the blood of the Targaryens remains pure and unbroken.”

His words stirred unease within you, but you nodded, choosing not to challenge him. You knew that beneath his gentleness lay a darkness you had no desire to provoke.

As the night deepened, you wondered if your life with Aemond was truly destined by fate or if you were merely trapped in the power games of your family. But when he gently pulled you into his arms, you couldn’t deny the feeling that, for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you were meant to be his—forever.

Loving Aemond was not something you could ever dream of letting go. It was a bond forged not only by blood but by something far deeper—something dark, consuming, and impossible to escape. You knew the kind of man he was, knew the fire that burned beneath his icy exterior. And you knew that when he was angry, even you, the one person he held above all else, could not control him.

The tension had been building ever since word reached you about what happened at Rook’s Rest. The whispers of what Aemond had done to your brother, Aegon, sent shivers down your spine. They said Aegon barely escaped with his life, and though the details were murky, the truth was clear: Aemond had crossed a line no one dared to confront.

When he returned to you, his presence was as commanding as ever, his single eye gleaming with a cold determination that made your blood run cold. He acted as though nothing had happened, as though the events at Rook’s Rest were just another necessary step in a long and bloody war.

But you knew. You had heard the screams of guilt in your own mind, the horror at what he had done to his own kin. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

You sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His calmness unsettled you.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze sharp as it turned toward you.

Your heart leapt in your chest, your hands tightening in your lap. For a moment, you considered speaking, considered asking him about what happened at Rook’s Rest. But the image of his fury, the cold, ruthless man you knew he could become, stopped you.

“No,” you lied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing.”

Aemond watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing, as if he could see straight through your soul. Then he crossed the room, kneeling before you. His hand reached out, brushing against yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Of course.”

He studied you for a moment longer before standing, his fingers lingering against your hand for a second longer than necessary. “Good,” he said simply, turning away and walking toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your mind raced with the weight of the secret you were keeping, the fear of what might happen if you dared to confront him.

You loved Aemond with everything you had, but you also knew the danger that came with that love. And in the end, you were willing to bear the burden of silence, knowing that to challenge him might mean losing him entirely.

The morning sun bathed the gardens in a soft golden glow as you walked down the stone pathway, Aemond by your side. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint saltiness of the sea breeze. Your hand rested lightly on your swollen belly, and with every step, Aemond’s presence beside you felt as steady and unyielding as ever.

He had been named Prince Regent in Aegon’s stead after your brother was left bedridden, unable to rule. The weight of responsibility now rested on Aemond’s shoulders, and while others might have buckled under such pressure, he seemed to thrive in it. His sharp mind and ruthless determination were exactly what the realm needed in these uncertain times.

As you paused near a marble bench, Aemond stopped beside you. His gaze softened as it shifted from your face to your belly. Without a word, he reached out, his hand warm and firm as it gently stroked the curve of your stomach. The simple gesture, filled with an unexpected tenderness, made your heart ache.

“You should rest more,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “The child needs you strong.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his hand. “And you? Do you not need rest as well? The council takes so much of your time.”

He smirked, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. “The council is full of fools. I don’t need rest to deal with them.”

His confidence was unshakable, and while it sometimes frustrated you, it also reassured you. He would not falter, not for anything or anyone.

Aemond leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead, a gesture so brief it might have been missed by anyone watching. Then he straightened, his icy demeanor returning as he prepared to face the day’s challenges.

“I must go,” he said, his voice returning to its usual sharpness. “The council awaits.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked away, his black cloak billowing behind him. His steps were purposeful, each one echoing with the authority of a man who knew he was in control.

For a moment, you lingered in the garden, your hand resting on your belly. The child within you stirred slightly, as if responding to its father’s touch. Aemond might be a man of fire and ice, but in these fleeting moments, you saw the softer side of him—a side he reserved only for you and the life you carried.

As you made your way to Aegon’s chambers, your steps were slow, burdened by a weight you couldn’t shake. The corridor was quiet, save for the faint rustling of servants going about their duties. When you reached the heavy oak door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to shield your brother from the harsh morning light. Aegon lay motionless on the grand bed, his face pale and drawn, a stark contrast to the once vibrant and arrogant man you had known. The faint scent of milk of the poppy lingered in the air, a reminder of the only thing keeping him from the agony of his injuries.

You stepped closer, your heart twisting with guilt as you looked at him. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful in his drugged sleep. For a moment, you could almost pretend he was simply resting, that nothing was wrong. But the bandages wrapped around his body told the truth you couldn’t deny.

You sat down on the edge of his bed, your hand trembling as it hovered over his. Finally, you let your fingers brush lightly against his, a silent gesture of comfort he wouldn’t even feel.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. You knew you couldn’t say these words to Aemond, couldn’t confront him about what he’d done to your brother at Rook’s Rest. But here, in the quiet of this room, you could let your guilt pour out.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you continued, your voice shaking. “He… Aemond… He doesn’t see things the way we do. He believes what he did was necessary, but I—” You stopped, the words catching in your throat. “I should have stopped him. I should have done something.”

Aegon didn’t stir, his slumber too deep to be interrupted by your whispered confessions. But somehow, speaking the words aloud made the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive him,” you murmured, tears sliding down your cheeks now. “Or me. But I swear to you, Aegon, I will make sure he doesn’t harm you again. I won’t let this happen again.”

You sat there for a while longer, your hand still resting lightly on his. The guilt still lingered, but so did the resolve. You would find a way to make amends, even if it meant standing against the man you loved most in the world.

You spent hours in Aegon’s room, sitting quietly by his side. The book you held was one you thought he might enjoy—something light, perhaps even amusing, to ease his troubled mind. You knew, deep down, that Aegon had never been one for books. He had always preferred action to words, the thrill of battle to the quiet comfort of a story. But today, you read anyway. It was more for yourself than for him, a small act of solace amidst the heavy silence that filled the room.

As your voice softened and you turned the pages, you could almost pretend everything was as it should be. But the weight of the situation lingered, and you couldn’t escape the gnawing guilt that still tugged at you, the guilt of what had transpired at Rook’s Rest.

Just as you read the final lines of a chapter, the door to Aegon’s room creaked open. You looked up, surprised, as your mother stood in the doorway, her posture regal and unyielding, yet there was something soft in her expression as she observed you. Behind her stood Aemond, his figure just as imposing as always, his presence a shadow in the doorway.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. You quickly closed the book, your eyes flicking between your mother and your brother, knowing exactly what this visit would mean.

“Mother,” you greeted her, rising from your seat. “Husband.”

Your mother gave a small nod, her eyes softening briefly as she looked at you. “How is Aegon?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she walked over to the side of the bed, her gaze landing on her eldest son.

“He is still asleep,” you replied softly, your voice betraying the exhaustion you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “The milk of the poppy keeps him in a deep sleep.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, his single eye narrowed slightly, as though scrutinizing every movement, every word. There was something unreadable in his expression, something far colder than the warmth your mother radiated.

“How long do you intend to stay here?” Aemond’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of something else beneath the edge—something like concern, but harder to place.

You met his gaze, your stomach tightening. “As long as it takes,” you replied, your voice firm but weary. “He’s my brother, Aemond. He needs me.”

Aemond’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes—he disapproved, no doubt. But then, a flicker of understanding passed between you, a silent acknowledgment that you were doing what you believed was right.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on Aegon’s forehead, her fingers brushing his hair back as she gazed down at him with love and worry in her eyes. “He’ll recover,” she said quietly, though there was doubt in her voice. “He’s strong, like his father.”

But you knew, in your heart, that Aegon’s strength alone might not be enough to recover from the wounds he had suffered—not just the physical ones, but the emotional scars that lingered from the events that had torn your family apart.

Aemond stepped forward then, his presence filling the room, and for a moment, you wondered what his intentions were. Would he seek to further distance you from Aegon? Or perhaps, you thought, he might simply leave, as he often did when the situation was less than ideal.

“You should rest,” Aemond said to you, his voice softer now, though his eyes remained distant. “You’ve been here long enough.”

You wanted to argue, to remain by Aegon’s side until he awoke, but you knew your body was exhausted. Aemond was right in his own way, and you couldn’t deny the exhaustion that weighed on you.

Your mother looked between you and Aemond, her gaze shifting uncomfortably. “I will stay with Aegon,” she said softly, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Go rest, dear.”

You hesitated, but nodded in the end. “Thank you, Mother.”

Before you left, you cast one final look at Aegon, your heart heavy with worry and regret. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was changing—and that nothing would ever be the same again.

You stood by the window, the soft light of the fading afternoon casting shadows across the room. The quiet was almost suffocating, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your thoughts were scattered, tangled in the webs of what had happened, and what might yet come. Aemond’s presence had become both a comfort and a source of tension, and tonight, you felt the pull of it more keenly than ever.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, but when it did, you knew who it was without needing to turn. Aemond. You had grown so accustomed to the sound of his footsteps, the way the air seemed to change when he entered a room.

He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, the silence between you stretching out in a way that felt both intimate and fragile. The tension that hung in the air was almost palpable, but still, you didn’t turn to face him. There were no words between you—no greeting, no acknowledgment of what was unsaid. Just the soft rustling of his movements, the quiet anticipation that only seemed to grow as the seconds passed.

Then, as if driven by some invisible force, Aemond stepped closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. You felt the brush of his hand before you even knew what he was doing—his fingers grazing the curve of your belly from behind. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it carried the weight of something unspoken. Something too deep to name.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not when the room felt too small and your heart too heavy with the knowledge of what had been, and what still was. His touch was a reminder of everything—your connection, your shared history, and the future you were both bound to, whether you wanted it or not.

Aemond’s fingers lingered on your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in this space where love, anger, and regret coiled together. You felt the warmth of his hand, the subtle pressure of his touch, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny that it still affected you. It always had.

His voice, when it came, was soft but laced with a certain edge. “I feel him,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Our child. He grows stronger every day.”

Aemond’s words were not a question, but a statement of fact. You could hear the tenderness in his tone, the quiet pride he felt as he spoke of the life you both created. It was a side of him you rarely saw, and yet, it was the side that seemed to matter most now.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the view outside. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to face him and acknowledge what lay between you. You couldn’t decide if you were afraid of the man he had become, or the man he was still capable of being.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aemond’s hand withdrew, but the room remained heavy with the unspoken words, the shared history that neither of you could ignore. You still hadn’t turned to look at him. Still, you knew he was there, watching, waiting.

The silence in the room grew thicker as you finally turned to face him. Aemond stood there, his features cold, his posture rigid as if he were carved from stone. You could feel the tension in the air, a simmering undercurrent that seemed to pulse between you like a living thing. The distance between you both felt vast, though you were only a few feet apart.

Your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, the question you had been holding in for so long finally spilling out.

“Is all of this truly worth it, Aemond?” Your voice trembled, a mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow. “Is it worth the cost of what we’ve done to our family? To Aegon?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the mention of your brother’s name. The silence that followed was thick with an intensity that made your chest ache. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, but the darkness in his eye began to surface. His fury, barely contained, was a palpable thing, swirling in the air around you.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt the shift in the room, as if the very temperature dropped with his growing anger. “Do you think this… this revenge, this destruction of our own flesh and blood, will make you whole?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a dam breaking under the pressure of years of pain. “Does it satisfy you to see him broken, to know you’ve taken so much from him?”

There was no immediate answer. Aemond didn’t speak, but you could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eye narrowing dangerously. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, his fury spilling over into violence as it had so many times before. But he stayed still, like a predator at the edge of a hunt, waiting.

“You speak as if you don’t understand,” Aemond’s voice was low, almost a growl. “As if you don’t know why this had to happen.” His tone was dangerously calm, but it was clear that something inside him was breaking, something you had no control over. “You ask if it’s worth it—do you think I want this? Do you think I wanted him to lie in that bed, broken and helpless?” His words were sharp, his anger barely contained. “No. I did what had to be done. And you should know that.”

You felt the heat of his words burn through you, the cold fury in his gaze like a slap to the face. But you didn’t flinch. You refused to be cowed, even as your heart ached with the reality of the situation.

“He is our brother, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. “And he has always been loyal to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Was this truly the only way? To break him, to break us all?”

The tension in the room became unbearable as Aemond stepped closer, his presence looming over you. His gaze softened, but there was a hard edge to it now, a warning you couldn’t ignore. He reached out, his hand grazing your cheek with unexpected tenderness, though it felt like an unspoken threat behind the touch.

“Don’t question me, my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. And I will not tolerate you doubting what I have done. Not now. Not ever.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you stood your ground. His anger, the fire that burned within him, was something you had known all your life. But now, it felt different. More intense, more consuming. And still, despite the fear gnawing at you, you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’m not questioning you, Aemond,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I’m questioning whether this… this destruction is truly the only path we can walk. If we have any other choice, any chance of finding peace.”

Aemond didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against your skin one last time, and then he stepped back, his posture rigid once again, though there was something unreadable in his eyes now.

“You will understand in time,” he said quietly, the coldness returning to his voice. “When you see the truth for what it is, you will know that I did what needed to be done.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the silence, a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but no answers to grasp.

Before Aemond turned to leave the room, his words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a promise of more distance between you and him. He paused by the door, his back to you, but his voice—so cold and matter-of-fact—was unmistakable.

“I am going to Harrenhal,” he said, his tone steady but devoid of any emotion. “I will take control of it. It is time to solidify our position.”

A shiver ran through you, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. You were silent, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. The way he spoke, with such finality, made it clear that his departure wasn’t just for a short time—it would be a while before he returned, if ever.

“You need not wait for me,” Aemond added, his voice soft but laced with a cool detachment. “It will be a long time before I return. Stay here, if you wish. But do not expect my presence.”

His words stung, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt a pang of frustration, anger, and—despite it all—a strange sense of longing. The emptiness his absence would bring was something you weren’t sure you could bear, but you knew better than to ask him to stay. You knew better than to push him, not when his mind was so set on his course.

You stood frozen, watching him, but you couldn’t find the words to stop him. What could you say to make him stay? What could you say to break through the walls he had built around himself?

Without a final glance back, Aemond left, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with nothing but the hollow echo of his absence.

You wanted to scream, to ask him why he had to go, why everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. But the silence that followed was more deafening than any argument. You could only stare at the door, your heart heavy with the knowledge that, for the time being, he would be gone—lost to his plans, his ambitions, and his unyielding determination.

And you? You were left standing in the ruins of what had once felt like home, wondering if you would ever truly find a way to reach him again.

It had been more than a week since Aemond left for Harrenhal, and the ache of his absence grew heavier with each passing day. The weight of your pregnancy was becoming unbearable, both physically and emotionally. Your child could arrive any moment now, yet Aemond had not returned. The silence he left behind was deafening, a constant reminder of the distance—both physical and emotional—that now lay between you.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the same place where you had stood the night he told you he was leaving. Your hands rested protectively over your swollen belly, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every kick, every movement of the life within you only deepened your longing for him, for his presence, for the reassurance only he could give.

And yet, he did not come.

Your heart ached with regret, the memory of that fateful night replaying in your mind over and over again. If only you hadn’t questioned him about Aegon. If only you had stayed silent, accepted his actions without challenge. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left so abruptly. Maybe then, he would be here now, by your side, where you needed him most.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You couldn’t cry. Not now. You had to be strong—for your child, if not for yourself. But the pain in your chest refused to fade, a constant reminder of how fragile everything felt without him.

The maesters and midwives had warned you to rest, to save your strength for the labor that could begin at any moment. But how could you rest when your heart was so heavy? How could you find peace when the man you loved, the father of your child, was so far away?

The thought of giving birth without him filled you with dread. You had imagined him there, his hand in yours, his voice steadying you through the pain. You had imagined his first glimpse of your child, the way his cold exterior would melt at the sight of new life. But now, those hopes seemed like distant dreams, fading with each passing day.

You turned your gaze to the horizon, where the faint glow of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Somewhere out there, Aemond was waging his battles, securing his victories, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of how much you needed him. You whispered his name softly, a plea carried on the wind, though you knew it would never reach him.

“Aemond,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sorrow. “Please… come back to me.”

The room grew quiet again, the stillness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, you could only hope that he would return before it was too late—before your child arrived, before the distance between you became something that even love couldn’t mend.

The next morning, the news reached you, carried on hushed whispers and hesitant glances from the servants who dared not meet your eyes. Aemond had sought the warmth of another, a bastard girl named Alys Rivers, in Harrenhal. The words struck you like a blade to the chest, the pain so sharp and immediate that you couldn't breathe.

Your mind refused to process it at first. No, it couldn't be true. Not Aemond. Not your Aemond. He had promised himself to you, bound not just by duty but by the bond you thought you shared. The very idea of him seeking comfort elsewhere while you carried his child felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

The room began to spin, your vision blurring as the weight of the betrayal crashed down on you. Your breaths came shallow and fast, panic overtaking you as the world around you grew faint.

Without realizing it, your hands had gripped the edge of the table in front of you, your knuckles white from the strain. A sharp pain in your abdomen made you gasp, and you looked down to see the crimson trail beginning to stain the hem of your gown. Blood. It was pooling beneath you, dripping onto the floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

The world tilted, and you swayed on your feet, your body betraying you as the weight of everything became too much to bear.

"Princess!" a servant cried out, rushing to your side as you began to collapse. Their hands caught you, but the panic in their voice only made everything worse.

"Fetch the maester!" another voice called.

"Quickly!"

You clutched your swollen belly instinctively, your heart racing as fear and despair collided within you. The child. Your child. Was something happening? Was your grief for Aemond harming the one thing that mattered most?

You tried to speak, to ask for help, but no words came. Tears streamed down your face as you were lowered onto a chaise, the cold sweat on your skin making you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"Stay with us, princess," the servant urged, their voice trembling. "The maester will be here soon."

Your mind raced as the pain intensified, each stab in your abdomen a cruel reminder of everything you were enduring. Aemond. The betrayal. The child. The blood. It was all too much, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, focusing on the life within you, clinging to the hope that it wasn't too late-that you hadn't lost the one thing you were holding onto.

As the maester arrived and the chaos around you grew louder, one thought consumed you: Aemond had to return. If not for you, then for the child. If not now, then before everything truly fell apart.

You lay on your bed, your body trembling as wave after wave of pain surged through you. Sweat coated your brow, and your breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a battle to keep going. Your heart clung to the fragile hope that the approaching footsteps outside your chamber belonged to Aemond. Surely, he had heard of your condition. Surely, he had returned.

The door creaked open, and your gaze snapped toward it, desperation shining in your eyes. But instead of Aemond, it was your mother, Alicent, who entered.

Her face was pale, her expression a mixture of panic and deep concern as she hurried to your side. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, kneeling beside you and taking your hand in hers. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it couldn’t erase the ache in your chest or the agony in your body.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice weak and trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “Where is Aemond?”

Alicent hesitated, the question clearly cutting into her as deeply as it did you. She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes was enough. He wasn’t coming. Not yet.

“You must focus now,” Alicent said gently but firmly, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. “The maester is on his way. You must save your strength for the baby. For your child.”

Her words barely reached you through the haze of pain and despair. You wanted to scream, to cry out that it wasn’t fair, that you couldn’t do this without him. But the next contraction tore through you, stealing your breath and forcing you to clutch your belly.

Alicent squeezed your hand tightly, her own fear barely concealed behind the mask of composure she wore for your sake. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I won’t leave you. You’re not alone.”

But you felt alone. Aemond’s absence was like a gaping wound, and the betrayal that lingered in your mind made the pain all the worse. The thought of him with another while you endured this moment alone was unbearable.

Your grip on Alicent’s hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body, and you let out a strained cry. Alicent’s voice was soothing, her touch unwavering as she leaned closer, whispering words of comfort.

“The gods have given you the strength to do this,” she said, her tone resolute. “You are stronger than you know, my daughter. And you will bring this child into the world, no matter who stands beside you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded weakly, her words offering a fragile thread of resolve to cling to. You had to do this. For your child. For the one part of Aemond you still held onto, even as your heart broke in his absence.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly, your nails digging into her skin as another wave of pain coursed through you. Alicent didn’t flinch, her other hand brushing your damp hair from your face as she murmured soft reassurances.

The maester stood at the foot of your bed, his voice calm but firm as he gave you instructions. “Now, my lady, you must push with all your strength. The child is almost here.”

Your breathing was ragged, your entire body trembling with exhaustion, but you nodded. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you pushed. The pain was unlike anything you’d ever known, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Alicent encouraged, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Just a little more. For the child. For yourself.”

Her words lit a fire in you, and you pushed again, tears streaming down your face as you gave it everything you had. Every thought in your mind focused on one thing: bringing your child into the world.

You thought of Aemond. Of his face, his voice, the way his hand had rested on your belly before he left. This child was his, a piece of him, and they deserved to meet their father. Even if he wasn’t here now, you clung to the hope that he would return.

With one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and you heard it—a sharp, clear cry that pierced the room and filled your heart with overwhelming relief and joy.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice carrying a rare note of warmth. He quickly wrapped the baby in a soft cloth and handed him to Alicent, who brought him to you.

Your hands trembled as you took him, his tiny body fitting perfectly against your chest. His cries quieted as you held him close, and for a moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by pure, unadulterated love.

“He’s perfect,” Alicent whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked your hair. “You’ve done so well, my sweet girl.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you gazed at your son, his silver hair glinting in the dim light. You kissed his forehead gently, your heart swelling with pride and protectiveness.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “He’ll want to meet you. He’ll need you.”

But Aemond wasn’t there, and the ache of his absence returned, even as your son’s warmth filled your arms. You swore to yourself, in that moment, that no matter what, you would protect this child. You would give him all the love and strength you could, even if his father remained distant.

Still, as you cradled your newborn, a faint, desperate hope flickered within you. Aemond would return. He had to. For your son. For the family you had created together.

The relief of holding your newborn son in your arms was short-lived as another sharp pain gripped your body, more intense than before. You winced, gasping as the sensation spread through you, making you clutch the bedding with trembling hands.

“What’s happening?” you whispered, your voice weak and laced with fear.

The maester, who had been tending to you, looked up sharply. His expression grew grim as he examined you again. “Princess,” he began carefully, “it appears you are carrying twins. The second child has yet to be delivered.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. Twins? Another baby? You glanced at your mother, Alicent, whose face had gone pale with worry.

“But there’s… something else,” the maester continued hesitantly. “The second child is positioned breech.”

A fresh wave of panic swept through you, stealing your breath. You turned to Alicent, your eyes wide and filled with terror. “Mother…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Alicent leaned closer, her hands gently cupping your face as she tried to calm you. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, though her voice shook with worry. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. Do you hear me?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded weakly, though fear still clawed at the edges of your mind. You knew the risks of a breech birth. You had heard the stories whispered in the Red Keep, of women who had suffered greatly in such labors.

The maester spoke again, his tone steady but firm. “Princess, this will be difficult. You must gather your strength and push when I tell you. We will do everything in our power to ensure both you and the child survive this.”

You swallowed hard, clutching Alicent’s hand tightly as the pain began to mount once more. The child you carried deserved a chance at life, just as much as the one already in your arms. No matter the fear coursing through you, you had to see this through.

“Mother,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “I’m scared.”

Alicent’s gaze softened, tears glistening in her eyes as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are the strongest woman I know,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You brought your first child into this world. You can do it again. I’m here with you, and I won’t leave your side.”

Her words gave you a flicker of strength, and you nodded, bracing yourself for what was to come. The maester gave the command to push, and with Alicent’s hand in yours, you bore down once more, fighting through the pain and fear for the sake of the life still waiting to meet the world.

The maester’s voice rang in your ears, firm and steady despite the chaos in your body. “Now, princess. Push! With everything you have!”

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with exhaustion as you gripped the bedding tightly. Alicent held your hand, her other hand brushing the damp hair from your forehead as she whispered soothing words. “You’re so close, my love. Just a little more. You can do this.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you gave it your all. The pain was searing, the effort monumental, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, every second dragging like an eternity until, finally, the pressure eased, and the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first, piercing cry.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Alicent’s face lit up with relief and pride, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done it, my darling.”

The maester carefully wrapped your daughter in a soft cloth before handing her to Alicent, who brought her to you. Your hands trembled as you reached out, cradling your daughter against your chest. She was so small, so perfect, her silver hair already glinting in the dim light.

You stared at her in awe, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears of joy spilled down your cheeks.

The little girl’s cries softened as she settled in your arms, her tiny hand curling around your finger. You leaned down and kissed her forehead, your tears falling onto her soft skin.

Alicent stroked your hair gently, her own tears still flowing as she watched the tender moment. “Two perfect children,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “You’ve given the realm a miracle, my love.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you smiled through your tears, holding your daughter close as your son rested nearby. In that moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

You had brought your children into the world, and no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew you would protect them with everything you had.

Your body felt heavy, every breath shallow and labored as you lay back against the pillows. The world around you blurred, the edges of your vision darkening, and the voices of those in the room sounded distant, muffled.

Alicent’s voice broke through the haze, frantic and trembling. “Stay with me, my love. Please. Stay with me!” She gripped your hand tightly, her tears falling onto your skin, but her words felt far away.

Your lips trembled as you struggled to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “Mother…” you murmured, your gaze flickering toward her. “I’m… sorry.”

“No, no apologies,” Alicent cried, her voice breaking as she leaned closer. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, just hold on!”

A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts drifted to Aemond. “Tell him… I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint and weak. “Tell him… I loved him.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the weight of exhaustion too much to bear. Alicent’s panicked cries grew louder, but you could no longer focus on her words. Your breaths grew slower, more labored, until they faded entirely.

Alicent’s scream filled the room, raw and desperate. “No! She can’t be gone! Do something!”

The maester stepped back, his face pale and grim as he shook his head. “The blood loss… it was too great. Her body was too weak after the second birth.”

Alicent collapsed to her knees beside your bed, her sobs shaking her entire frame as she clung to your lifeless hand. The room was heavy with silence, save for the soft cries of your newborn daughter and the muffled cries of your mother’s heartbreak.

Your children were alive—two perfect children with silver hair and the Targaryen legacy flowing through their veins. But you, their mother, had given everything to bring them into the world, leaving behind only memories and the deep ache of loss for those who loved you.

When news reached Aemond, it would be a blow that no sword or fire could rival.

Alicent sat silently in the Sept, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her tear-filled gaze remained fixed on you. Draped in white, you looked peaceful yet unnaturally still, your once-bright eyes forever closed. The candles surrounding you cast flickering light across your face, a stark contrast to the grief that consumed the room.

Her tears had not stopped flowing since your passing. You had been her strength, her light amidst the darkness of court politics and family betrayals. Now, all that remained was an unbearable emptiness.

The heavy creak of the Sept doors broke the stillness, drawing Alicent’s attention. Her breath caught as Aemond stepped through, his expression unreadable. His strides were slow but purposeful, his eye fixed on you as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He stopped before your lifeless body, his tall frame trembling. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if time itself had stopped.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cold cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.

There was no response, only the deafening silence that had haunted him since he first heard the news.

Aemond’s breaths grew heavier, his eye glistening with unshed tears as he gently shook your shoulder. “Don’t do this to me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yell at me. Tell me I was wrong. Curse me, fight me—but don’t leave me like this.”

Still, you didn’t move.

He sank to his knees beside you, his head bowing as his hand gripped yours tightly. “I thought I had time,” he murmured, his voice filled with anguish. “I thought I could make it right.”

Alicent watched her son in silence, her heart breaking anew at the sight of his pain. She had seen Aemond’s coldness, his strength, his unyielding resolve. But this—this raw, unfiltered grief—was something she had never seen before.

“You were everything,” Aemond whispered, his tears finally falling as he rested his forehead against your still hand. “You were my other half, my twin, my wife. How am I meant to go on without you?”

The Sept was silent save for his quiet sobs, the sound of a man who had lost not just his wife, but a piece of his soul.

Alicent stood by the alter, her grief-stricken face hardening with sorrowful anger as she looked at Aemond. His presence, his raw pain, was almost too much to bear. She knew how deeply he had loved you — as your mother, she had seen it from the moment you and Aemond had been betrothed. And yet now, there he was, crumbling in the face of the consequences of his own choices.

“You heard, didn’t you?” Alicent said softly, her voice laced with both sadness and reproach. “You heard the whispers. The truth of what happened. That you, my son, betrayed the woman who gave everything to bring your children into this world.”

Aemond’s head shot up, his face twisting with anguish, as though her words had struck him with the force of a dagger. His lips trembled, but no words came. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving.

“You did this,” Alicent continued, her voice low but piercing. “You sought comfort in another woman—Alys River—and now, here we are. Your wife is dead. My daughter is dead. You killed her, Aemond. Not with your hands, but with your heart. And it tore her apart.”

His body shook, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might collapse under the weight of the realization. His eye, usually so fierce and cold, now appeared hollow with the depth of his self-loathing.

“I never meant for it to be like this,” Aemond whispered, his voice cracked with pain. He wiped his face with his sleeve, but it did little to stop the tears. “I didn’t want to lose her. I… I thought I could fix everything. I was wrong. I killed her… I killed her with my betrayal.”

Alicent’s expression softened ever so slightly, her eyes flickering with maternal compassion despite the anger still in her voice. “You were too late, Aemond. Too late to save her. And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of your choices.”

He fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head as if trying to tear the thoughts from his mind, but they remained. His voice, a broken whisper, echoed through the silence of the room.

“Curse me,” he murmured, his hands trembling. “I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this pain. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to her… to us.”

Alicent turned her gaze away for a moment, the depth of her sorrow for both of you—her daughter, gone too soon, and her son, destroyed by his own remorse—overwhelming.

“Forgiveness is a long road, Aemond,” she said quietly. “But you must find it for yourself. Because it’s your future, your children, and the legacy of House Targaryen that remains. You can’t change what’s been done. But you can choose to live for them. For her.”

Aemond’s body heaved with silent sobs, and the weight of his actions, of his guilt, became the heaviest thing he had ever carried. The room was still, save for the soft cries of your children, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, of the terrible loss that would forever shape their lives.

And Aemond, broken and drowning in the sorrow of his mistakes, could only wish for a world where time could be rewound, and the love he had so carelessly broken could be mended. But in the end, he knew that would never happen.

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