#but it's pretty well known that he lost this passion over time

[ophanim-vesper]

An hour and 17 minutes into Defunctland's new video. It's crazy to think that the first person to basically say "we should replace artists with robots/AI!" was... Walt Disney himself.

[around 1:17:14 in the video]

Defunctland's new video, you should watch it.

[velarisdusk]

Velvet Whispers, Midnight Truths

Azriel x Reader

word count: 5.3k content: [ explicit sexual content, unprotected PIV, az doesn't pull out lol, casual sex, hurt/comfort kinda?, jealousy, friends to lovers, language ] summary: Frustrated by Azriel's apparent indifference towards you, you seek solace in the arms of others. But words exchanged over a family dinner ignite a long-suppressed jealousy. A heated exchange, an unforeseen confrontation, and a passionate encounter follow. author's note: i received this ask a couple of weeks ago and omg i had so much fun writing this, i love drama ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

You liked to think you could handle a lot; political disputes, bloodshed, mountains of paperwork. But this? No, this was simply too much. You were in hysterics when Nesta found you — or rather when Nesta was rounding a corner and you bumped into her with enough force to make even Cassian stumble back.

“(Y/n), do you sincerely believe that that,” she’d gestured between you and the general direction you’d run from, “was ever going to work?” Her words were like a knife to the gut, her tone like grabbing it by the hilt and twisting. How she’d known what you’d seen was beyond you. But it wasn’t lost on her, or anyone else except Azriel apparently; the longing stares out the window down to the training ring, always sitting next to or across from him at the table, the way your scent would change when he’d pop into and out of a room — a dead giveaway of where your mind went when he was around.

So to see him like that — with her… It was a sight that seared itself into your memory. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss, her fingers threaded through his dark hair. His hands roamed her body with unbridled desire, tracing the curves of her sides, waist, and hips, cupping her breast, and cradling her neck. To say it stung would’ve been the understatement of the millennia.

“It’s just… how he is,” her tone softened when she noticed your wince. “He was obsessed with Morrigan for five hundred years… five hundred, (y/n). I won’t be surprised if he’s set on Elain for five hundred more. What she plans to do, well,” Nesta raised her hands as if to say ‘not my problem.’ Her words were harsh, but you knew they held some truth.

“Maybe you just need to go to a pleasure house and fuck him out of your system,” she’d said plainly, smoothing down your hair as if she were discussing the weather. A pleasure house? They were illegal, but you weren’t naive, you knew they were out there. They were all underground; places you found through a friend of a cousin of a neighbor. Before you could dry your eyes, Nesta pulled a pen out of her pocket and scribbled an address onto your wrist. You didn’t want to know why she’d had it memorized. “Pretend it’s him, or the cute guy at the coffee shop, or whoever honestly. Hell, maybe even think of whoever it is you’re fucking,” she said with a smirk as she wrote. “Whatever you need to do to get over him, do it.”

You spent months in and out of taverns, walking in alone, walking out with a different male each time. It was fun… when they knew what they were doing. It was a wonder; males don’t know what they’re doing even if they have all the time in the world to figure it out. On the nights when there were enough of you for a family dinner at the River House, you didn’t miss how they all tried to scent you subtly, and eventually how Azriel’s shadows crept under the table all the way towards your feet, curling around your ankles as if trying to unravel your secrets. That was one of the many things that had stopped lately, sitting near him. The first night you took Mor’s usual seat, she’d given you a bemused look but said nothing of it. Meanwhile, the windowsill grew colder, both from the changing weather and your prolonged absence.

Your thoughts, however, were as persistent as ever. You didn’t think about him as often these days (Nesta’s advice worked pretty fast, you thought), but that was before he walked into Rhys’s office while you were discussing how to best quell the persistent tensions with Autumn.

It had been a quick in-and-out from him, typical as of late. Azriel strode in, his movements fluid and purposeful. He dropped some papers onto Rhys’s desk, leaning over your shoulder to do so. As he straightened, his right hand briefly rested on your other shoulder, the touch light but noticeable. He gave Rhys a nod and left. The warmth of his touch lingered long after he’d gone.

“We’ll have to speak to Eris again, soon,” he’d said with a barely-there note of urgency as he sifted through Azriel’s report.

“I can go,” you’d volunteered. “I’ve been meaning to go for some honey. Autumn Court honey-”

“-is the best, I know,” he finished with a soft smile. “Listen, I know I don’t need to warn you, but whatever conversation you may have with Eris, it’ll likely be heated. And tense. Things right now aren’t the best after-”

“I know,” it was your turn to say. “I can handle him, Rhysie, don’t you worry,” you teased, using that nickname you knew he’d roll his eyes at. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

The feeling of Azriel’s hand on your shoulder was a brand on your skin.

Not an hour after you’d met with Rhysand, you were standing in the entrance of the pleasure hall Nesta’d told you about all those weeks ago. The kind-looking female at the desk brought out a book of names so you could choose… your companion for the evening. You’d flipped through page after page, your nerves growing with each description you read. None of them were your type to begin with, but to pick and choose from a book felt wrong. You were about to point one out at random when the door opened, and who should walk in but the heir to the Autumn Court himself?

You’d somehow convinced him not to rush out, and to have a chat over coffee. He somehow convinced you that it was meant to be that he walked in right when you were about to make a mistake.

You’d somehow convinced each other it wouldn’t be an entirely terrible and irreversible mistake to get a room at the hotel across the street for a couple of hours.

Then again one night the next week.

And again three days after that.

That was how you found yourself underneath Eris Vanserra now. It was meaningless for both of you, purely physical, but you couldn’t deny the added thrill of finding someone so mutually attractive.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight,” he groans from behind you, grabbing your hips and pulling you back onto his cock with a force unmatched by any of your tavern trysts. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room, punctuated by your moans and heated whispers.

Rhysand would be waiting for you to get back. You were supposed to meet with Eris to discuss the logistics of a diplomatic meeting to address inter-court relations. And then there was the family dinner tonight. Almost everyone was home – only Amren was absent, her extended stays in the Summer Court becoming more frequent these days.

“Hurry up and finish, I’ve got places to be,” you tell him over your shoulder, looking his way just as he lands a firm smack on your ass.

“Better places than right here?” he asks. With a particularly hard thrust, you’re thrown off of your forearms with a yelp, face-first into the pillowy sheets.

“I didn’t say that-” You’re cut off by a moan that escapes you when he reaches around and toys with your nipple. “But I’ve got to get back and tell Rhysand that we-”

“Let’s not talk business, please,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice. “The last thing I want to think about right now is leaving the lands of one tyrant to go back to the lands of another.” You turn your head indignantly at that, ready to defend your High Lord, when he shoves your face back into the mattress, abandoning any pretense of gentleness. Eris’s hands roamed your body, his touch igniting sparks along your skin. Your breath caught as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. You arched into him, pushing aside all thoughts of diplomatic meetings and family dinners.

This? This was simply too good.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

For the first time in months, Feyre called for a family dinner at the River House. It was a rare occurrence lately; as soon as someone returned, someone else had to leave. She and Cassian had returned from the Continent this morning, and Azriel and Nesta from Autumn hours ago.

Azriel’s gaze swept across the table, taking in the faces of his family. Rhys sat to his right at the head, one hand intertwined with Feyre’s, the other gently stroking Nyx’s hair as the toddler babbled happily in his high chair. Cassian’s booming voice filled the air, entertaining them with tales of his and Feyre’s adventure, and Mor leaned in, her golden hair catching the candlelight as she listened. Even Nesta, usually with her mask of indifference, couldn’t entirely hide the fond exasperation in her eyes as she watched her mate’s exaggerated retelling.

When his eyes fell on Elain, the tips of his ears reddened slightly. The memory of their encounter all those months ago flashed through his mind. The passion, the nervousness, the realization that followed. He’d handled it poorly. The guilt of touching her so intimately, only to find himself unmoved, still weighed on him. He quickly averted his gaze, hoping no one had noticed his momentary discomfort.

They’d been happily sitting at the table just shy of ten minutes when a realization struck him. The chair diagonal to his remained suspiciously empty. He cleared his throat, taking a sip of water to cover his sudden unease. “Where’s (y/n)?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “I thought we were all home tonight?”

“She’s probably with Jasper,” Cassian said offhandedly, sawing into his steak with perhaps more force than was necessary. Azriel’s grip on his fork tightened imperceptibly.

Feyre shook her head, a slight frown creasing her brow. “Jasper? No, that ended forever ago. Last I heard, she was seeing Ares.”

“Ares?” Nesta’s eyebrows shot up. “I could’ve sworn I saw her with Roan a couple of weeks ago.”

“Before Ares,” Feyre clarified, exchanging a knowing look with her sister.

Mor leaned in, unable to hide her curiosity. “Wait, wasn’t there a Soran at some point too?”

He tried to maintain his composure, but it grated on his nerves. His jaw clenched tighter with each name mentioned, his grip on his fork becoming white-knuckled. The metal bent under the pressure of his fingers, and his shadows whirled around him, betraying the storm of emotions the words had unleashed.

Elain’s soft voice cut through the chatter. “It’s been Eris a few times now.”

The table fell silent, all eyes snapping to Elain. She paused, her glass of wine halfway to her lips, suddenly aware of the weight of her words.

“Lucien mentioned something about it,” she murmured, before taking a rather large sip.

Something inside Azriel snapped. He slammed the bent fork onto the table with enough force to rattle the dishes, the sound cutting through the stunned silence. Without a word, he abruptly stood, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

Ignoring the concerned looks and half-formed questions from his family, he strode out of the dining room. His shadows darted around him, agitated and dark.

Outside, he took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying to calm the storm raging inside him. But he couldn’t; not until he knew where she was. His shadows slipped from him, spreading out into the night, searching for her. He clenched his jaw, the thought of them, of her with him, branded into his mind. With a low growl of frustration, Azriel let his shadows envelop him completely.

Azriel sat at the small, dimly lit cafe, the steam rising from the untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t need it, not really. The caffeine wouldn’t do anything to calm him, but it gave him something to do with his hands. He settled into a corner seat, his shadows swirling restlessly around his feet as he waited. He stared out the window, his eyes trained on the hotel’s entrance, but his mind was elsewhere. The fury simmered beneath his skin, an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it made him feel restless.

But why was he so mad?

They weren’t together. They’d never been together. She was free to do whatever she pleased, with whoever she pleased. He’d never allowed himself to think of her that way — she was beautiful, yes, but he had never looked at her and felt that familiar tug of desire that he’d experienced with others. She was more than that… It was different.

He scowled, leaning back in his chair as the thought sank in. If that was true, if he’d never seen her in that light, then why did the thought of her with Eris make his blood boil? What was it about seeing her with that arrogant piece of shit that had twisted something deep inside him?

His jaw tightened. Maybe it wasn’t just about Eris. Maybe it was about her.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

Azriel’s grip tightened around the coffee cup, the ceramic warm against his palm as he watched the entrance of the hotel from the cafe. It wasn’t long before he saw Eris stride out, pausing briefly to glance around as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Azriel scoffed, imagining all the things he’d love to do to that self-satisfied prick. The idea of wiping that smug look off Eris’s face brought a twisted sense of satisfaction.

But then, his breath caught in his throat as you stepped out of the hotel, turning to walk in the opposite direction, towards the River House. Azriel’s jaw clenched. Were you planning on showing up and pretending nothing had happened?

He let out a slow, measured breath, willing the fury to simmer down as he pushed away from the table. Keeping a safe distance, he followed you through the darkened streets, his shadows drifting ahead to ensure your path was clear. He told himself it was just to make sure you got back safe. That was all.

But the anger, the confusion, the gnawing sense of something he couldn’t quite name — it lingered, gnawing at him with every step he took.

As you neared the house, Azriel’s pace slowed, his footsteps nearly silent as he watched you walk the final block. The moment you turned the corner, his form dissolved into shadows, and he winnowed back into the house, appearing in the dining room with a gust of displaced air.

“Az, where the hell did you–” Cassian started, but Azriel cut him off with a cold glare.

“Shut up and eat.”

“Az?” Feyre’s voice held a note of concern. “You–”

“I said sh–” he stopped himself when he looked up and realized who’d spoken. “Eat.” Azriel’s tone was softer but still left no room for argument as he dropped into his seat, his jaw clenched tight. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but after a brief, tense pause, the conversation resumed. It was quieter at first, voices subdued as they cautiously picked up where they’d left off, but soon enough, the normal rhythm returned.

Minutes later, the door creaked open, and you walked in, your presence instantly drawing the room’s attention. You hung up your coat, smoothing down your hair as you made your way to the table. But as you sat, the scent slammed into him, unmistakable — Eris. It was all over you, clinging to your skin, and your clothes, filling the room with the unmistakable evidence of your encounter.

Azriel’s fists clenched under the table, though his face remained neutral. To his left, Elain’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, her gaze flicking between you and Azriel. She had noticed the shift in him, the way his entire demeanor had changed the moment she casually mentioned who you’d been spending time with lately. And now, with the proof of it hanging in the air like a challenge, she could see through his cool facade, the turmoil beneath it. But Azriel said nothing, just stared down at his plate.

The table was silent as you ate, the tension thickening with every passing moment. Azriel’s gaze was fixed on you, his patience wearing thin. When it became clear that you had no intention of bringing up the unmistakable smell that lingered around you, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Why do you smell like Eris?” His voice cut through the silence with a directness that left no room for misinterpretation.

You looked up, eyes wide with surprise at the bluntness of his question. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response.

Azriel stayed deathly still, back straight against the seat. “You knew someone was going to ask. His stench is all over you — you reek of him. So why?”

You raised an eyebrow, your expression one of calm defiance. “I think you’re old enough to have had that conversation with someone else already.” Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Rhysand summoning a bottle of liquor from the cabinet.

A murmur rippled through the room. Elain’s eyes widened in delighted surprise, while Feyre’s face twitched, clearly uncomfortable. But a smirk played on Nesta’s lips, amused by the scene unfolding before her.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t look away from you. His jaw clenched, and the intensity in his gaze was unmistakable. “You know, most people would have the decency to keep their affairs private.”

Your lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And some people think it’s their job to play moral watchdog. How very… quaint.”

Mor, now holding the bottle of liquor and pouring, raised an eyebrow at the exchange but made no move to intervene, clearly interested in the outcome.

Azriel’s nostrils flared, his irritation evident. “Quaint? Is that what you call it when someone’s reckless behavior affects everyone around them?”

You leaned forward, your voice icy. “How is what I choose to do with my time affecting everyone else? And who’s being reckless here? I’m not the one who’s turned this dinner into a circus.”

Nesta’s smirk widened slightly, her eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. The room’s atmosphere grew thicker, tension palpable as both of you held your ground, eyes locked on each other.

“Can we take this somewhere else?” Azriel’s voice was edged with frustration. It was unlike him to let his composure slip.

You shook your head, a glint of challenge in your smile. “No, you’ve already brought it up. Go ahead.”

His voice dropped, carrying a hard edge. “I don’t think you should be with him.”

Your gaze hardened, your tone sharp. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m not ‘with’ him.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed. “I don’t think you should be fucking him then!”

You met his challenge head-on. “And who are you to decide who I fuck?”

His frustration boiled over, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m–” He started, but the words faltered on his lips. The reality of the situation hit him hard, and he realized he had no right to be this worked up. With a ragged breath, he abruptly stood from the table, circling it to your seat. Without another word, Azriel grabbed your arm with a firm grip and began to drag you towards the door. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t resist. The room’s atmosphere had shifted, the air charged with an electric tension. Azriel’s grip on your arm was firm but not harsh, leading you toward a quieter corner of the house.

He guided you into a dimly lit hallway, far from the prying eyes of your family. As soon as the hall door clicked shut behind you, the space seemed to close in. Azriel’s breath was uneven, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that spoke of more than just frustration.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “I just… I can’t stand the thought of you with him.”

You stepped closer, your voice equally low but steady. “And what does that matter to you? You’ve never been one to concern yourself with me.”

Azriel’s gaze softened. “That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you. And thinking about you with him… it drives me mad.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t seem like you were too concerned when you were feeling up Elain.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, guilt and frustration clouding his features. “That’s not fair. Things are complicated, you know that. It wasn’t about not caring for you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Then what was it about? Because to me, it seemed like you were perfectly fine ignoring me.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but his voice was steady. “I never ignored you, (y/n),” he said, his touch firm yet gentle as he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. “I may have been spending more time with Elain, but I never ignored you. Her and I already spoke, forever ago, a few days after it happened, actually. It was a mistake. One I deeply regret.”

You shook your head, the hurt evident in your eyes. “Words are easy, Azriel. Actions–”

“–actions were a mess, I know.” He cut you off, stepping closer. “But I’m trying. I’ve been trying.”

You searched his face, conflicted emotions warring within you. “And yet, here we are, you feeling the need to interfere in my life.”

Azriel’s gaze held yours, earnest and intense. “Because I care about you, just as much as you care about me, if not more.” You had to suppress an eye roll at that. If only he knew. “Knowing you’re with him… I can’t help but feel it’s not right.”

A heavy silence fell between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Before you could break it, Azriel closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. It was raw, demanding, and full of the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface all this time. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The world outside seemed to fade away. In the quiet darkness of the hallway, your bodies pressed together, the tension from your confrontation fueling a different kind of intensity.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body with a desperate need, as if he was trying to erase the anger and frustration from earlier, trying to replace the scent tinging your usual honey and lavender with night-chilled mist and cedar. He pushed you against the wall, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as his kiss grew more insistent.

You gasped against his lips, your body responding to his touch with desire and need. Your hands traveled down to the hem of his winter sweater, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged it upwards, needing to feel more of him, needing to touch the skin beneath. Azriel didn’t hesitate; he broke the kiss just long enough to yank it over his head, discarding it to the side before his mouth was on yours again, more demanding, more fervent.

You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest, feeling the lines of hard muscle, the cool touch of his skin a contrast to the searing heat between you. Every caress, every brush of his lips, was fueled by the unspoken tension that had been simmering inside of you for so long. Though the thought of this wasn’t on your radar an hour ago, it felt as though this moment had been inevitable, the collision of anger and passion combusting into something neither of you could resist.

Azriel’s hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending shivers down your spine as he lifted the fabric, fingers trailing over your skin, up to your waist, his touch tender yet possessive. With a swift motion, he pulled your shirt over your head and then his lips were on your neck trailing heated kisses down to your collarbone.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and heavy, every word laced with the same intensity that had sparked this fire between you. “Is this what you were trying to find with those miserable fucks?” He nipped at your shoulder, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing it with a kiss.

You could only nod, words failing you as the need in your body overpowered everything else. You wanted this — wanted him — and there was no space for hesitation. Your hands gripped his shoulders tighter as he pressed you more firmly against the wall, his hips grinding against yours in a way that made you gasp again.

Azriel’s eyes met yours, dark and filled with a mixture of desire and something more — something deeper. For a brief moment, everything paused, the air thick with unspoken emotions that hung between you. Then, as if some unspoken agreement had been reached, his lips found yours again, and all the pent-up tension spilled over. He pressed his hands firmly against your hips, his grip possessive as he lifted you effortlessly from the floor. With a deliberate stride, he carried you towards the guest bedroom he was staying in, his lips meeting yours once again. His lips burned against yours as he carried you down the hall, his pace steady but urgent. The guest bedroom door swung open with a firm push, and he set you down gently on the edge of the bed. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment.

He loomed over you, his hands still gripping your hips, his breaths deep as he took in the sight of you sprawled before him. His gaze roamed hungrily over your body, a smoldering look in his eyes that made your pulse quicken. His fingers traced the curve of your waist as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. He reached beneath you, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. You arched your back, offering him better access. With a skilled movement, he undid the clasp and slid the garment off your shoulders. His gaze lingered on your exposed skin, filled with an intense, appreciative heat.

His hands roamed eagerly, exploring every inch of your exposed skin. He paused momentarily to meet your eyes, the burning desire in his gaze mirrored your own. “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Tell me how to make you feel everything you need.”

You pulled him down for another searing kiss, your fingers threading through his hair as you whispered against his lips, “Just touch me, Azriel.”

His response was immediate. He moved with a practiced grace, undressing you with urgency. Azriel took a moment to appreciate the view, his gaze dark and intense with a mixture of hunger and reverence. He shifted position, his hands exploring the newly exposed expanse of your skin. His lips followed, trailing fiery kisses down your torso, savoring every inch of you. He took his time, lingering over the most sensitive spots, teasing and testing to see what made you shiver and gasp.

He knelt between your legs, his breath warm against your inner thighs as he leaned in to kiss the sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out, teasing and exploring with a skill that made you writhe beneath him. The sensation was overwhelming, each stroke and flick sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands were steady and reassuring as he guided you through the rising tide of your desire.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared desire — the soft rustle of sheets, the breathy gasps of pleasure, and the occasional low groan of satisfaction. Azriel’s touch was relentless and precise, each movement meant to drive you closer to the edge.

When he finally positioned himself above you, there was a moment of intense eye contact, his gaze fierce and protective, as if etching every detail of your expression into his mind.

As you reached for him, your fingers tracing the torso you’d pleasured yourself to the thought of countless times, Azriel gently took your hand in his. His voice was low and firm, filled with a mixture of resolve and tenderness. “Not tonight,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Tonight, I want to take care of you. We can worry about everything else another time.”

With that, he shifted his focus entirely to you, his hands and lips working in concert to bring you to the brink of pleasure. His body melded with yours, the sensation overwhelming, and you gasped at the sudden fullness, every inch of him filling you in a way that was electrifying and profoundly intimate. Azriel’s movements were rhythmic and purposeful, each thrust making your breath hitch.

“Azriel,” you breathed, your voice trembling with need. “I’ve wanted you so badly.”

His gaze softened, his hands tightening their grip on your hips. “I’m here,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You could feel the tension coiling tighter inside you, each thrust driving you further into a state of heightened arousal. Azriel’s movements were perfectly curated to push you closer and closer to the edge. His hands and lips explored your body with a dedication that made your pulse race, his touch alternating between gentle caresses and firm grips.

His lips traveled from your ear to your neck, his kisses lingering and teasing, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. You arched against him, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the deep connection he was giving you.

“You feel amazing,” Azriel murmured, his voice low and filled with awe. “Every part of you. I can’t get enough.”

You managed a breathless moan, your fingers gripping the sheets as you writhed beneath him. “Don’t stop,” you gasped. “Please, don’t stop.”

Azriel’s response was a low, rumbling growl of approval. His rhythm never faltered, he was relentless in his devotion, ensuring that every inch of you was covered in his touch, every gasp and shiver met with a responsive stroke. The pressure within you continued to build, the pleasure intensifying with every passing second. Azriel’s hands traced patterns on your skin, his fingers brushing against the most sensitive spots with a skill that made you tremble.

When you were on the verge of losing control, Azriel’s lips found yours once more, his kiss deep and passionate. His movements matched the fervor of the kiss, driving into you with a rhythm that left you gasping and clutching at him. You felt a wave of overwhelming pleasure wash over you. Azriel’s movements became more urgent, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as he drove you to the brink. You clung to him, your body arching and trembling as the climax hit with a powerful intensity.

He followed you into the release, his body shuddering with his own pleasure as he held you close, his grip firm and reassuring. The world seemed to dissolve around you, leaving only the shared warmth and satisfaction of your intimate connection.

Azriel looked down at you with a teasing grin. “You know, we might want to wash up.”

You laughed, catching his playful tone. “Yeah, we probably shouldn’t head back downstairs like this.”

He leaned closer, his grin widening as he scented the air near you. “No, they’ll be able to tell we’ve been at it. You’ve still got some Autumn on you and I’m going to be the one to scrub it off.”

[nebulaafterdark]

The Iron Throne

Summary: Y/N is afraid that the Iron Throne will spurn her due to her parentage, Aegon disagrees. Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Oral (F receiveing)

Y/N and Aegon speak freely when they are alone, about the weight of her duties and what he, as her husband, might do to help shoulder them. Lately the topic has been a simpler one, Y/N’s fear of the Iron Throne and how she dreads the day she must eventually sit it.

“What of it frightens you, sweet girl?” Aegon wonders, watching her pace at the foot of their bed.

“That it will spurn me, because I am unworthy.” Y/N admits.

Aegon hums. “You are worthy. Come, I will show you.”

“Now?” Y/N chokes out.

“Yes, my love there is no one there.” Not in the middle of the night.

She hesitates, wringing her hands. “You know what I am.”

“My wife,” Aegon reminds her, “my future Queen.”

Y/N sighs, holding out a hand. Allowing him to lead her down to the empty throne room, demanding the guards provide no one entrance until they are finished.

The throne looms, like a dark omen over the room. Though Aegon does not seem to notice, walking his wife towards it and turning her to face him.

“Gods, you are beautiful.” He remarks, brushing dark hair over her shoulders. “Made to be worshipped, made to be Queen.”

Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you’re one to talk.”

Aegon rests a hand against the tiny swell of the abdomen. “That’s how we got here a fifth time, hmmm?”

“It’ll be an even six, no doubt.”

“Or seven,” Aegon’s eyes come alight with mischief. “Then of course, it’d have to be eight.”

“Why stop at eight when we could have ten?”

“You’re stalling,” Aegon wags a finger at her. “Sit down for me, nice and slow.”

Y/N stops breathing all together as she takes her place on the throne.

“Good girl,” he coos.

Y/N inhales, sharply.

“Just as I said, nothing has happened.”

“I want to get off now.”

“Not until you’re comfortable.”

“Please, Aegon.” She whines.

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you,” Aegon leans forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m going to help you get over your fear of this silly chair.”

“How?” Y/N wonders.

“By feasting on your pretty cunt as you sit upon it, and each time you take to this throne, you will think of my mouth.”

She catches his face in her hands, “you cannot.”

“I must, my dearest love.” Aegon hushes her, “what kind of husband would I be if I allow you to walk around with such fear?”

Y/N swallows.

“Be good.” He affords her a reassuring smile before kneeling at her feet. Pressing a sweet kiss to the swell of her belly, the child has finally made their presence known. “Lift your hips for me.”

Y/N obeys, allowing him to slide her small clothes down to her ankles.

Her nightgown remains perfectly placed, with Aegon sliding up beneath her skirts. Applying gentle pressure to her knees until they part.

He groans, inhaling the familiar scent of her. “You are heavenly.” His tongue flicks over her cunt in practiced strokes.

His hair is hidden beneath her dress, nothing for her to cling to and the distance between them becomes too much to bear.

“I want your hand,” she chokes out.

“Yes, my Queen.” Aegon purrs, slightly muffled beneath the fabric. He slides one hand away from her trembling thigh to find hers, lacing their fingers together. “I live only to serve you.”

Her free hand curls around the arm rest, of its own volition. Her skin pristine and unscathed by the metal.

By then she’s relaxed enough that Aegon eases her legs farther apart, bending them up and over the arms of the chair. Slipping two fingers into her slick cunt.

“Aegon.”

He hums, in acknowledgement. Sometimes his sweet girl wishes to say his name just because she loves him. Because he’s pleasing her so well.

Lost in her passion, she scarcely notices the way her body is draped over the throne of swords with abandon. She is safe and loved…all she’s ever hoped to be.

Aegon redoubles his efforts, bringing her to peak. Covering his tongue and fingers with her slick, meeting her pearl with little kitten licks, until she squirms. Pushing against his head in protest, with one final kiss to her pulsing cunt, he pulls his mouth away. Curling his fingers against the spongy part of her inner walls as he stands, looming over her.

Her perfect lips agape, dark brows pulled together. “Fuck.”

“If you could see yourself now, my dearest love.” Aegon groans, “the smallfolk would line up at the foot of this throne, by the thousands for a chance to please you.”

“I only want you.”

Aegon’s eyes soften. He’s allowed one man to fuck her, so could hold her face in his hands and watch her features contort without distraction.

She took his cock well, for which Aegon praised her, though she could not find release until Aegon’s own fingers brushed her pearl. The same way he can cum for his ladies, but never as long or hard as he does for her.

Fucking is nice, something to do whilst he’s bored and craving excitement. Love making is more than that, something he only ever had the desire to do with her.

“How do you want me?”

“Inside me,” Y/N pants.

Aegon chuckles, “I meant to ask if you are comfortable? Or shall I bend you over the throne?”

“Over the throne,” she nods. “Or you could sit and I could ride your cock.”

Aegon mulls it over, “as much as I’d love you to sink down on me, I have no fear of this chair. You do, so up you go, turn around for me.” He withdraws his fingers, sucking them clean.

To his surprise she kneels, resting her cheek against the seat of the throne, with her arms folded over her head.

“I thought we might stand, my darling.”

“I cannot stand.” She whimpers, “I need your cock.”

“Needy thing.” Aegon kneels behind her, lifting her skirts once more and freeing himself from his sleep clothes. He slides into her with ease, he was made to be there. Leaning forward to place his arms beneath her, allowing her sweet face to rest against his skin rather than the cool metal swords. “I love you endlessly.”

She nods, “I love you.”

“You are worthy of this throne, you are worthy of the crown, and to rule.” Aegon feels her cunt flutter with the beginnings of her peak. “Y/N Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm.”

[vonlycsnn]

✧ — PICTURE PERFECT

~ VON LYCAON X GENDER NEUTRAL ARTIST! READER.

SUMMARY: You're a famous artist/illustrator in New Eridu, absolutely tired of trying to deal with recent problems. then you decide to call Victoria Housekeeping Co. for some help, it was the best decision of your life.

- cw/tw: none.

- A/N: im so obsessed over this man its genuinely concerning, pls help. also this might be messy/ooc(?)...it's my first time writing this kinda stuff so bare with me.

Being such a well-known artist in New Eridu is tough work. Not only do you have to keep up with your clients' demands and expectations, you also have to deal with thieves trying to steal your work. 

You were thankful that some of your most valuable artworks were in museums that had incredible security, but even so, those bastards are still trying to break into your mansion and steal your canvases that have yet to be delivered or even unfinished.

Understandably, you grew tired of all the stuff you went through, slowly becoming restless from the amount of sleepless nights you had to fight through. To the point where you wanted to quit art completely but you just couldn't. Art was your passion. You've been drawing for nearly your entire life; you couldn't quit now.

Thankfully, a kind client of yours took notice of your situation and recommended Victoria Housekeeping to you. At first you were skeptical; there's no way a housekeeping company could help you with these problems, right?

—

"I don't think they'll be able to help me..." you kindly said. The client merely smiled and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

"Just give them a call. Trust me."

—

And here you are now, constantly being served and protected by the members of Victoria Housekeeping. You were extremely grateful for their service; they've made your life so much better than you expected. 

You've grown so close to them that you became one of their most respected clients, having to be close friends with each of the members. You didn't want to say that you had a favorite attendant, but you do have a preferred one. 

Rina, although her general services are incredible and you'd always find yourself having a great time with her, her culinary skills are...questionable at best, but still, you didn't want to upset her by any means. 

Corin is a sweet girl. When the two of you became acquainted, you saw her as a little sister. Although you were surprised at how strong she is for her age, you didn't think much of it. The problem with her is how much she doubts herself; you'd have to constantly remind her that she's not doing anything wrong, and as much as you hate to admit it, you were pretty annoyed.

Ellen, well...she isn't too enthusiastic about regular housekeeping jobs, not to mention she's always low-energy. But the number of times she saved you from the most dangerous situations was enough for her to gain your respect. Plus, talking about internet trends with her is always fun.

And there's Lycaon. Oh, did you have so many words about him. To keep it simple, he was just right. His services are always near perfect; he has saved you countless times from hollows and thieves; he is elegant; he is a gentleman; you could ramble about him all day for all you cared.

To be perfectly honest, you grew a crush on him. Every time he'd lean behind you to see what you're working on, you'd always freeze in place. Too flustered by what was happening. Every time you'd hear his voice, you'd melt. The way he acts just makes your heart flutter...He was perfect.

As your own personal request for him, you wished he'd spend more time with you. Be it in the mansion or outside. He smiled, bowing down in front of you.

—

"As you wish, master. I'm more than happy to spend time with an amazing artist such as yourself." He said. You saw his tail wagging ever so slightly, but decided to say nothing; you merely smiled.

—

Every now and then he'd come to your office to check on you; he'd bring you food every time you lost track of time; he'd give you a massage whenever you had free time.

"It's always important to maintain a good posture, master." As he would say.

But being an attendant for a full-time artist comes with its own challenges. Other than having to constantly be on guard at night for possible thieves, he'd always let out an irritated sigh whenever he saw your workspace covered in paint. Especially when you're making abstract art. But he understands that art can be messy sometimes, and that's fine.

Every time you get a commission to make abstract art, you'd always rent a workspace outside of the mansion. Just so Lycaon doesn't have to deal with the mess.

But other than that, the two of you were grateful for each other's company.

Much to your dismay, however, your feelings for him grew the longer you spent time with him. You became so close to Lycaon than any of the other attendants; he knew your weakness, he knew your strengths, and he even knew some of your secrets.

You couldn't express your feelings for him with words, and so you did what you knew best: to draw. As a request, you asked Lycaon if you could take a few pictures of him. Of course he obliged. Amidst the photography, he asked.

"If I were to be bold to ask, master, what is the purpose of this?"

You merely smiled at him, saying that it's nothing important. A part of him knew about what you're planning, but he decided to keep quiet and merely chuckled.

After the interaction, you quickly but stealthily took a small canvas and a few of your painting supplies.

—

Days passed, and the painting was finally ready. You have pulled many all-nighters to finish this; you spent so much time carefully adding details and capturing his looks to the formerly blank canvas. And you couldn't be happier with the results; you just hope it was enough to make him understand the message you're trying to pass.

You took a deep breath and finally called for him. He quickly arrives at your workspace, noticing the medium-sized easel and the small paint stains on the floor. Your back was facing towards him, trying to hide the painting from his view. Realizing what to do, you flipped the canvas and turned towards him. He was understandably confused, and you were too nervous to say anything. You quickly walked up to him and handed the canvas to him.

"Here. I...made this for you." You said in such a shaky voice, he was almost concerned. But he gently grabs the canvas, and finally, he turns it to reveal the drawing. He was... speechless. Absolutely speechless. Just standing there, appreciating what he's seeing. You stuttered, trying to get words out of your mouth.

"...as a way to express how much I'm thankful for everything you've done. You're an amazing attendant, and I wanted to repay you somehow. W-well, other than using money." You awkwardly laughed, fidgeting with your fingers.

Lycaon continues to silently admire your work of him. You captured his features so well; the colors were so nice to look at, the pose, the lighting... it was so beautiful. He always appreciates the time and effort you put into your artwork. Secretly, he has been going to your workspace at night to admire all of the work you've done. He couldn't help but laugh once he saw how red your face was.

"My sincere apologies, master. But if I may ask, what are you trying to say?" He asked, almost in a teasing matter. Oh, he knows.

You panicked, so overwhelmed by the situation at hand. A part of you is trying to come up with lies, but ultimately, you gave in.

After taking a deep breath, you officially admitted your true feelings. Well, in the simplest way possible. You couldn't help but cringe at what you've said. This is so embarrassing, you thought.

Lycaon smiled, looking back at the painting to caress the sides of the canvas. He chuckled once more.

"What an astonishing way to express such feelings towards someone. I must say, master, I'm truly impressed."

The thiren carefully puts the canvas on a small table next to him, then he walks towards you. Gently grabbing your hand.

"As for what are my thoughts regarding all of this," he then proceeds to kiss the back of your hand. You jumped to his action, watching every move he made. He looked back at you softly.

There you heard it—the words that'd make you fall to the ground instantly.

"I'd be delighted to be more than an attendant for you, my dear."

[privateanxieties]

sweet like wine

Summary: You realize how much you like it when Frank is vocal during sex.

Pairing: Frank Castle x f!Reader (no y/n);

Words: 2.1k (18+ shameless smut, aural kink, fluff, intimacy, explicit consent, mutual masturbation, sexy voicemails, dirty talk, established relationship)

----------------------

The first time took you completely by surprise.

You weren't expecting a man of few words like Frank, quiet and brooding as he was, to become the picture of an enthusiastic lover once the lights went out and you found yourselves taking the next step in your relationship. That's not to say you didn't expect a certain… level of intensity. Frank was not a bland man — simple and direct, maybe, but he brought a particular devotion to everything he did. He didn't mince actions, or words for that matter. But he also didn't use too many of them regardless of the circumstances, so you didn't expect reality to be any different when it came to intimacy with him. You imagined him to be passionate, and you were not wrong. However, in all your fantasies (and there were plenty), he was always quietly focused. Encouraging, but not with words. Filthy, but never this articulate.

You take me so fuckin' well, baby.

That's it, soak my fingers, let me feel it.

Gonna come, sweetheart? Make a mess all over my cock?

It was nice to be wrong. So nice, in fact, that you almost came untouched just from listening to him tell you what he wanted to do to you the first time you made love. The noises that escaped his lips as he barely pressed his hips into yours drove you insane. He wouldn't let you have it until you asked, slowly and languidly grinding himself against you through the satin of your panties, enough to ruin them and fry your brain, but not enough to give you that rush of pleasure you were dying to get from him. He took his time with no issue, like the clock stopped moving the second he molded his lips to yours.

"That feel good?" he mumbled against your neck, biting down in response when you didn't answer right away, too lost in the warmth of his skin and the pretty noises he was making.

"Uh-huh," you moaned, shivering as he licked a path to your collarbones and his beard left a pleasant burn in its wake.

"You want more?" he taunted, placing a kiss to the swell of your breast.

"Yes, Frank." Then, thinking it not enough, you quietly added a 'please' on the end of a breathy whine as his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You came to learn you didn't have to beg with him, unless he wanted you to — because if you thought you liked it when Frank talked during sex, he was singularly focused on making you utter words that would make a fiend blush. You were resistant at first, partly because the more you'd talk, the less he would, and you couldn't have that. Yet pretty soon you realized that hearing you speak the filth you did to him garnered an interesting and previously unheard noise from your lover.

Frank's only response as you rode his cock and told him how well he filled you was to whine.

In retrospect, you couldn't have known that would be the thing to unlock a noise you didn't think possible, but you certaintly didn't complain when his hand grasped your jaw and his lips mashed to yours, trying desperately to stifle the alluring sound by pressing it into your mouth and making you dizzy with want. That sound worked to push you over the edge just as well as his skilled fingers on your clit. It got you so worked up that sometimes just the memory of it hitting you in the middle of the day was enough to heat up your skin and make you wish you had a recording of it. Which was how the real trouble started, when Frank left on a longer assigment from his contact at the CIA.

Now, you would be fine without him for a couple of weeks. You'd done it before, and you understood the nature of his work and how it'd be woven into your relationship. You knew that when he'd leave, it wouldn't be the same as going on a business trip. There was a strict no-contact rule he enforced, both because he often simply didn't have the means to get in touch and because it was the safest thing to do. He wouldn't put you in any jeopardy because he missed you, and you'd long ago accepted that as fact and respected his decision.

And that was the reason why a voicemail from Frank arriving dead in the middle of those fourteen days away almost provoked a heart attack— twice. First, because you thought something horrible had gone wrong. He was hurt. He was in trouble. Maybe this was all he could do to say goodbye. Your blood pressure couldn't have been any higher as your thumb inched towards the play button on the message, and you thought you could drop to your knees when the first thing to come out of the speakers was a long, drawn-out groan.

This was it. You were going to lose him. He was dying somewhere, alone, and you were never going to see him again.

"God, babygirl…"

You waited with bated breath, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, and then the second uptick in your pulse occurred.

"Fuckin' miss you so much. Need to feel that tight pussy squeezin' my cock."

It wasn't hard, given how wound up you already were, for your body to make the switch from horrible adrenaline to an absolutely euphoric rush of pleasure. It happened so quickly that whiplash wasn't far behind, and you gripped the arm of the sofa as you slid down to the floor, unable to stand any longer. Heart beating wildly in your ears, you forced yourself to calm so as not to miss his next words.

"Wish you could see how you got me right now… fuckin' my own hand like a goddamn teenager," he groaned.

You couldn't have helped your reaction if you'd tried. Switching the phone to your other hand with a tell-tale tremor, your dominant one slipped down the front of your leggings and straight into your dampening underwear, fingers moving in tandem with the background noise your ears were hypnotized by. You could hear the motions of Frank's fist going up and down his cock, could make out just how easily his hand moved over himself and feel the phantom taste of him in your mouth. Your own fingers picked up the pace on your pulsating clit, mind trying to remember the sensation of his rougher digits caressing you.

"Gonna come, baby?"

Startled, your tightly closed eyes were pried open to glance at the screen, wondering if you hadn't somehow called him in your frenzy. But no. The voice note kept playing, and the pretty groans kept coming.

"You're so fucking close. I know it. You're thinkin' about me touching you. Can't stand that I'm not there to do it."

High-pitched whimpers spilled from your lips, feeling so empty and wishing he could fill you at this exact moment. You were soaked through your panties, heat turned up inside yourself so much that sweat began to build at your temples. You were a mess in less than two minutes, and all it took was a goddamn recording of his voice.

"Frank…"

Moaning his name into the empty room made you feel dirty and horribly desperate, fingers slicked up to the point you had trouble getting a consistent motion. Your chest was tight with shallow breaths, spine tingling and legs cramping from how wound up your muscles were.

"C'mon sweet girl, let go. Soak that pussy f'me," he demanded in that gruff tone he always used when he brought you right to the cliff's edge.

"Frankie, please…"

You'd lost your mind, begging him for something he could neither hear nor grant you. But he knew. He always knew. Between the sounds of his own slick motions and heady groans, a noise you loved more than anything broke through just when you thought you couldn't take any more.

He whined your name on the end of a heart-stopping moan and just like that, you were gone, vision going white as you threw your head back hard against the armrest you forgot was there. You panted wildly as your hand kept moving, not stopping until you heard that beautiful shudder fall from his lips, signaling his own release. Every inch of you was electrified, sitting there as you breathed together, hours apart but still in sync.

You didn't tell him about that moment, because there was no need. When he made it home at the end of those two weeks, he neither greeted you nor removed his shoes, simply picking you up and planting you onto the counter before burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"Want you to show me," he asked, warm breath hitting the outer shell of your ear. Disoriented, all you could do was make an inquisitive noise. You'd barely had time to take him in before he was on you.

"Huh?"

"I wanna see how you did it. Want to know how you touched yourself f'me last week."

Your heart picked up in double time, knowing he was dead serious and that you'd do anything he asked. This was uncharted territory for both of you, and you were a little shy to try something like this out of nowhere. What would you even do? You weren't even that used to touching yourself anymore, last week having been a rare exception. It was nice and definitely an intense experience, but it still paled in comparison to the average night with him. Or, as it were, the average day— because he apparently expected you to do this right here, right now. On an early Sunday afternoon where you hadn't even bothered changing out of your slip dress.

Sensing your hesitation, he pulled back to look into your eyes as his hands found your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles through the thin fabric covering them.

"Don't you worry, baby. I'm gonna guide you through it. Watch my pretty girl touch herself like I tell her to. Whaddaya say, sweetheart? You want that?"

Like I tell her to.

Fuck, yes. You wanted that. You wanted it so badly apparently that Frank saw it in your expression, because he smirked as soon as you looked at him all wide-eyed.

"I…"

"Yeah? What is it, baby?"

He must've known, by that point. With how attuned he was to your body and needs as a general rule, it shouldn't have surprised you. Of course he knew you had it bad. He knew exactly what you liked and why you liked it, and he went so far as to break his one rule in order to drive you even crazier than usual. Maybe your brain shortcircuited too severely after that voicemail, because it was only now that you were realizing…

"You sent that on purpose," you said, a pout forming on your lips.

"Sure as shit didn't send it by accident," Frank retorted, an amused snort bubbling out of him.

"I'm being serious! You knew this whole time?"

"Knew what, huh? That my girl likes a little back and forth during sex?" he grinned, delivering a pinch to your hip.

"All sex is a back and forth, Frank," you deadpanned, knowing exactly what he meant but unable to avoid sassing him.

"M'not suggesting anything different," he shrugged, eyes slipping down your body with clear intention.

Right. Back and forth. He talks and you… You struggle not to come from his words alone. A tempting proposal.

"I want to. I'm just not sure what to do," you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as you finally took a good look at him. He looked good, his beard having grown out even more during his time away.

"What'd I say? You ain't gotta worry about that. S'my job. Just gotta listen to what I say," his voice rumbled in your ear as he leaned in again, a brief but meaningful touch of his body to yours making you realize he was half-hard already.

This man was going to be the death of you, but you had no doubt: he would always making good on his promises, especially the ones he whispered in your ear.

.

.

A/N: Just the product of a horny brain. Hope you enjoyed it!

[theemporium]

[2.9k] when your boyfriend is giving his piano more attention than you, you set out to remind him just where his hands should be instead. (smut)

based off this request

.

It was torture.

Pure fucking torture. 

That was the only way to describe his current predicament, and yet, a sadistic part of him enjoyed it. He enjoyed it far more than he should have. He enjoyed it more than he ever thought he would. He didn’t even know if he wanted it to stop, even if his body was begging for it too. 

The situation leading up to this moment was stupid, honestly.

Charles loved the piano and it was a fact known to everyone. Despite the love and passion he had for racing, it had become a source of frustration in more recent months—something the people close to him knew all too well. And even if he kept loving it, there was times where he needed to step away from the sheets of data and the SIM car set up in the spare room of his apartment. 

There were times he just needed a release. 

And, it came in the form of the piano. 

At first, it was just a simple skill he decided to pick up in hopes that it would be a nice distraction from the endless hours he spent worrying about racing. Then, it became a hobby, a genuine interest to further the skill he had and become better. He was competitive after all.

Then, it became a way of expression. 

The notes flowing as his fingers danced across the keyboard felt freeing. The way the instrument did exactly what he wanted when he wanted it was something he lacked in other aspects of his life in recent years. The compositions were something to be proud of, a mark he could leave on the world beyond his career in motorsports. 

The piano became an outlet for Charles, something he became more reliant on in the last few weeks than he even realised. 

And it left you as a very sexually frustrated girlfriend.

You loved Charles. There was never a doubt in your mind that you loved Charles. You loved and supported what he did, you encouraged him to express himself whether it be in words or notes played on the piano. But, something bitter and resentful bubbled inside you at the fact you were fighting for your boyfriend’s attention, and your competition was a fucking musical instrument.

It just became easier for him to vent out his frustrations in a wordless hobby, and you understood that. But you missed him. 

You missed his touch and the way his fingers would glide over every inch of your body. You missed his kisses and the way they would leave you panting and breathless. You missed the way that when you were with him, you were his whole fucking world.

You missed your boyfriend’s attention just being on you, so you decided to teach him a lesson.

Maybe it was cruel. Maybe it wasn’t cruel enough. Maybe it was exactly what your boyfriend needed to remember the pretty girl he got to call his. 

“I didn’t say you could stop playing, Charles.”

He let out a shaky breath, a shiver running down his spine as his eyes snapped down to the keyboard beneath him. His hands were hovering over the white keys, his fingers itching to move but his brain was blank. Every single coherent thought was lost and he couldn’t fucking remember how to play a chord, let along a song.

But you asked him to keep playing, and who was he to deny his girl?

Even if said girl was currently lying on top of the grand piano he bought a few months back, clad in some lacy number he swore he had never seen before as her hands glided over the body he should have been touching, kissing, loving.

“Play, Charles. Show me what you’ve spent the last few weeks composing instead of touching me.”

He cleared his throat, his brain scrambling to remember the song that flowed so easily for him mere hours ago. But now, all he could think about was the noises that you were making, that you sounded better than any song he could ever compose. He was thinking about how he could listen to your pretty moans for the rest of his life.

His fingers were moving, slower and less confident that he would usually play, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he watched you closely. 

The slick, black wood beneath you was cold. It was cold and refreshing against your heated skin as you ran your hands down your stomach, your touch feather-light and teasing as you heard your boyfriend let out a strangled moan. 

Your eyes were closed but you could imagine it so clearly. You could imagine the flush on his cheeks, the colour sweet and pink and a colour you wanted to pain the world. You could imagine the dazed look in his watercolour eyes, the same look he got when his head was between your thighs and he had no expiration on when he had to pull away. You could imagine the way his broad shoulders tensed, the stiff movements as he tried to grasp onto whatever self-restraint he had left.

“Cherie, please,” he whispered, almost too low for you to hear. 

Your lips twitched upwards. “Play me your pretty song, baby.” 

He was distracted, and his playing told you as much. He was distracted with the way your fingers glided over your nipples, the way they hardened beneath the lacy material you wore that barely covered them. He was distracted when your other hand slid lower down your body, as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your panties.

He was distracted by the small gasp that left your lips when your fingers pressed down on your swollen clit. He was distracted by the needy whine you let out as your fingers glided along your soaking cunt, collecting your arousal before you finally slid one finger inside yourself. He was distracted by the way your body squirmed and arched as you touched yourself, as you moaned his name with his broken playing in the background. 

Charles was completely enraptured by you. He couldn’t fucking get enough of you. He didn’t care about the piano or his song, he didn’t care about anything other than the pretty girl fucking herself in front of him and the fact his cock was straining in the confinements of his boxers and sweatpants right now. 

He needed you. He needed you so fucking bad.

“Let me,” he croaked out, his eyes locked on the way your back arched off the piano. “Let me make you feel so good, baby. I can make you feel so good.”

Your head turned to the side, your eyes fixated on his glassy eyes and pouty lips. 

“Charles,” you moaned, your face contorting as you felt the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Please, baby, please,” he continued to beg, one hand dropping away from the keyboard to palm the length of his cock over his sweatpants. “Anything you want, let me give you it.”

You tucked your lip between your teeth. “Anything?”

“Anything,” he repeated breathlessly. 

“Make me come, Charlie,” you whispered. “Show me what a good boy you are.” 

The words had barely left your lips before his hands were on you. His fingers were digging into the fat of your thighs as he turned your body to face him, as he pulled you towards the edge of the piano until your panty-clad cunt was inches away from his face.

His fingers ran over the lacy material of the nightgown you were wearing before he pushed it further up your stomach, until it pooled just above your belly button. He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he leaned down to lick a strip over your clothed cunt.

“Fuck,” you groaned as your head fell back against the piano, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue pushed against the material of your panties. “Charles—”

“I know, cherie,” he murmured, his words hot and breathy against you as his nose nudged against your clit. “I know, I know what my baby needs.”

“Thought you were my good boy,” you goaded, your hands fisting the material of your nightgown as his arms wound around your thighs to lock you in place.

“I am,” he mumbled, his eyes falling shut as he placed kisses along your inner thighs, the slight stubble on his cheeks scratching against your skin in a way that made you arch closer to him. “Gonna show you how good I am.” 

The sound of fabric ripping was the least of your concerns as he tossed them away, the cool air hitting your exposed cunt for less than a few seconds before his mouth was on you. Charles loved being between your thighs, he could have spent his whole life between them if he got the chance. 

And now, with your thighs squeezing his ears and the sounds of your pretty whines echoing through the room, he realised just how long it had been since he had found himself in this position. That between the countless meetings, back-on-back race weekends and constant travelling, that he hadn’t been giving his princess the love she deserved. 

That he had been depriving himself of his favourite meal.

“Charles!” You cried out as his tongue sloppily lapped at your cunt, appreciating groans vibrating against you as your legs squeezed around him. You tried to clench your thighs together, only for him to pin your legs open again. 

Charles was a starved man, and he was fucking devouring you. 

The words leaving his lips were better off being incoherent to you. Phrases mixed between French and Italian that you didn’t quite understand, but it was hot as he lapped and licked and sucked and kissed every inch of your needy cunt until your thighs were soaked and you were certain that you were dripping down onto the keyboard.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whined, your hands darting down to entangle themselves in his thick curls he had grown out. He let out a needy noise from the back of his throat, one that had his fingers digging into your skin so tight that you were sure it would bruise in the morning, but you didn’t care. “Right there, baby, fuck! Feel so fucking good, Charles, so good—oh!”

Your nails scratched against his scalp as his eyes fluttered shut, as he groaned against your cunt until you were coming. Your body tensed and shook, your moans pathetic and loud and just the way he liked it. His name was like a mantra on your lips, repeated over and over like a prayer. 

But Charles didn’t stop.

The swipes of his tongue were slow and lazy, but he didn’t stop even after you came. He licked up the mess he had made, he pressed your hips into the piano as you wiggled and squirmed under his hold. He enjoyed the dull pain as you pulled on his hair as he licked your wet thighs and needy cunt until you said the single phrase that could make him pull away from between your legs.

“Please, Charlie,” you whispered, breathless and whiny and greedy for more of him. “Need your cock.”

The noise that left his lips was some pathetic mix of a groan and a whine as he pulled away from you, his lips and chin glistening with your release as his tongue darted out for one more taste. He pushed himself up onto his feet, the piano bench now long forgotten as he quickly shoved his sweatpants and boxers down to his knees. 

His hand slid up your leg, lightly slapping the side of your thigh until you lifted your head to look at him. 

“Turn around, baby,” he murmured, his voice lower and gruffer than it was before. “Show me that pretty ass, cherie.”

Your hands were braced against the piano as Charles placed one hand on your waist, the other guiding his cock deep inside your cunt until he was buried to the prim. You let out a noise of content, the desire for the slight burn of his thick cock pushing into you eagerly fixed after weeks of craving him.

Your head fell back against his shoulder, a desperate noise leaving his lips as his head dipped down to press his lips against yours. And you let him kiss you. You let his tongue swipe over your bottom lip, you let yourself taste your release on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. You let him kiss you until your lungs burned for air and your body craved for him to move.

“Fuck me,” you whispered breathlessly against his lips. “Fuck me like you miss me.”

“I have fucking missed you,” Charles groaned as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Missed every single part of you, cherie. You’re fucking perfect.”

“Show me, Charles,” you sighed as your fingers gripped the edge of the piano. “Fuck me on this stupid piano and show me.” 

Charles was a patient man. He was a patient man who had the tolerance and restraint that would make a saint envious. He was usually so collected, so calm and put together even in situations where he didn’t have to be.

But any semblance of patience was thrown out the window when it came to you, especially when it came to fucking you.

The room that was usually full of beautiful notes and passionate music was now replaced with the sound of skin on skin, slapping against each other and accompanied by debauch noises that left a pink tint to his cheeks.

He had one hand pressed against the middle of your back, keeping your tits and face pressed against the cool wood as he fucked you from behind. His thrusts were hard, his tempo was fast and you felt the coil in your stomach tightening faster than you ever had before.

He could feel the walls of your cunt clench around his cock, could feel the slick of your arousal staining his own thighs but he didn’t fucking care. His lips were red and raw from how hard he was biting down, his skin felt like it was on fire and his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. 

And yet, he never wanted to leave that moment. 

The sight of you bent over his fucking piano, your ass jiggling with every snap of his hips and your nails desperately trying to dig into the glossy wood like you needed something to grip onto, like you needed a lifeline to ground you. The way you screamed his name, the way you screamed for his cock and the way he thrusted deep inside you, hitting that spot over and over again until you could feel him in your stomach.

“So good f’me,” he groaned as his hand groped the meat of your ass in his palm. “You were made for me, cherie, my perfect fit.”

“Charles,” you choked out between moans, but your boy knew you better than you knew yourself.

“That’s it, baby,” he whimpered. “Come for me, let me feel you. I wanna feel how good I make you feel, princess.”

The nickname wasn’t used often, but it was more than enough to tip you over the edge. The noises you let out were borderline pornographic as Charles continued to fuck you through your orgasm, as he leaned over until his chest was pressed against your back and his cock was hitting a new, deeper spot with every thrust. 

His lips were on your neck, kisses placed on your skin between whispered French phrases of praise as he finally came, as he released inside you and felt your walls clench around him like you didn’t want his cock to leave you just yet.

You were panting and breathless, your cheek pressed against the grand piano as you let your eyes fall shut at the feeling of his gentle kisses and the soft touch of his hands all over your body. Your lips twitched as you heard him murmured ‘I love you’ over and over again in different languages until he needed to pause for a breath of air.

“Je t’aime aussi,” you murmured back, your pronunciation still a little dodgy despite the time you’ve spent dating the Monegasque, but it made him smile nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he ducked his head down to kiss your cheek. “I love you more than the piano, you know that?”

You snorted. “Well, I sure hope so after that.”

Charles grinned. “Nothing could ever compare to fucking you, mon amour.”

You peaked a look at your boyfriend. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” he confirmed.

“Not even round two?” You teased. 

“Depends,” Charles murmured as his fingers pulled at the hem of your nightgown you were still wearing. “Do you have any more surprises for me?”

“I did a lot of shopping while you were gone,” you told him with an innocent smile.

His eyes darkened. “Cancel all our plans for this weekend.”

You raised your brows. “Charles—”

“We aren’t leaving the house,” he told you as he squeezed your hips. “We need to make up for lost time, even if that means fucking you on this damn piano in every single piece you bought.”

“We need to eat, Charles,” you murmured, though the problem sounded just as dumb as it did in your head when he grinned at you.

“I’ll order you food in.”

“And what will you eat?” 

Charles’ smile only widened. “Jump up on the piano again and I’ll show you, princess.”

It was safe to say, neither your friends or family heard from you or Charles until at least three days later.

.

[alphajocklover]

Genie Glory the Game

(A [Very Late] Trade with @bigwishes. I hope you like it!) 43 followers. Rich Donaldson, also known as TF2Twink on Twitch, had 43 followers.Rich had been streaming for over 3 years now and only had 43 followers. 43 measly followers. It made him feel pathetic. It made him feel like he was useless. Yet at the same time, Rich was incredibly grateful for every one of those followers. 

Rich Donaldson had wanted to become a gaming streamer since he was a kid. It hadn’t really been a real thing until he was a teen, and most people thought he was crazy for thinking he could make money that way. Some people doubted it was a real job, some thought it was too competitive, some thought it was just a dumb idea in general. No matter what the reason, everyone in Rich’s life agreed that Rich wasn’t going to make it as a streamer. Especially his hyper religious, video game hating parents. Still Rich refused to give up. He knew it would be hard, maybe impossible, but he was passionate and felt like he had to follow his dream. That was what everyone in the movies did after all. Rich moved out, cut contact with his parents, went into debt buying the best streaming gear he could… and immediately regretted it. Rich didn’t mind losing contact with his parents. They had never been the most loving people, so he hadn’t really lost much. Except things weren’t working out like they did in the movies. Rich wasn’t making it, and worse than that he wasn’t getting any better at streaming. He was good at the games, so he knew that wasn’t the issue. The issue was… he was incredibly, painfully, horribly shy. Rich didn’t have the confidence that a streamer needed. He could barely get a word out during the stream without starting to awkwardly ramble, and even when he did he came off as awkward and weird. He wasn’t just unconfident, he was a downright nervous wreck. Still he didn’t give up. He couldn’t after everything he had thrown away to get this chance… all the sleepless nights working part time jobs to stay above water… he was in too deep. So he kept going “Hey chat! S-so t-today…” Rich took a deep breath, trying his best not to ramble “T-today I’m going to be playing a new game. I-it’s not very well known, but i-it looked cool and I’ve heard a lot of people are playing it… S-so let's get into ‘Genie Glory the Game!” Rich said, trying to be excited. Barely anyone was watching, and it was getting hard to pretend he wasn’t incredibly depressed, but he kept smiling. Genie Glory was a pretty simple game with a simple premise that had been baffling gamers for months. It was a pretty simple idea based on a classic scenario. You play a random guy who has discovered a genie’s lamp and now has 3 wishes. You make a wish by typing it into the computer, and the genie grants the wish, but usually in some twisted way that is accompanied by a pixelated animation of the player's fate. The goal is to get through all 3 wishes alive. What made the game so popular was that no one had beat it yet. Whatever AI the game used was incredibly clever and strangely creative, and to make it even more difficult, the game only allowed you to play it once. Popular streamers, actually geniuses, and even philosophers hadn’t been able to beat the game, so Rich knew beating it would make him famous.

“Ok chat. I-it’s time for our first wish… And I’m taking suggestions…” Rich said. Rich wanted to beat the game, but… he wasn’t sure how to beat this game, so he’d take all the help he could get. A few suggestions actually came across the screen ‘BasedBro69: Wish for your muscles to grow!’

‘GenieGay33: No way, that's the way to open ended! The Genie will make him grow until he pops or something’

‘MissTaken27: That's such a basic idea. Might as well ask him to wish to be a frat boy or something.’

Rich laughed at this. He knew most of his followers' usernames by heart, but BasedBro69 was new. Still the conversation he had started was kind of funny, and he figured… why not? “Ok then, why not! Lets make me a frat boy!” He said, snickering as he typed in his computer. He tried to be as specific as possible to avoid the spell being twisted “‘I wish I was an attractive, stereotypical frat boy.”

Rich laughed as he watched the pixelated version of himself grow muscular, his clothing changing to a tank top and backwards cap. He watched as the other version of him rushed a frat. Rich was certain something would go wrong, afterall he knew from first hand experience that hazing could get fucking intense, but surprisingly his character survived and got through the first wish without any incident. Rich grinned widely. Most people never even made it through the first wish, but he, a relative nobody, had managed! He stood up straighter as he watched people start to flood into the stream. He checked the chat happily. ‘GenieMan33: He actually made it with that wish? I’ll never understand this game, but good for you!’ ‘MisterRichD27: Kind of an ironic wish considering you are a frat boy. No offense.’ ‘BasedBro69: I fucking knew that would work bro! You can do this!’

Rich blushed slightly at MisterRichD27’s comment, and his flirty name. While he didn’t tend to think of himself that way, he was technically a frat boy. He had joined one after heading to college in the hopes of finding some friends. His frat brothers could be… kind of obnoxious, and very stereotypical, but they had helped him come out of his shell somewhat and even get in shape. He was still fairly shy, but he never would have gotten this far in college or with his streaming if it wasn’t for them. He chuckled at the chat, slightly embarrassed “I’ll admit, that was a weird wish, but hey, it worked so who cares!” Rich said cheerily “Ok, so what's the next wish going to be? I’m trusting you on this chat!” Rich said with what he hoped was a charming wink. ‘GenieMan33: Maybe something basic like money? That doesn’t usually work but you seem to be on a hot streak.’

‘BasedBro69: No way bro. He only gets to play once. Wish for something like fucking confidence or something. Something fun!’

‘MisterRichD27: IDK, Basedbro69 was right last time. Maybe you should wish for confidence?’ Rich shrugged. He could think up even more ways that this could go wrong, but this game had never seemed to work on logic in any of the videos he watched to prepare for this. So with a grin, he typed in his second wish “I wish I had the kind of cocky confidence that ladies love.” he said with a chuckle. He hoped it would be obvious that it was a joke, since his Twitch username, FortnightOtter44, made it obvious he was gay. He watched as the little version of him grew a big head, quite literally. Rich was worried this was leading to some type of game over, but his head deflated, his muscles grew, and a bunch of pixelated girls in bikinis ran up to the pixelated him. Rich grinned wide and tried not to cuss in celebration, not wanting to get demonetized (again). He had fucking done it! He fucking got past wish 2! He smirked as he watched the chat explode as more people tuned in ‘GenieStud33: Fuck yeah! RDH fucking did it! Knew you had it in you bro!’

‘MissRichD27: RDH is the best gamer ever! And the hottest! DM me!’

BasedBro69: HELL YEAH! You can do this bro!’ Rich, known as RDH to his fans, or RichDaHunk on Twitch, smirked, as he saw the comments roll in. He fucking knew he could get this game. He may not have been the most popular streamer on twitch, but he was a fucking good gamer and a total stud. He flexed his biceps, getting the chat riled up again in a frenzy of lust and admiration. Rich didn’t bother to look at the chat this time. He gave a smarmy, cocky smirk at the camera “I know what to put in next bros. I’m gonna wish for something fucking inevitable.” he said cockily.

He quickly typed in “I wish I was the most popular gaming streamer on Twitch”, and watched with a practiced cool confidence as the pixelated version of him gained millions of followers. The chat exploded with awe and wonder as what Rich had always known was going to happen, happened. He had won the game. He flexed his muscles for the stream, celebrating with his 43 million followers. He didn’t understand why they were all shocked. He was the coolest, hottest, douchiest gamer on twitch. Of course he fucking won!

[beestriker015]

Black Cat x male hero s/o

Being one of the several superheroes other than Spider-Man residing in New York, it was only a matter of time that s/o had a run in with Felicia Hardy, also known as Black Cat, which he did during one of his patrols.

“Oh? And here I was expecting the Spider to swing in and spoil my fun as always.”

She says after encountering s/o on a rooftop after her latest heist.

“Well you’ve got me instead, I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

“Far from it. In fact, I’m liking what I’m seeing.”

The feline themed cat burglar responds in a flirtatious tone while taking her sweet time eying the hero up.

“Really now? That makes two of us. You know, I’ve always been kind of a cat person.”

He flirts back as Felicia feels her face heat up slightly, much to her slight surprise.

“Oh I like you. Now let’s see if you can keep up hero.”

She then flees as s/o does his best to keep up before he eventually loses track of her.

“Darn it! I lost her! She may have gotten away this time, but something tells me I’ll be seeing her again, or at least….I hope so.”

Over the next few weeks, s/o and Felica kept running into each other, whether it’s intentional or not, and soon an attraction begins to grow between them.

“I must be out of my mind. How can I be developing feelings for her? Granted she’s not evil or anything like that, but she’s still technically a villain, and I shouldn’t be thinking about her this way. Oh jeez, what am I gonna do?”

Meanwhile, Felicia is much more accepting of her growing feelings for s/o.

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone before, and I can tell he feels the same, so it’s time for this kitty to sink her claws into a certain hero.”

She thinks to herself with a smirk while coming up with a plan.

Later on, Black Cat is met by s/o during another outing (which she planned with the sole intention of catching the hero’s attention) and quickly gets to work.

“Well well well, there’s my favorite hero, looking as handsome as ever. With how often we’ve been seeing each other, you really know how to make a girl feel special. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

Before he could react, s/o is pulled into a deep kiss and quickly sinks into it, thus sparking a romantic relationship between him and Felicia.

Despite now being a couple, it took awhile before the two decided to reveal their civilian identities to each other, but when they finally did, it brought them closer as a result.

“So you’re the man behind the mask huh?”

“Yep. My name is s/o.”

“I’m Felicia. Felicia Hardy.”

“Felicia….a pretty name for an even prettier face.”

He says as she can’t help but blush.

“Thanks. You’re not at all bad yourself handsome. Why, I have to refrain myself from pouncing on you right this second.

Now it’s s/o’s turn to blush.

“God, I love you Felicia.”

She looks at him in shock before smiling widely.

“I love you too s/o.”

After saying those three special words for the first time, the two share a passionate kiss and embrace.

Now being in a serious relationship, s/o and Black Cat always have each other’s back despite being a hero and a villain respectively.

Dating a superhero has caused Felicia to gradually become more of a vigilante, helping her boyfriend fight villains if she can.

“We make a great team don’t we?”

“I think so too, and watching my strong handsome boyfriend take down bad guys makes this kitty purr if you know what I mean.”

“I can say the same about you beautiful.”

Even after dating for quite some time, s/o and Felicia never stop flirting with each other, often leading to spontaneous make out sessions.

As far as jealousy goes, there really isn’t any to speak of.

S/o and Black Cat are so enamored with each other that they both know there’s nothing to worry about in terms of other women/men, even taking into consideration Felicia’s flirty nature.

(If s/o ever did get bothered by his girlfriend’s meaningless flirting, she would definitely tone it down for him.)

Dates with these two can literally be anything, but their favorite thing to do is stay at home (whether it be Felicia’s apartment or where s/o lives) and watch movies together on the couch.

“This is nice, after fighting villains all week, it’s safe to say we needed this.”

“Yep, especially because I get you all to myself s/o.”

She tells him sweetly while cuddling up next to him and resting her head on his shoulder.

Because both of them are friends with Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, it’s not uncommon for s/o and Felicia to mix things up by having a double date with him and MJ.

“Dinner was great as always, but I insist that I split the bill with you Peter.”

“You sure s/o?”

“Of course! You and MJ were kind enough to invite us to come here with you, so it’s the least I can do to thank you both.”

“What a gentleman. You got yourself a good one Felicia.”

Mary Jane tells the white haired girl, who smiles in response.

“That I do MJ, that I do.”

Should a villain ever seriously injure s/o, they’ll soon face the wrath of a very pissed off Black Cat.

“Hurting my man wasn’t very bright, so now the claws come out. They say a cat has nine lives, so let’s see how many you have!”

Luckily Spider-Man was there to stop her from doing something she’d regret.

“Cat, you don’t wanna do this! Do you think s/o would be ok with what you were about to do?”

Upon hearing the mention of her boyfriend, Felicia calms down a little and focuses on getting s/o some medical attention as Peter deals with the villain.

After s/o fully recovers, Felicia will become slightly clingy for a while.

“That scumbag was lucky Peter stopped me, because I was this close to using him as my personal scratching post, and let me tell you, this cat has some really sharp claws.”

She says with a pout while holding him tightly to her chest.

“I didn’t know my pretty kitty was so protective.”

“What can I say? I’m the type of girl who doesn’t appreciate someone messing with what’s hers.”

“Oh so I’m yours huh?”

He asks her teasingly, making his girlfriend chuckle.

“Yep, but you already knew that.”

“True, though you know that means your mine right?”

Felicia smirks in response and whispers breathily into her boyfriend’s ear.

“Oh believe me, I do. This kitty is all yours s/o.”

And just like that, things proceed to get a bit…….spicy between the two.

Nearly three years after they began dating, s/o decides it’s finally time to pop the question, and he does so after bringing Felicia to the very same rooftop where they first met.

“This place sure brings back a lot of memories doesn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, it’s where a certain handsome hero came into my life that I feel in love with. I’m so happy to have met you that night s/o.”

“I feel the same way Felicia, which is why I want us to be together for the rest of our lives. Felicia Hardy, will you marry me?”

He asks his girlfriend after getting on one knee while showing her an absolutely beautiful ring.

“I was hoping you were gonna do this at some point, because if not, I was gonna propose myself! Yes, of course I’ll marry you s/o!

She pulls him into a passionate kiss after he slips the ring on, the beautiful white haired (former) cat themed thief looking forward to having her hero boyfriend as her hero husband.

[kinokappe]

࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙ ⪩⪨ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜ ࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚࿙֒͜࿚

Grandmaster's Favorite

Pairing: Bi-Han x fem!reader

Warnings: soft Bi-Han, slightly mean Bi-Han, P in V, unprotected sex, praise.

A/n: this is just a short fic I wrote to satiate the corners of my mind that are left unsatisfied with Bi-Han content, I'm filling my own void 😭

⚠️ NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MDNI⚠️

Bi-Han was known to be a cold and ruthless leader. Being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, he had to be strong and capable, relentless when it came to his enemies to ensure the safety of Earthrealm and to maintain the high position of his clan.

Being in this stressful position, he often found himself letting off steam deep inside your throbbing pussy, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as the sound of skin-slapping echoed through the room. The filthy display of your legs bent, resting painfully on his shoulders as he bullied his angry, needy cock into your cunt was obscene, not to mention how hard you were gripping the sheets to the point they would almost tear.

"Eyes on me, baby... Moan my name" he commanded coldly, his hair hanging loosely from his forehead. His thumb rubbed and circled your clit with such vigor and passion that you almost passed out, creaming on him again for the nth time and causing a white, creamy circle to form at the base of his cock.

He loved it, seeing your pupils dilate and your mouth hang open as loud moans of pleasure, curses and a repeat of his name spilled from your lips, turning him on even more. "Do you love it when I'm pounding into you, huh? Love it when I fuck you, fill your pretty little cunt?" He chuckled darkly. All you could do was nod desperately, your nails digging into his back as red trails followed, his hard dick pumping you full of his cum again.

"It's too much, Bi Han~!" You whimpered, eyes glossy and half-lidded, trying to squirm away from him to no avail. "You want me to stop, princess?" He mocked, "I know you can take more than this.. you're basically squeezing my cock, you sure you want me to stop?"

You opened your mouth to try and reply with some snarky remark when he suddenly pulls out, leaving just the tip before pounding into you again, going hard and deep, kissing your cervix with his dick and reaching all the spots your fingers never could.

The knot in your stomach tightens again much faster than you hoped. You grab at his arms, opening your eyes to look at him, desperately trying to warn him of your impending orgasm. But he's relentless, completely lost in the heat and wetness of your abused little cunt, loving the way you scream and moan for him.

"Fuck, princess..." He sighs into your ear, feeling you shake and tighten around his creamy cock. He slows down, still rubbing your clit in a more gentle manner to help you ride your high. "I love you.. you take me so well, make your grandmaster feel so good..." He praised, pressing soft kisses to your neck and chest.

Despite his soothing words, you still feel the aftershocks of how hard you came, his seed already leaking out from the corners of your pretty little hole, leaking down the length of him and drenching your thighs, it almost looked like porn at this point.

Bi Han gave you a few more thrusts before his hips finally stilled deep inside you. He sounded heavenly, letting out the most erotic of breaths and grunts, blowing his load hard into your cervix. He pulled out slowly, his dick starting to soften as he massaged your thighs, helping you lay your legs down from his shoulders.

"Are you alright, sweet girl?" He asked, softer than you would expect him to say. All you could do was nod, simply ruined by his gargantuan cock. He replied with a small chuckle, holding your hand and kissing your palm softly before he slid off the bed, the mattress creaking from the loss of his weight.

Before your eyes threatened to close, you could feel him cleaning you up, running a damp towel over your body and between your thighs, behind your legs and on your chest. "I think I went too hard on you, princess... I'm sorry". He looks a bit apologetic, but a smile creeps up his lips when he sees you lean into his touch. He leans in to kiss the corners of your eyes, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach and down to your thighs, helping you relax.

"I'm ok, you're just.. so rough" she chuckled weakly, opening her eyes to look up at him. He looks so soft like this, the moment so domestic that it makes her heart flutter. "And you were such a good girl for me.. taking me in so well, making me feel so good" he praised, squeezing her thigh gently.

Soon, the space beside her dips and he lays down, wrapping his arms around her to make her lay on his chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back so softly it had her purring against him. "Love you.. I love you" you whispered to him, closing your eyes and feeling the heavy burden of sleep start to consume you.

"Sleep, princess.. I love you so much too, you did so well..." he smiles, kissing your forehead and burying his face into your hair, breathing in your scent before he starts to fall asleep as well. It was nights like this when he just wanted to let go of his responsibilities as grandmaster, yearning for her warmth and touch, loving the closeness and the feel of her breath on his skin. He loved it, he loved her.

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - KISS IT BETTER

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.5k] Three weeks of no John B or Sarah and you're officially overwhelmed with grief and mixed signals, leading to an emotional outburst directed at certain blonde.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, mutual pining, grief avoidance, little fluff, mentions of low self-esteem/negative self-image, mentions of past non-con

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think this chapter is actually so soft and beautiful🥺 and I never really say this but I do think listening to the song on repeat as you read makes it one hundred times better.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THIS DAY MARKED THREE WEEKS SINCE YOU’D LOST JOHN B AND SARAH…And one week since JJ kissed you out of nowhere. Co-existing in your other presumed dead best friend’s house has been…odd, to say the least. You didn’t really know how to talk to JJ now, which was something you never thought would be an issue.

He’d been in the surf shack working on your car more than usual, without your company unfortunately. You’d been taking more small jobs just to get out of the house at this point. But barely talking to your best friend for an entire week while living in the same space was starting to take a toll on you.

And so was the kiss.

Did he mean to do it? Was it a spur of the moment thing? Did JJ have feelings for you? Ten thousand thoughts running around in your mind at once, driving you closer and closer to the edge of crazy. Your heart was telling you that the kiss was no accident — that it seemed too passionate and eager to be something he’d done in the heat of the moment. But your head was telling you that the kiss was an act of grief — something he’d done in a moment where his head wasn’t exactly screwed on straight.

That it was an honest mistake.

You didn’t know which part of you that you believed.

Or which part of you that you wanted to believe.

It was nightfall when you walked up the steps of The Chateau, bag slung lazily over your shoulder as you huffed out a puff of air, exhausted from your nearly ten hour long babysitting gig. Some couple needed someone to watch over their three kids while they went on a date. You should’ve known something was off when the mother was offering fifty dollars an hour, way over minimum wage — her three kids were more like a pint-sized trio of bats from hell. But you walked away with five-hundred more dollars in your pocket, so who were you to complain?

But even with fatigue and hunger weighing heavy on your bones, your heart still dropped at the thought of seeing JJ at the end of the day.

Sighing, you quietly opened the door of the home, throwing your bag on the sofa and letting the door close behind you as Marley immediately came charging, light paws feeling like punches on your thighs but you smiled nonetheless.

“Hi, pretty girl. How are you?” You cooed, scratching behind both of her ears as she wiggled against you.

Another set of footsteps rounded the corner, a freshly awoken JJ coming into your view. You coughed awkwardly under your breath, straightening out as the two of you locked eyes. “Oh, hey. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just glad you made it in before it got too late, one of the corner stores got robbed a couple hours ago.” He said, voice raspy and low from sleep as he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.

The two of you stood there awkwardly— JJ scratching the back of his head as you averted your eyes anywhere else, Marley’s panting filling the silence.

You took a deep breath, shoving your hands in the back of your pockets as JJ mindlessly nibbled on his lower lip. You took the opportunity to break the silence, the blonde seemingly having the same idea.

“Well, I’m gonna get ready for bed-”

“Look, I’m sorry-”

You both stopped talking, attempting to allow the other to speak. Small smiles broke out on your faces, the two of you looking down at your feet simultaneously. “This is awkward, if I’ve ever seen it…” JJ huffed out humorously. “Can we just…like, sit down and talk, for a minute?” He asked, his own words making him cringe slightly as he motioned towards the battered sofa.

You nodded, not saying a word as you plopped down on the piece of furniture, eyes on the floor as your hands held each other in your lap. JJ sat down oddly slow next to you. You expected him to try and create as much distance between the two of you as possible but surprisingly, he sat so close that your shoulders were brushing in the tiniest of ways.

The unexpectedness of it all had your brows furrowing, finding some kind of courage to look the boy in his eyes as he finally settled on the right words to say.

“...I shouldn’t have kissed you.” For some reason, the string of words made your heart tremble and your lips parted in surprise. They hurt more than you ever expected them to. Noticing your solemn expression, JJ was quick to clean up his statement, turning in his seat to look at you completely. “Not in the sense that I didn’t want to, no, God no.” He sputtered, hands moving around wildly. “It’s just that, with everything going on, I don't think that moment was the best moment to act on my feelings-”

He was cut off when you lurched forward, colliding your lips with his in the heat of the moment. In your haste and his surprise, the blonde accidentally bit your lip but you didn’t mind, never breaking the exchange. After a moment, you both seemed to settle into it — one of his hands sliding around your hip and waist to find a home on the end of your back, pulling you closer in the smallest motion. Your own hands cradled his jaw on each side, pulling him deeper into you.

You kissed that boy until you couldn’t anymore. Until your lips were swollen and wet, your head spinning as you pulled back and let your hands fall, sliding down the length of his neck and shoulders while his own hand slid back to rest on your thigh.

“...What was that for?” He asked in a whisper. He sounded breathless.

You simply gulped, tucking a small strand of hair behind your ear before speaking. “...When you kissed me, I felt something. Something I didn’t think I should feel while kissing my best friend. Because I never thought I’d be kissing my best friend at all.” You explained, elevating your gaze to meet his eyes. “And I thought to myself that I should feel repulsed. That the kiss should feel wrong. Right? But nothing about that kiss felt wrong.” You told him. “I haven’t been avoiding you because of the kiss, JJ. I’ve been avoiding you because I haven’t been able to get the thought of kissing you again out of my head since it happened.”

“And now that you have?” He asked, eyes searching yours. “Now, that you have kissed me again?”

“...I’m struggling not to do it a third time.” You breathed out, eyes fleeting towards his lips for the slightest of moments. “I don’t know what this is. In my head, you’re my absolute best friend and I love you in that aspect but everytime I see you now, I can’t help but think about you in ways that I shouldn’t. So, if that kiss or this one didn’t mean anything to you, you’d better tell me now because-”

“Oh, it meant something.” He cut you off enthusiastically, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know you probably have no idea but that kiss meant everything to me.” He told you, edging closer on the sofa. “I’ve had this huge crush on you for, like, ever. Probably since I even knew what a crush was. But you know how I am…” He lowered his voice, avoiding your eyes. “I didn’t trust myself with you. Anytime I look at you, I see this ball of light around you and I never want it to go away. Or be the reason for it going away. With me and all my shit…”

“I don’t think of you like that.” You said honestly, a small frown on your face. “You aren’t some southside screw up or a charity case. JJ, you know that I don’t care about all that. I’m always there to walk through it with you, your life doesn’t define you, you know that. Or at least, you should.” You told the blonde, running a soft hand through his hair. “And I know that it may take some time for you to believe that for yourself but I’ll be the one to tell you it everyday until you actually hear it, as a friend or…whatever else.”

You reminded the boy, biting your lower lip in thought. “...That’s why you never said anything? Because you thought you weren’t good for me?”

He seemed to ponder on the statement before nodding, somewhat shamefully. “I mean, c'mon, look at you.” He scoffed, wide blue eyes looking at your face with so much adoration and purity that you never cared to notice before. “Someone like you doesn’t need to waste her life away trying to love someone like me.”

“I do love you-”

“Not in the way that I love you.” He blurted, pinching his eyes shut as he cut you off.

“...I could. But you’ll never know if you don’t let me try.” You told him. “I won’t sit here and tell you that I love you in that way because I really don’t know. But whatever I’m starting to feel for you is beyond a friendship and once I figure that out, who knows? But I also don’t want you to wait on me to figure things out if that’s not what you want.” You concluded, retreating your hands back to the comfort of your lap.

You don’t know how helpless you looked, but you made no attempt to hide the frown that you could feel on your face. You knew JJ was known as promiscuous but his ways seemed to have settled with everything that’s happened. Although the thought of him with anyone made your gut turn, you didn’t want to confine him within the cage of your emotional contemplation. You didn’t want to lead him on now knowing how he felt about you.

“Hey,” He started, a hand on your arm. “I will wait. And that’s my choice. If you decide that you want me, that you want this, then I will be here. I know my past actions are probably making my words seem like a load of shit right now, but weeks ago? When I was hooking up with half the island? I was under the impression that you and I would never happen. But now there’s a chance.” He spoke, laughing at the end of his sentence, the oddness of the action making your face twist. “Sorry, I just, I thought about somethin'.” He said, waving himself off. “I was talking to Bree one day, about you. I told him that the odds of you ever liking me back were one in a million. And he told me that a one in a million chance is still a chance, to which I told him that he was full of shit. But now…” He trailed off, shrugging.

“...John B knew?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. JJ rolled his eyes playfully.

“I think everyone knew, except you, of course.” He cocked an eyebrow, you being the one to roll your eyes this time. 

“...So what do we do now?” You asked, voice small.

JJ sighed, suddenly sitting up straighter in his seat and taking both of your hands in his own. “...As much as I want to make you my girlfriend, right here and right now, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I think that we both need time to grieve and sort ourselves and I also think that you need time to explore your feelings more and make sure that this isn’t a fluke.” That was the most mature sentence you'd ever heard leave JJ's lips.

“A fluke?” You asked, mildly offended. “What does that mean?”

“Just that, I’ve seen how you can deal with grief. And not to twist the knife…are you okay with me talking about the…Rafe thing?” You clenched your jaw at the mere mention of his name, nodding stiffly in JJ’s direction, the boy drawing his lips into a thin line before continuing. “When that happened, you were still grieving. You kissed him because you were in a bad place and he was there and he ended up...taking advantage of that vulnerable part of you, right?” You hummed in agreement. “I am not at all blaming you for what happened when I say this. You didn’t deserve it and that asshole should be six feet under for what he did and, God so help me, I will put him there myself-”

“JJ.” You interrupted the boy’s rant, wanting him to finish his point completely. Huffing out a puff of air, he continued.

“I’m sorry. I just, I really hate that that happened to you. And I know it happened to you, not me but I want to kill him. Every day that I wake up, I just hope he's dead somewhere.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” You reassured.

“But all I’m trying to say is that, I don’t want to repeat that same cycle — taking advantage of your emotional state. I want you to be yourself again and be in the right space before trying to take this any further. And I want you to have no doubts and be completely sure.” You understood his point of view and his reasoning behind it. Nodding, you allowed him to finish his sentence. “So, for now? We can just figure things out, set some kinda boundaries, if you want.”

You thought about it for a moment, fingers drawing shapes on one of his hands. “...Just honesty. If you kiss someone, hook up with someone…” The words made your eyes twitch. “Just don’t let me find out from someone else.”

“Oh, I can promise you that I have no one else on my mind, especially now that I know I’m on yours, so there will be nothing to tell ‘n nothin’ to find out, m’lady.” He smiled, saluting towards you. “I’m all yours, even if you aren’t mine. Yet.” He winked.

It’d been weeks since you’d seen the goofy side of JJ. It was comforting. 

You giggled, bowing your head slightly. “I promise that I am solely focused on clarifying my feelings towards you and only you, blondie.” You returned the sentiment and the salute. “What about our friendship, though? Is it still a friendship?”

“Mmm….” He thought aloud, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Actually, you’re the smart one. What’s like a fancy, silly term for developing a relationship? Like getting to know each other but not dating, like the in between stage?”

“...We can say we’re in a courtship?” You suggest half-jokingly, shrugging. “But… does this also mean we have to stop kissing each other? 'Cause I kind of like that part.”

JJ faked offense, throwing a palm against his chest and gasping. “Kissing?” He asked, wide eyed and shocked. “We are pogues. And number one rule of pogues, is no pogue-on-pogue macking…Eugh.” He reprimanded playfully, fake gagging. You slapped his shoulder in response, a smile on your face as one grew on his.

“No pogue-on-pogue macking, huh?” You said, playfully swatting his arms as he did yours. “

“That’s exactly right, little miss lips-a-lot - Ow! Did you just pinch my nipple?” He laugh-shouted, holding his chest as your swatting ceased. “What are you? Six?-”

You took the opportunity with JJ's guard down to grab the nape of his neck and pull his face into yours, giving him one last hard, passionate kiss of the night, slightly biting his lip as you drew your face away from his.

“How’s that for no pogue-on-pogue macking?”

next chapter>

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.SVN Taglist; @esquivelbianca @fallingwallsh @calmoistorm @i-love-ptv @liability28 @rivaiken @sophiahristov @rafxcameronss @ldrvinyl @purplerose291 @boo22sstuff @heartsforandrewgarfield @coolgirl458 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @jujubeaz @ellobruv-blog @yourmumstoy @belle101200 @libertyybellls @c4ttheart @ihe4rttwd @redhead1180 @ditzyzombiesblog @spideysimpossiblegirl @sex-me-stiles @honeyiti @rafedrewandjjs @highformaybank @broidfk609

©loveharlow.

[cyber333angel]

MARRIED!NANAMI KENTO & MARRIEDSECRETARY! READER

CAUTION ⚠️

This work contains: use of the word daddy, a itty bitty age gap, praise, exhibition, breeding kink

NOTE: (not too long) awaited nanami fic 😱 I didn’t like how I first wrote it so I scrapped it and started over but I really like how it turned out! enjoy 😉

you started working at the JJK firm at the ripe age of 20, hired by none other than nanami kento. your boss was very well known business man and being his secretary you had attended a lot of meetings to take notes, manage his schedule and answer the phone . you watched him walk into his large office every day, staring at him from the top of your laptop, you saw glimpses of how he stretched the grey suit with his muscular upper body. you developed a crush on nanami, thinking only of him at night whenever you touched yourself. remembering how deep his voice sounded, and what he would sound like if he talked you through taking the full length of his cock. quickly remembering where you were, you bit your lip and went back to work. kento knew you had a little crush on him, you being completely obvious with the staring he thought it was cute.

he got exhausted with not actually getting to know you, so he asked you to “schedule a dinner for the two of us for next saturday” , you flustered at the invitation “yes sir.” and told him you were looking forward to it. the date was sensational, the two of you learned so much about each other, what foods you both liked to the worst date you’ve ever had . dating him only went on for about two years , until nanami decided to ask you to marry him! it was a beautiful wedding all paid for by him, of course, it was everything you could dream of and more. after the wedding you never quit you job , in fact you kept working directly under your husband. abusing this new privilege, kento lost all professionalism, he would call you into his office over the smallest things just to make an excuse to see you. “what time do I have to arrive at the meeting tomorrow?” you roll your eyes at him because he knows this meeting was canceled days ago, he chuckles at your reaction “im just poking fun, come sit down.” you look at him and walk over to his chair, straddling his lap.

“you look so beautiful in this outfit, sweetheart.” you smile, “t’aw! thank you ken, but you saw me with it on before we left the house and you complimented me already.” you put both your hands on his cheeks to lean in for a quick kiss. “i know, i just want my pretty wife to know how much i love her pretty face.” still with biggest grin, your husband pulls you closer to him from your waist and indulges in a deeper, more passionate kiss . he presses his tongue into your mouth and you melt into his touch, quiet pants are muffled between the two of you. kento with his mouth still stuck to yours, clears his desk of paperwork and clutter. he manhandles you to sit on top of the desk “b-baby I don’t think I can stay quiet if we do it in your office..” ignoring you, nanami puts his hands up your skirt reaching and grabbing you stockings and panties together and bunching them together at the bottom of your heels. you knew kento didn’t get like this unless something was bothering him. only about 5 times surprisingly he had fucked you in his office, given it was at the end of the day and people had already left. this was a different situation. wanting to cheer him up, you stroke his hair “s’alright if you use me ken.” he lets his head fall into your hand and he sighs, “thank you baby. I had a bit of a rough morning.”

“lay back down for me.” you rest your head on the hard surface immediately after the demand, he lifts both of your legs up connected by the clothing scrunched up at the base of your feet. bending down- “sweetheart, i never get enough of the sight of this sweet pussy..” shying away at the compliment you squirm from him causing his hands to tighten the grip. opening his mouth, a wet glob slips from his tongue and onto your cunt. hitching at the contact, your husband takes his thumb and spreads the wad of spit across your folds. “mmm ken! please hurry up!” you plead, not satisfied with the urgency in which you ask for, sternly, “good girls take what they are given, calm down.” kento takes his two hands and puts them on the sides of your ass, he thrust two fingers into your cunt and starts lapping at your little clit, sucking on the little bud, two fingers pumping away at your hole gradually making you climax. “f-fuck daddy! that felt so good..” finishing on his face he warns you.

“we don’t use those words remember pretty girl?” you nod forgetting in the moment, you watch kento as he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his hardened cock. it stood tall, not too thick in girth but made up for it in length. “your gonna need to relax and breath for me alright?” understanding what he means you respond with a quick “mhm!” you take a deep breath in and feel him prodding at your entrance. breathing out kento places his hand on your pelvis, pulling his hips back a bit and then thrusting back fully inside you. you gasp with a heartened cry at the sudden fill of your cunt, you cry. “oh god!”

“good girl” he caresses your face “you take daddy’s dick so good..so fuckin good.” arching your back off the desk “mmph ken..your reaching me so d-deep!”

“oh i know, i knoww sweetheart, it feels good doesn’t it?” you respond with a loud cry, kento reminded of where the two of you are “baby-baby i need to listen t’me okay? you need to keep your voice down. I know you feel good but we aren’t the only people in this building.” embarrassed by the way you were acting you shrivel up “im s-sorry kento! il try to keep quiet!” your husband aspires you for the effort “thats my girl.”

you cover your mouth with one hand, trying to muffle your moans. the other hand on kento’s stomach, your weak attempt to slow him down. “let’s wrap this up hmm sweetie?” you nod quickly, he knows you tighten up and cum faster when you hear his voice so a series of praise leaves his lips to help you cum.

“you make daddy feel so good, yknow that right baby?”

“I know how bad you have wanted a baby, honey, il fill this pussy up and give you what you want, hmm? how does that sound?”

he fucks you hard but talks to you gently until you can’t take it anymore, creaming on his dick, you arch fully off the desk spasmming and gasping. he fills your stomach and you completely feel the load of a warm substance in your body. kento takes his fingers and pushes back any cum that leaked out, back into your destroyed hole. “augh!” you hiccup, not letting you catch your breath he grabs you off the desk he helps you stand, bending down to help you put your panties back on. gliding the fabric up your thighs and carful to leave his semen in place. kissing your stomach, the insides that he has just gotten finished messing up, he worked himself up to your head. “you better keep it warm and safe for me honey. I don’t want a single drop to slip out before we get home.” giving you a loving kiss, leaving you a little ditzy, you pat yourself off and looking for the papers you had originally walked in with. on your way out you hear him clear his throat, “yes and tell the other firm they will be expecting me tomorrow for that meeting.” looking at his computer in a serious voice, you giggle remembering the earlier excuse and close his door, sitting back at your front desk your met with some side eyes and lots of missed calls.

[eli0004]

Okay. So I loved loved loved your relationship HC canons. They were so well written and I loved him❤

But can I also request Levi falling in love HCs? Like I can imagine him being in love but for the love of God I can not imagine how he would fall in love with someone. Like what certain characteristics would he like? Bold? Calm? Sunshine? Introverted? And how will he be attracted to them? Would it be easy for him to accept his feelings or will he be in denial?

Like please please please.... I love the way you write Levi. So please.

-🌼

Absolutely! I love this topic actually, it’s something I’ve thought a lot about! 🖤 I hope you enjoy!

Genre: Fluff

Summary: How does Levi Ackerman fall in love, and what is his ideal type?

Warnings: None, maybe some talk of insecurity?

Levi is a December Capricorn. December Caps are known for being highly emotional, but struggling with emotional expression. They’re also usually very uptight and disciplined, and tend to take a practical approach when dealing with situations as opposed to flying by the seat of their pants. Obviously these traits are pretty accurate to Levi’s character. A Capricorn’s most ideal match are typically Taurus or Virgos. Commonly known Tausus/Virgo traits are passion, stubbornness, dependability, logic and communication.

Now, obviously you don’t have to be a Taurus or Virgo to be loved by Levi, but think with that in mind, Levi would do best with someone who is very strong willed and independent. He’s not the type of guy who wants to be with someone he has to keep his eye on. Emotional maturity and practical thinking are very important traits to him when looking for a partner, and someone who can communicate well is very attractive to him, since he has a harder time putting his feelings into words.

He likes someone who is genuine, trustworthy and dependable. Someone who has a strong sense of justice and empathy, who defends and advocates for others when they are unable to defend themselves.

I think he likes a good mix of pessimism and optimism. He’s a pessimist himself, so if you’re too optimistic it may irritate him rather than help, he prefers someone who is more of a realist. Someone who doesn’t enable his negativity, but who helps him to think rationally instead.

Like i said before, i think Levi is a deeply emotional person. If you’re only looking surface level, it wouldn’t be obvious, but when you breakdown a lot of his character traits in the show itself, it’s pretty clear that he tends to be swayed by his emotions. I think he would know immediately when he falls in love.

He’s the type of guy who’s always in his head, he thinks a lot, visiting the past, pondering the future. When he starts to catch his pondering turning into fantasizing about a life with you, doing domestic things, and being cozy together, that’s when it hits him.

But I think he’s also deeply insecure, not so much about his looks, but his personality. His ability to love again after having lost so many people. Whether or not you deserve someone better. He’s used to being misread as unapproachable or mean, so somewhere along the way, i think he might have begun to believe those things.

I think it would mean a lot to him if you just treated him like a normal person. Not humanities strongest, not mean or unapproachable, or someone to be pitied for his struggles. Just let him be Levi, and praise him for who he is in his soul.

All that said, i don’t think he would be the one to make a move 💀 because he’s so in his head, i think he’d be too worried that he’s misread the situation and that you don’t see him that way, perhaps you’re just being nice. He’s extremely oblivious to flirting.

But if you catch on first and decide to shoot your shot, he will be absolutely flabbergasted. He’s looking over his shoulder like “do you mean- are you talking to me?” Before that moment, he’s mostly convinced that he’ll be pining in silence for the rest of your lives.

Levi blushes. A lot. He’s very pale in complexion, so the smallest bit of flirting or teasing has heat spreading over his face, and it’s painfully obvious.

So when you’ve got him face to face, telling him how you feel about him, he may not be able to respond in beautiful poetic words, but his body language is enough to tell you how he feels.

He won’t make eye contact, he’s all red faced and bouncing his leg and gripping his teacup with so much force, you’d think it was going to crumble. And oh- what’s that? An ever-so- subtle, happy little grin; completely involuntary, he couldn’t stop it even if he tried. He feels boyish and vulnerable, but it’s strangely nice.

Your relationship with Levi is not a secret, but it is private. He values your time together, as it helps him to decompress. He all but melts in your embrace after a particularly hard day, and It’s crucial that you respect his desire for privacy, the level of raw emotion and vulnerability with these new experiences is something that he’s entrusted you with and that means everything to him.

And on the subject of new experiences, the more you handle him with care and allow him to process his feelings without judgment, the less he’ll worry about not being good enough, and you’ll find that he’s a very good and attentive lover.

Even still, you’ll find from time to time that reassurance is something Levi needs like he needs air to breathe, and this can come in the form of many things, like remembering little details about the things he loves, taking care of some of his responsibilities when he’s feeling overwhelmed, quiet touches when he lacks the energy to speak.

Having someone who sees him for who he is and loves all his broken pieces is what Levi finds comfort in while he’s nestled in your arms at night, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[writingsofwesteros]

Now it’s confirmed Aegon is sleeping with the men as well in the dragon belongs to dorne, please can we have a lil Drabble about his first time with like his princesses favourite lover - like I’m picturing pedro pascal as Oberon 🩷 and his princess is so sweet just reassuring him whilst Aegon just can’t take his eyes off of his tanned glistening muscles

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

NOTE: Thank you all for the lovely asks, ideas and add ons to AU's. They make my day and I thought I would drop this earlier to say thank you xx

“I had heard he was a sweet one, Princess…” Aegon fought back a shiver at the deep voice moving over him. The soft blush that seemed to always be on his cheeks now made itself known. His Princess’ lovers always teased him for it. “Oh, he is very much so sweet, so eager to please as well.” The Princess hummed as she slowly placed herself behind Aegon. Her soft hands slowly moved over his thin, cotton tunic and began to undo the tie that was loosely around his waist. Aegon’s heart skipped as he nearly gasped aloud before he controlled himself. Still, the Princess giggled into his ear. Her fingers brushed through those bright locks of hers before leaning closer. Their noses brushing together for a moment.

Soon their lips met in a passionate kiss as her hand reached the back of his neck; deepening the kiss as their tongues danced. It caused him to be distracted as his tunic fell to the floor with ease. His cock twitched; hardening now as she nibbled on his bottom, plump lip. Those bright eyes of his widened at the feel of another hand on his chest. A chest that was not as muscular as the man before him. But his wife to be adored how soft he was, she had said so herself on so many occasions that Aegon believed her. His head fell away at the feel of a larger hand moving to cup his twitching cock. His wife whispered sweet nothings to calm him as the Prince finally turned to her lover. A smirk was what greeted him as his larger hand began to stoke up and down Aegon’s fat cock.

“They were not exaggerating the Targaryen beauty,” he purred; watching with amusement as Aegon ducked his head. A whimper escaped the Prince as he watched the larger man move to his knees and he could not stop his eyes widening. “I think you deserve such a treat, you are such a good boy.” The Princess of Dorne cooed into his ear. Those soft, pink lips of his began to part but any words to be spoken were completely lost to him as the soft, hot mouth of the knight moved up his twitching length. He could not help but cling to the Princess as his cock began to leak. His hands reached into those brown locks as his mouth engulfed Aegon’s pretty cock with ease.

A soft moan escaped the knight as the vibrations brushed over Aegon’s cock and he could not stop his hips rocking eagerly. “Good boy, hmm, so good for us.” She whispered the praises she knew he adored listening to. Those eyes of his moved down her body as her hand slowly reached between her thighs as her own arousal peaked. His head fell back against the wall as his cock was burrowed completely into his hot mouth. His stomach began to tighten now. The knight watched as the pretty boy in front of him began to lose his composure; not that he had it for long, he thought to himself with a smirk. Aegon couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer as they fluttered shut.

“Oh–ah, “ His body arched from the wall as the knight’s hand had slowly snaked around his body and spread his cheeks apart. Aegon groaned as his cock was sucked on; the man’s head bobbing up and down with practised ease. His hand came down on his arse; the slap sounding out as the knight moved from his cock. “Turn around, pretty boy.” The knight purred as the sound of his Princess’ giggles echoed in the room once more. Aegon could only gasp as he fought back control of the pleasure that had been teasing him. “Do you still want this , my love?” She whispered into his ear; always seeking his response even after all this time.

“Yes..please..” Aegon nibbled at his bottom lip as he slowly turned his head to lock eyes with her. “So good to me.” She cooed; brushing their noses together. Their lips soon met once more as the knight pressed his weight against the Prince. “Oh..oh gods,” Aegon gasped out as the fat cock began to press deep inside him. “Shh, there you go..” He whispered; pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down Aegon’s neck as he shivered. Aegon had never felt so full as he began to wiggle. His hands reached for the wall as if to steady himself. “God, you are tight.” The knight grunted in his ear before softly nibbling at it. The sensations alone had the Prince rolling his eyes.

Slowly, the Knight began to rock his hips; pushing an inch deeper each time as Aegon groaned out in pleasure. His body shook at the feel of his Princess’ soft hand moving to his throbbing cock; his mushroom head already leaking. Her thumb brushed across him and this time his eyes fell shut completely. The whispers of praise came over him with ease, which only had Aegon whimpering some more as his body began to rock against the knight. The Princess only cooed some more as her stroking quickened, as did the knight’s thrusts. “He may just be my favourite,” he purred, causing Aegon to blush so prettily once more. 

“He is mine.” His Princess whispered before their lips were meeting; her tongue pushing in without invitation. Aegon whimpered against her soft lips as his stomach began to tighten in anticipation. The knight’s fat cock pushing against his soft spot that nobody had ever reached before. His legs shook as their names so sweetly fell from his lips. It was only a moment later that his orgasm ripped through him. His cum was soon coating the Princess’ pretty fingers as he grunted her name. Her lips were soon upon his as the knight only rocked his hips still. His own release was close. Aegon was in a complete mess; the intense pleasure still simmering just under the surface.

The knight’s soft lips pressed on his neck as the Prince only shivered some more. His Princess cooed as she slowly moved in front of him; trapped between her husband to be and the wall. Aegon’s eyes widened as her soft hand moved to cup his twitching, sensitive cock. “Please..I , ah..” The Prince hardly knew what he was begging for as she guided his cock into her weeping pussy.

[kiiwiigii]

Abandoned

Demetri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Going to Italy over spring break was not what you had in mind, but Bella said she needed you. Until she didn't anymore, leaving you in the hands of a handsome vampire, who happens to be your mate.

Warnings:

Angst

Bella and the Cullens suck. (Ha ha. I'm so funny.)

Word Count: 1500+

Requested?: Yes!

heya thanks for answering my earlier ask about requests! Could I please request a demetri x reader angsty with fluff where they meet in new moon as reader tags along with bella to help and demtri is drawn to her cause theyre mates and volturi agree to let bella go and be turned later if the reader stays and reader is hurt that edward, bella and even alice agree to it so quickly so she feels abandoned and demetri works to earn her trust and comforts her about it at a later date? (If its too much or you end up tweaking it thats okay!!) <3

A/N: What kind of Volturi fic writer would I didn't do this trope? And for once it's not Alec-centric. I love it! Also, this is gonna be a two-parter.

I hated flying with a burning passion. But Bella insisted that I go with her for emotional support. I almost snapped at her to take Jacob instead. Emotional support animals were free after all. She just needed the paperwork.

Unfortunately, I don't think a big-ass werewolf-slash-shapeshifter would go over well if they were to accidentally transform. Bella was lucky that I even had a passport. In the end, it was Alice who convinced me, definitely playing the loyalty card pretty heavily. If only I had known that loyalty was not extended to me.

Italy was beautiful, but between the sweet relief of landing, Alice stealing a car, and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was the St. Marcus festival, I had barely any time to take it all in. The city was awash with hundreds of people, their red cloaks swirling about as they danced and celebrated.

Bella was diving out the car, screaming Edward's name. I dove into the crowds to follow her, making my way through the throngs of red cloaks to find her. It didn't take long before I was hopelessly lost. What had Alice said? Edward was going to reveal himself. What exactly would happen if he did? That was one thing I had never managed to get out of Bella.

Would he just… spontaneously combust?

No. That made no sense, he never would have come to the Volturi for death if that happened.

But where was the best place to do it?

I looked around desperately before my eyes landed on the clock tower in the center of the square. There. That was the prefect place. I pushed through the crowds, yelling Bella's name at the top of my lungs.

Demetri

"BELLA!"

He turned at the sound, and his dead heart seemed to beat for just a moment. Her voice sounded like heaven. Demetri scanned the square, eyes searching, desperate with hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be who he thought she was.

"Bella!'

It was closer this time, and through a break in the crowds he saw her. Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight of her. She was by the clock tower, her chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe, as if she had just run a long distance. And given the beads of sweat along her brow and the trickles that dripped down her tantalizing neck, she had.

She was stunning. Beautiful. And more than everything that he had ever hoped for.

The other girl in front of him, Bella, turned around in both alarm and relief.

"Bella," Edward said softly. "Relax. He won't harm her."

"Demetri?" Felix asked, voice heavy with confusion.

"Stay with our… guests, Felix."

Demetri was next to the girl in the blink of an eye, stepping into her line of sight a moment later. She jerked back in alarm before making eye contact with him. And it happened. His whole world seemed to turn upside down. He grinned. She was his.

"Hello, principessa." He lifted her warm hands to his cold lips, enjoying the subtle taste of her skin. "I am Demetri. I will escort you to your friends. If you will follow me."

She raised a disbelieving brow at him, taking him in before landing on his eyes. She gulped a little and nodded her head. He held out his arm for her to take, and after a moments hesitation, she did so.

Upon arriving at the alleyway in which the others stood, his mate let go and hugged Bella tightly.

"You're alright." She breathed, her perfect voice hushed.

"I'm alright, Y/N."

"Good to have you back." It was Jane. "Aro has been wondering what has been taking so long. Let us continue."

He put a hand on his mates back, urging her forward silently.

Demetri found that he no longer cared what would happen with Cullen and his human, not so long as his mate stayed.

I was a moron.

Despite the seriously fucked up and dangerous situation that Bella had somehow pulled me into, I couldn’t help but blush as I felt this stranger's hand on my lower back.

'Demetri. His name is Demetri, Y/N.'

The gesture felt oddly warm and comforting. He felt oddly warm and comforting.

And I liked it. But also I didn't like it. He was making me feel all funny and I honestly didn't know what to do about it.

I glanced back at him, only to find him already looking at me, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He gave me a small smile and I turned back around, blushing harder. I liked that smile. A lot. I shook my head, following behind Edward and Bella, doing my best to not trip.

I had bigger things to worry about. Such as getting out of this situation alive. Alice had neglected to tell me much of anything, and I had only caught snippets of her conversation with Bella on the plane. All I knew was that the Volturi laid down the law, and they were not to be fucked with. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention instead of worrying about the death trap that was called a plane.

I grabbed Alice's hand, my anxiety spiking. She gave my hand a small squeeze, sending me another smile. But something was off. She wouldn't look me in the eye. In fact I couldn't recall her looking me in the eye since we had boarded the plane to Italy. And outside of his initial surprise to see me, neither had Edward. I frowned at the sudden realization, slowing down a moment and pulling my hand from hers. Demetri slowed down as well, gently pressing on my back for me to continue, but I stayed rooted in the spot.

"What are you hiding?" My voice cracked. "What did you see?"

Alice looked back at me, surprised.

"Now is not the time, Y/N." Demetri's lips brushed against my ear.

I really liked the way he said my name.

"Indeed." Jane turned around, her face blank.

Demetri tensed, angling himself so that I was out of Jane's eyesight.

"Do not worry, Demetri. I have no intent to harm your mate... As long as she keeps up."

She was so blasé about the whole thing that it took a minute for me to register what she said. Mate? I had a mate? Mates were a thing?

Demetri hissed at her and everyone edged away from the two of them, looking at Demetri as if he were a dead man. Jane just smiled.

"Let us continue. Demetri, do keep your human in line."

I wondered if my brain had just stopped working at that point because I would have normally said something back, but I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything. Demetri turned back around, looking at me as one would a spooked animal. And I was pretty close to a spooked animal. I was starting to hyperventilate, and I definitely wanted to run, but I couldn't get my legs to work.

"Y/N." He reached out, clasping both of my arms lightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way, but we really must keep going."

I nodded, numb. Alice knew. How long had she known? And Edward hadn't bothered to say a damn thing to me either. Why? They couldn't bother to prepare me for this? I have a fucking mate. That's not something you can just shove under the rug. And Jane. Fucking Jane-

Demetri's hand slid into my own, the coolness of his skin breaking me out of my haze just enough to keep moving forward. I could feel myself beginning to shut down and disassociate, auto-pilot taking over. I could feel his thumb rubbing circles softly on the palm of my hand and decided to focus on that instead.

Jane pushed the heavy double doors in front of us open.

My brain refused to shut off, memories of the last 24 hours replaying repeatedly in my head.

Bella had been released under two conditions:

She was to be turned within the year.

I was to stay here, to be with my mate.

I didn't have a choice, not that it really mattered, because I would have given myself up in a heartbeat for Bella. But they had taken the deal with barely a thought. Even Bella. That's when I realized that she knew. She had known the whole time. And Alice. I kept thinking about how she had worked so hard to convince me to come. To be Bella's emotional support. I wasn't there to be her emotional support. I was there to be traded, like some dog. And it hurt.

I had lost everything.

My friends. My home. My family.

I would never see my mother again. My father had passed a little over a year ago to cancer, so my mother and I were already in the practice of mourning. But my mom, not only had she lost my dad, but now she would think I was dead too. How would she cope?

How was I going to cope? How could I ever trust anyone again? Bella and the Cullens had taken advantage of me. Of my love. My loyalty.

I wouldn't let it happen again. Never.

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[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 5: If It's All In My Head, Tell Me Now. Tell Me I've Got It Wrong Somehow.

Prequel to The Last Great American Dynasty.

Warnings: Smut, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Swearing, 18+.

Summary: In the shadowy underworld of New Orleans, where power is currency and loyalty is a fragile thread, you find yourself entangled with Remy LeBeau, a charismatic and dangerous mob boss. What begins as a chance encounter soon evolves into a complex, intense relationship that neither of you saw coming.

Anna had been everything to Remy once. She wasn’t just his wife; she was the anchor that had kept him grounded in a world that seemed determined to pull him under. When they met, Remy had been younger, wilder—the charming thief with a devil-may-care attitude. But Anna had seen something in him that no one else had. She saw beyond the bravado, beyond the criminal lifestyle, and found the man underneath. She loved him for who he truly was, not who the world thought he was. And in return, Remy had given her his heart.

Their love had been intense, passionate, but also tender and steady. Anna had been his safe place, the one person who could calm the storm that always seemed to rage inside him. She had this way of making him feel like he was enough, like he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. With her, he could just be.

But then she was gone.

A drunk driver had taken her from him in an instant, and with her, she’d taken a piece of Remy’s soul. After her death, Remy had been lost, adrift in a sea of guilt and pain. He’d buried himself in his work, in his schemes, in his life, trying to forget. Trying to outrun the grief that clung to him like a shadow.

But he never really let her go. He never could.

That photo album was a testament to that. It was filled with pictures of their life together, from their first date to their wedding day. It held snapshots of the moments that had defined them, the quiet mornings spent in bed, the laughter shared over shared meals, the way she used to look at him like he was her whole world. Remy sat in the car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. The rain falling outside blurred the world into a haze, but all he could focus on was the knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t be here. Every part of his mind screamed at him to leave—turn the key, drive away, and forget about this. He’d done it before. Sent flowers, a note, maybe a gift wrapped in pretty paper. It was a playbook he knew well. It always worked. It kept things simple, kept people at arm’s length.

But with you, it wasn’t simple. It never had been.

He glanced down at the worn leather album in his lap, his hands trembling as they hovered over it. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. Showing you this—showing you her—wasn't just a risk, it was terrifying. Because you weren't like anyone else. You saw through the charm, through the slick words and the easy smiles.

You didn’t look at him the way others did—with fear, with caution, with that wary glint in their eyes, like they were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You didn’t see the dangerous man who had built his life on lies and half-truths. You didn’t see the thief, the Cajun rogue with a past he tried to bury. You saw him. The real Remy. The one he didn’t show anyone.

And you hadn’t flinched.

Not once.

He could still remember the first time he realized you were different. It wasn’t anything grand, nothing that should’ve knocked him off balance the way it had. You had just looked at him—really looked at him—and it was like you saw all the cracks in his armor, all the pieces of him he kept hidden. And instead of pulling back, instead of retreating like most people did when they got too close, you had stayed. You had smiled, laughed, as if what you saw wasn’t something to be afraid of. You were sitting on that crate talking like you had known him your whole life.

That was the thing about you. You made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had. And that scared him more than any risk he’d ever taken.

Remy leaned back in the seat, the rain beating against the windshield like a relentless drum, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel as his mind replayed the moment over and over again. His heart gave a painful twist as he thought about how badly he had messed things up—how, in that split second, he had done what he always did. He’d used you. And now, as the realization settled in, it cut him deeper than any wound he’d ever taken in a fight.

That kiss—it haunted him.

At first, it had been instinct. The second he spotted the police closing in, his mind had gone into overdrive, calculating, strategizing, looking for an out. And then he’d turned to you, and everything changed. The plan was simple, something he’d done a hundred times before, a quick kiss to cover his tracks, to slip the drugs to you without a second thought. You were an opportunity. A convenient shield. And in that brief moment, that’s what he had reduced you to.

But now? Now he wished more than anything that he could take it back.

Because the kiss—the feel of your lips against his, the way your breath had hitched in surprise—had stirred something in him he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But it did. The second his lips touched yours, something inside him shifted, and for the briefest moment, all of the noise, all of the chaos around him had faded away, leaving only you.

And that’s when the guilt hit him like a punch to the gut.

He had kissed you, not because he wanted to, not because he couldn’t resist the pull he always felt when he was near you, but because he was thinking of himself. He was thinking of how to keep himself out of trouble, of how to use you to slip away unnoticed, just another move in a game he had been playing his whole life. And it made him sick.

Because you weren’t some pawn. You weren’t some piece on his chessboard, some convenient cover he could use and discard when it suited him. You were you. And you deserved more than that.

But in that moment, he hadn’t considered any of that. He hadn’t thought about how it would make you feel, how much it would hurt you when you realized what he had done. He had only seen you as someone who would always be there, someone who would cover for him, who would take the hit, even though he knew deep down it would cost you. And while he was thinking only of himself, of his escape, he had pushed you away.

He could still see the look in your eyes afterward—the confusion, the hurt, the betrayal.

And now, sitting here in the car, the album in his lap, the rain pouring down outside, he realized just how much he had lost in that moment. Because the truth was, that kiss had meant something. It had meant everything. And he had ruined it.

His mind flashed back to the warmth of your lips, the way your body had instinctively leaned into his, just for a second, before the reality of what he’d done had hit you. He had felt the connection between you, the spark he had always tried to ignore, to push away, because it scared him. Because you scared him. You made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling—things he didn’t know how to handle. And instead of facing that, instead of being honest with himself and with you, he had taken the easy way out. He had used you.

And now, he wasn’t sure if he could ever make it right.

His heart clenched painfully as he thought about the last time he had seen you. The hurt in your eyes when he had pulled away, when he had shut you out. The way you had looked at him, waiting for him to say something, to do something—anything—that would prove he wasn’t the man you feared he was becoming. But he hadn’t. He had let you walk away because it was easier than facing the truth. Easier than admitting that you had gotten under his skin in a way no one else ever had.

And now, sitting here in the car, staring at the rain-soaked streets outside your small house, he realized that this might be his last chance. His last chance to fix what he had broken. His usual tricks, his charm, his smooth words—they wouldn’t work on you. They never had. You’d see right through them. You’d see right through him.

He glanced down at the album again, his fingers tracing the worn leather cover. Inside were pieces of his life he had never shared with anyone. Memories, photographs, moments that had shaped him into the man he was today. And maybe, just maybe, if he showed you this—if he let you see the things he kept hidden—it would be enough to show you that he cared. That you weren’t just another person in his life.

His heart pounded in his chest as he finally made the decision, his body moving on autopilot as he grabbed the album and forced himself out of the car. The rain hit him immediately, cold and relentless, but he barely felt it. His mind was too focused, too consumed with the thought of you—of what he needed to say, of what he needed to show you. As Remy stood in front of your door, his hand hovering over the wood, the mental anguish clawed at him. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around, to walk away before he made a fool of himself, before he bared parts of himself he wasn’t sure you wanted to see. But his heart—his heart wouldn’t let him leave. His heart was telling him that you were worth the risk. That you were worth the fear, the vulnerability, the potential for rejection.

His hand knocked, the sound barely audible over the rain, but loud enough to send a jolt of dread through him. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The rain was a dull roar in the background as he waited, his heart thundering in his chest, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him like a physical thing.

Then, the door opened.

There you were, standing in the doorway, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. He must’ve looked like a mess—soaked through, clutching an old album like it was the only thing keeping him grounded—but you didn’t laugh. You didn’t scoff or turn away. You just looked at him, your gaze soft, confused, but not unkind.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said quietly, your voice full of questions, but also something else—something that made his heart ache even more.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, his mind racing. He had spent hours trying to figure out what to say, how to explain himself, but now that he was here, standing in front of you, every word seemed to crumble before it could leave his mouth. He forced himself to speak, his voice rough, thick with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. “I know I messed up,” he started, his accent thicker than usual, his words almost slurring together in his rush to get them out. “I know I pushed ya away when I shoulda le’ ya in. I know I made ya think I didn’ care.”

The words hung between you, heavy with regret. He looked down at the album in his hands, his fingers trembling as he held it out toward you. “But I do care. More than I know how t’ say.”

He hesitated, glancing between the album and your eyes, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break. “This…” His voice faltered for a moment, the vulnerability in his chest squeezing tight. “This is me, chère. The real me. The parts I don’t show anyone. The parts I’ve been too scared to let anyone see.” He licked his lips, his throat feeling dry despite the rain soaking him to his skin. “This album, it’s… it’s everything I am. It’s the one thing that means more to me than anything.”

His breath shook as he held it out farther, urging you to take it. “I don’t know if it’s enough. But it’s all I got. An’ I need ya t’ see it.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and full of unspoken words, unasked questions. Remy’s heart pounded in his chest, fear clawing at him, but he didn’t look away from your face, didn’t let himself retreat. Everything was riding on this moment. If you turned him away now, if you rejected him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to come back from it.

You stared at the album for what felt like an eternity, your eyes flicking between it and him. Searching his face for something—truth, maybe. Or sincerity. Or the kind of vulnerability he so rarely let anyone see. Whatever it was, you must’ve found it, because after what seemed like forever, you stepped aside, your voice soft but steady.

“Come in.”

And just like that, the tightness in his chest loosened, just a little. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was a chance. And for a man like Remy, who had spent his whole life running from the things that scared him, that was more than he deserved. But he was going to take it. He had to.

This was the moment. The one he had been too scared to face for so long. The moment where he had to stop hiding, stop running, and show you who he really was. The man behind the charm, the smooth words, the reputation. The man he wasn’t sure you’d still want once you saw all the cracks, all the broken pieces he kept hidden.

But you had opened the door. You had given him a chance. And for the first time in his life, Remy was choosing to fight for something real. For something that terrified him more than anything else ever had.

Because for the first time in a long time, he had something to fight for.  And that something was you. <><><><><><><><> Remy lingered between your two armchairs, the weight of the album in his hands grounding him as he took in your living room in silence. It was a space that shouldn’t have worked—the mismatched furniture, the clutter, the lived-in feel of it all—but somehow, it did. The green armchair with its weathered fabric and the burgundy one with its sagging cushions were like two old friends that didn’t quite belong together but had found a way to coexist. The soft blanket tossed over the back of one chair, the pillows strewn across the couch, even the uneven stack of magazines on the coffee table—it was messy, but it was home.

The room had a heartbeat, a warmth that made Remy feel both out of place and strangely drawn in. He wasn’t used to this kind of space. Everything in his world had a temporary feel to it, like he was always one step away from leaving. But here… here it felt like things were meant to stay. The mismatched furniture, the little signs of life scattered around the room, the warmth of the space—it all spoke of permanence, of a life that had roots. And that unsettled him in a way he hadn’t expected.

He glanced over at the coffee table, where a plate of microwaved food sat next to a half-empty glass of water. The remnants of your dinner. He could still smell the faint aroma of reheated pasta and tomato sauce, and it reminded him how human this moment was. There was no pretense here, no attempt to clean up or make things look perfect before he arrived. You hadn’t been expecting him, and you weren’t trying to impress him. And for some reason, that made him feel more exposed than anything else.

You muted the television and turned toward him, the soft glow of the screen casting a muted light across the room. Your expression was careful, guarded, like you weren’t quite sure why he was here, standing in the middle of your living room, soaked to the bone, clutching an old album like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“You can sit if you want,” you said, your voice gentle but cautious, like you were still trying to make sense of the situation.

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers tightening around the album as his eyes flicked between you and the empty armchair. The invitation was simple, but it felt like so much more than that. Sitting down meant staying. It meant acknowledging that he was here for a reason, that he wasn’t just passing through. And that terrified him. But you were giving him a chance—one he didn’t deserve, but one he was desperate not to waste.

He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and lowered himself into the burgundy armchair. The springs creaked under his weight, but it didn’t bother him. There was something comforting about the worn-out chair, something that made the room feel lived-in and real. He leaned back slightly, trying to settle the nervous energy buzzing through him, but it was hard to relax when everything inside him felt like it was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t control.

You pulled your feet up onto the couch, sitting cross-legged, watching him carefully. Your eyes followed his every move, not in a hostile way, but in a way that told him you were still trying to figure him out. You didn’t trust him fully—not after what he’d done. And he didn’t blame you. He didn’t trust himself most of the time.

His heart raced as he leaned forward and gently placed the worn leather album on the coffee table, the weight of it leaving his hands but not his heart. His fingers lingered on the edges of the cover, tracing the familiar creases in the leather, as if letting go of it was the hardest thing he’d ever done. It was, in a way. This album was more than just a collection of memories; it was a piece of him, a part of his life that he had never shown anyone.

“This…” He hesitated, his voice quieter now, thick with emotion that he wasn’t used to showing. “This is me, chère. The real me. The parts I don’t show nobody.”

The words felt heavy in the air between you, like they carried the weight of years of secrets, of a life built on half-truths and misdirection. He glanced up at you, his red-on-black eyes soft, full of uncertainty. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, how to tell you that this album wasn’t just a collection of old photographs or memories—it was the one thing in his life that grounded him. The one thing that hadn’t slipped through his fingers the way everything else always did.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to find the right words. “This album, it’s… it’s everythin’ I am. It’s the one thing that means more t’ me than anythin’ else. An’ I know I ain’t been good about lettin’ people in, about showin’ ‘em the real side of me, but…” He paused, his throat tightening as he looked down at the album again. “I need you t’ see it. I need you to know what’s in here.”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken questions and the weight of everything he hadn’t said. He wasn’t used to this kind of vulnerability, wasn’t used to laying himself bare like this. His whole life, he had built walls—walls of charm, of wit, of bravado—to keep people from getting too close. But with you, those walls had crumbled, and he wasn’t sure how to protect himself anymore.

He could feel your eyes on him, studying him, searching for something. He didn’t know if you were ready to forgive him, or if you even wanted to. All he knew was that he had to try—because for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running. He wasn’t hiding behind his usual tricks. He was sitting here, in your mismatched living room, offering you the one thing that meant more to him than anything else.

Your living room felt like the opposite of his life. Where you had things that didn’t quite fit together but still worked, his life had always been about carefully curated moments, about making sure everything stayed in place just long enough for him to slip away before anyone could see the cracks. But here, surrounded by mismatched furniture and the warmth of a space that you had made your own, he felt something unfamiliar—he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could belong.

You sat on the couch, your feet tucked up under you, watching him. Watching Remy. It was hard to put into words how you felt in that moment—tired, frustrated, and yet still, somehow, a little hopeful. You scanned his face, searching for some kind of clue, some indication of why the hell he was sitting in your living room at this hour, soaked through, clutching that old, weathered album like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His red-on-black eyes flicked nervously between you and the album, and you could see his fingers tightening around it, like he wasn’t sure he could let it go.

You let out a small sigh, the weight of the day—and the weeks, months even—pressing down on you.

“I have nothing more to give you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t trying to hurt him, but the exhaustion in your words was undeniable. “You showed me today that whatever you do—it’s always more important than the people around you.”

Your tone wasn’t sharp, but it was raw, honest. You weren’t yelling. You didn’t have it in you to yell anymore. God, you were just tired. Tired of feeling like you were constantly fighting an uphill battle with him. Tired of giving and giving and getting nothing in return except half-truths and evasions. You watched him, carefully weighing your words.

He swallowed hard and looked down at the floor, his jaw tightening as he absorbed what you were saying. You could see the guilt in his posture, the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as though the weight of his mistakes was finally crashing down on him.

“I…” You paused, biting your lip, trying to find the strength to keep going. “I give a shit about you. Believe it or not. All I wanted—all I’ve ever wanted—was for you to show me that this isn’t just in my head. That whatever the hell this is between us isn’t just me overanalyzing things, isn’t just me holding on to something that doesn’t exist.”

You were laying it all out now, the hurt, the confusion, the feeling of being strung along, unsure if you were the one imagining things, unsure if you were reading too much into stolen glances, lingering touches, and moments that felt like they meant something, only for him to pull away.

“It’s not,” Remy interrupted softly. His voice was rough, thick with emotion, and when you looked up, you saw that his gaze had shifted back to you. There was something raw in his eyes, something that made your heart clench in your chest.

He took a breath, his hands still trembling slightly as he kept his grip on the album, like it was anchoring him to this moment. “From the first day I met ya… you did somethin’ t’ me, chère. I don’t know how t’ explain it.” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, his movements restless, as though he couldn’t stay still under the weight of what he was about to say. “Ya saw me. Not what everyone else sees. Not th’ smooth talker, not the guy everyone’s scared of, not the guy who always knows how t’ get outta trouble. You saw me. An’ that scared the hell outta me.”

His voice softened, his accent thickening as he spoke, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through the usual bravado he wore like a second skin. “I ain’t used t’ that. I ain’t used t’ someone actually givin’ a damn about me. Not the real me. I’ve spent my whole life runnin’, keepin’ people at arm’s length ‘cause it’s easier that way. It’s safer. But you…” He shook his head, his eyes locking onto yours. “Ya made it impossible to run.”

You sat there, staring at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The room felt suddenly too small, too quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy between you.

“I’m here because I can’t let ya walk away without tryin’ t’ make this right,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt ya. But I can’t jus’ le’ ya think that all of this—” he gestured between the two of you, “—that all of this don’t mean nothin’. ‘Cause it does. It means more t’ me than I know how t’ say. An’ I’m done runnin’ from it.”

He stood up and stepped forward, closing the distance between you, holding out the album. You glanced down at it, your brow furrowing in confusion. Why was he giving this to you? What could possibly be in that old, worn book that would make any of this make sense?

“In here…” His voice faltered for a moment, and he swallowed hard. You could see the struggle on his face, the way he was fighting with himself to get the words out. “In here is Anna.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t heard that name before. You looked up at him, searching his face for answers, but he couldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“She was my wife,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “She died in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her. I didn’t even get t’ say goodbye.”

The room seemed to go still, the air thick with the weight of his confession. You felt the tightness in your chest, the ache of hearing something so deeply personal, something that clearly haunted him.

You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing against the leather cover of the album as you took it from his hands. “Remy…” you began softly, your voice gentle, unsure. You didn’t want him to feel like he had to do this, like he had to bare himself completely just to prove something to you. “You don’t have to—”

He cut you off, his voice firm but raw. “I do. I ain’t never shown anyone what’s in there, chère. Not a soul. ‘Cause it’s the one thing in my life that’s mine, the one thing I’ve been too scared t’ share with anyone.” His eyes were intense as they finally met yours fully, the vulnerability in his gaze almost too much to bear. “But ya need t’ know. You need t’ know how much I care about ya. An’ I don’t know how else t’ show ya that unless I show ya this.”

You held the album in your lap, your fingers tracing the worn edges of the leather, your heart racing as you looked back up at him. This wasn’t just about him telling you something painful from his past. This was about trust. About Remy giving you something that no one else had—a part of himself that he had kept locked away because it was too painful, too personal, too real.

“I’ve been scared, chère,” he admitted, his voice low and full of regret. “Scared t’ let ya in. Scared t’ let anyone in. ‘Cause I don’t know what happens when I let someone get close. I don’t know how to stop pushin’ them away. But I can’t keep doin’ that with ya. I can’t keep hurtin’ ya like that.”

He knelt down in front of you, his eyes level with yours, his expression open, raw. “I’m showin’ ya this ‘cause ya need t’ understand that ya ain’t imaginin’ things. This thing between us? It’s real. An’ I’m done pretendin’ like it ain’t.”

You looked down at the album in your hands, feeling the weight of it, not just physically, but emotionally. It was a piece of his life, a part of him that he had never shared with anyone. And he was giving it to you. Trusting you with it. Trusting you with her.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the edge of the album’s cover, feeling the worn, soft leather beneath your fingertips. The weight of it in your lap was more than just physical—it carried the weight of Remy’s past, of his pain, of everything he’d been too afraid to share until now. You glanced over at him, sitting next to you on the couch, his body tense, his eyes trained on the album like it held both his salvation and his undoing. His hands rested on his knees, fingers twitching ever so slightly, betraying the calm he was trying so hard to maintain.

He hadn’t said a word since you took the album from him, and you hadn’t pushed. Something about the silence felt sacred, like this moment needed to breathe on its own.

With a deep breath, you opened the cover.

The first thing you saw was a photograph, carefully placed but slightly faded with age. A woman smiled up at you—young, vibrant, with vibrant red hair and eyes that seemed to sparkle even from the stillness of the picture. Her smile was warm, genuine, and there was something about her that made your chest tighten, like you could feel the love and life that radiated from her even through the years that separated her from this moment. You knew, without needing to ask, that this was Anna.

Remy’s Anna.

You turned the page slowly, afraid that moving too quickly would somehow break the fragile air between you and him. The next page held more photos—candid shots of a life you hadn’t known Remy had lived. Him and Anna, laughing together, holding hands, walking along a street in some city you didn’t recognize. They both looked so happy, so carefree. You couldn’t remember ever seeing Remy look that way—fully at ease, fully present, without the weight of the world constantly dragging him down.

As you flipped through the pages—each one revealing pieces of a life he’d kept hidden, snapshots of love and pain—you began to feel a knot forming in your chest. Picture after picture, you saw them together in moments you could tell had meant everything to him. Anna leaning into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Remy with his arm wrapped around her, his face soft and unguarded in a way you’d never seen before. They looked like they belonged to each other in a way that was so natural, so effortless. You could see how much he had loved her. It was in every picture, in every smile, in the way he looked at her like she was his whole world.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, though he hadn’t moved. You didn’t need to look at him to know how hard this was for him—to sit here, to show you this, to open up the most painful part of his life and let you in. It wasn’t just about Anna. It wasn’t just about his past. It was about trust. It was about letting you see the part of him that had been broken, the part of him that he had buried so deep that no one else had ever found it.

And in doing that, in showing you this, he was giving you the only way he knew how to tell you that you mattered. That you weren’t imagining this—whatever this was between the two of you. That it was real. That you were real to him. This was his way of saying that he cared—deeply, maybe more deeply than he even knew how to articulate with words. This was his way of saying that he didn’t want to run anymore. That he was trying, even if he didn’t know how to do it perfectly.

You swallowed, your throat tight, and turned another page.

There was a photo of them at what looked like a wedding. Anna was in a simple white dress, her eyes glowing as she looked up at him, her smile wide and full of joy. Remy stood next to her, looking impossibly young and happy, his hand resting on her waist, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. There was a light in his eyes in that picture, a light that hadn’t fully returned since you’d known him.

Your heart ached for him—ached for the love he had lost, for the pain he had carried with him for so long. You could feel the enormity of it, the weight of a life that had been stolen from him in an instant. And yet, here he was. Here, with you, offering you this piece of himself that he had never let anyone else see.

The album wasn’t just a collection of memories—it was Remy’s heart, laid bare. It was everything he had been too scared to show you, too scared to say. And as you sat there, flipping through the pages, you realized that this was his way of telling you that he cared about you. That he trusted you. That he was willing to let you in in a way he hadn’t let anyone in since Anna.

Your fingers stilled on a page, and you let out a soft breath.

“Remy…” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

He didn’t say anything, but you felt the shift in the air between you. He was waiting. Waiting for you to understand what this meant. Waiting for you to see that this was the only way he knew how to show you how much he cared. That he wasn’t just showing you his past—he was showing you her. The person he had loved most in the world. And that meant something.

You looked over at him, and for the first time, you really saw him. Not just the man who had hurt you, who had pushed you away when you had tried to get close. Not just the charming, infuriating, complicated man who had made your heart race and your head ache in equal measure. But the man who had been broken by loss, who had spent years running from his pain, and who was now, finally, trying to stop running. Trying to let you in.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He met your gaze, his eyes intense but vulnerable, his expression open in a way it almost never was. “Ya don’t gotta say nothin’, chère,” he murmured.  “I’m showin’ ya this ‘cause I can’t let you think that this—us—that it don’t mean nothin’. ‘Cause it does. It means more t’ me than I know how t’ say.”

Your heart clenched, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t just telling you he cared—he was telling you that you mattered enough for him to open up the most painful part of his life. He was telling you that you weren’t just in his head. You were in his heart.

You looked down at the album in your lap, the photos of Anna smiling up at you, and you felt the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Slowly, carefully, you closed the album and placed it gently on the coffee table in front of you.

Then, you turned to Remy, your voice quiet but steady. “Thank you for showing me this. I know how much it means to you.”

He nodded, his throat working as he swallowed hard, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Ya needed t’ see it,” he said softly.

And in that moment, you knew. You knew that this was the closest Remy had come to saying I love you since Anna. And maybe he couldn’t say the words yet, maybe he wasn’t ready to put it all into neat little phrases, but this—this was enough. This was real. This was him, opening up and showing you that he wasn’t just running anymore.

You reached out and took his hand, your fingers lacing through his. He squeezed your hand gently, his touch warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t fighting this battle alone anymore. Remy couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this exposed.

Sitting beside you on the couch, the album resting on the coffee table like a piece of his past he had never meant to share, he felt the weight of his whole life pressing down on him. His heart was beating so hard against his chest, he was sure you could hear it. He’d spent years perfecting the art of hiding—hiding behind charm, behind quick smiles, behind walls so thick and so high that no one ever got close. No one ever made it past that carefully constructed exterior.

But you had.

And now, with you sitting so close to him, the warmth of your body just inches away, the album open on your lap, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something he wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. The pictures of Anna, his memories of her—the life he had lost—were all there, laid bare in front of you. He had never shown anyone this. Not a soul. Because letting people in had always been too dangerous. It had always meant giving up some piece of himself that he couldn’t afford to lose.

But with you… something was different. He wasn’t sure when it had started, wasn’t sure when you had begun to slip past his defenses, but now that you were here—now that he had let you see the most fragile, broken parts of himself—he couldn’t imagine going back to the way things had been. He couldn’t imagine pretending that this didn’t mean something. That you didn’t mean something.

So when you leaned toward him, when you closed the distance between you with that look in your eyes—soft, searching, like you were trying to figure out if this was real—his breath caught in his throat. His instinct, for just a split second, was to pull away. To protect himself. To run.

But he didn’t.

Because for the first time, he didn’t want to run.

Your lips touched his, soft and tentative at first, and he could feel the world tilt beneath him. It wasn’t like any kiss he’d had before—no heat of the moment, no rush to get to the next thing. This was different. This was slow, deliberate, like you were both testing the waters of something that had been building for so long, something that had been threatening to break through the surface and overwhelm you both.

And it did.

The kiss deepened, your lips pressing more firmly against his, and Remy felt everything inside him unravel. His hand moved almost without thinking, slipping from his lap to your waist, pulling you closer with a soft, barely-there tug. He felt your fingers slide into his hair, gentle but insistent, and the warmth of your touch sent a shiver down his spine. It was like you were grounding him, anchoring him to this moment, to you. His other hand came up to cradle your neck, his thumb brushing against your jaw as he kissed you deeper, slower, like he was afraid to let go.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t running. He wasn’t thinking about what came next, wasn’t thinking about the walls he had carefully constructed over the years. He wasn’t thinking about Anna, or the guilt that had lingered in the back of his mind for so long. He was just… here. With you.

And the feeling of it hit him like a freight train.

Because this wasn’t just a kiss. It was everything he hadn’t been able to say. Everything he had felt for you but had been too scared to admit. Every glance, every touch, every moment between the two of you that had been filled with tension, with unspoken words, with what ifs—it was all pouring into this one kiss. And for the first time, he allowed himself to feel it.

He allowed himself to feel you.

His lips moved slowly, almost reverently against yours, and he could feel the pull in his chest—the quiet, persistent ache he had been trying to ignore for so long. His hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you even closer, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest. It was calming, soothing, and for the first time in a long time, Remy felt like he could breathe.

When you pulled back slightly, your forehead resting against his, your breath warm and shaky against his lips, he kept his eyes closed, savoring the closeness. He could still feel the ghost of your kiss lingering on his lips, and part of him didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to break the moment. Because this—this—was something he hadn’t let himself hope for.

But when he did open his eyes, and saw you looking at him—really looking at him, like you saw all of him—he felt his heart stutter in his chest. Your eyes were soft, full of something that made his throat tighten, and he realized then that this wasn’t just about him anymore. This was about you, too. About the way you had been standing there, waiting for him to let you in. Waiting for him to stop pushing you away. To stop running.

You smiled softly, your thumb brushing against his cheek, and Remy felt something inside him shift. It was subtle, quiet, but it was there. The fear that had always been lurking just beneath the surface—the fear of losing someone again, of letting someone in only to have them slip through his fingers—it wasn’t gone completely, but it was quieter. Softer. Because in this moment, sitting here with you, feeling the warmth of your hand on his skin, he realized that he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

When you kissed him again, it was softer this time, slower, like you were both taking your time. Like you were savoring the feel of each other. His hand slid up the curve of your back, resting just beneath your shoulder blade, keeping you close. He could feel your heartbeat, steady and sure, and it grounded him in a way he hadn’t expected. Everything about this moment felt real, and for the first time in years, he wasn’t terrified of that reality.

The kiss deepened, your lips moving in sync with his, and Remy felt the tension in his chest slowly begin to unwind. He wasn’t used to feeling this—this—whatever it was. This softness. This quiet, steady warmth that spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He wasn’t used to letting himself need someone like this. But with you, sitting here in the quiet of your mismatched living room, the world outside fading into the background, it felt right.

When the kiss broke again, this time slower, more languid, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, his breath coming in slow, steady exhales. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to break the moment. Because in this moment, everything felt right. Everything felt like it was finally where it was supposed to be.

“I care about ya,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the words felt like they carried the weight of everything he hadn’t been able to say before. “More than I know how t’ say.”

And in that moment, as you looked at him, your eyes full of something soft, something real, Remy knew that this was it. This was the moment he had been running from for so long. The moment he had been too scared to let happen. The air between you and Remy seemed to thrum with an unspoken tension, a kind of magnetic pull that had been simmering just beneath the surface for so long it felt like it had always been there. It was in the way his eyes lingered on you, the way his hand rested on the small of your back, the way your breaths synced, slow and heavy, like you both knew something was about to shift but neither of you was quite ready to say it out loud.

You had kissed him. Properly kissed him. And in those moments, it felt like everything had changed. The weight of the album, of Anna, of Remy’s past, of his title as the King of New Orleans—it was still there, but it didn’t feel like a wall between you anymore. It felt like something you had both acknowledged, something you had both accepted, and now… now it was just you and him. No running. No hiding. Just two people who had been skirting around this moment for what felt like forever.

And now, the moment was here.

Remy’s hand slid from your back to your waist, his touch slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingertips. His eyes, those deep, red-on-black eyes that had always been so guarded, so full of mystery, were locked on yours, and for the first time, there was no hesitation in them. No fear. Just hunger. Hunger and something deeper—something raw and fragile and real.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t need to. Because this—whatever this was—was something you both wanted. Needed, maybe. It felt like the natural progression of everything that had been building between you, every charged glance, every stolen touch, every moment where you had both been walking the line between friends and something more. And now, you were both ready to cross that line.

Your fingers tightened in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he responded immediately, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slower, deeper than before. There was no rush, no frantic urgency, just the steady heat of two people who had been waiting for this for longer than they cared to admit. His lips were soft, but the kiss was firm, insistent, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every buried emotion, into it.

You could feel the warmth of his body pressing against yours, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you even closer until there was hardly any space left between you. The couch felt too small, too cramped for the weight of the moment, for the way your bodies seemed to respond to each other, the way your heart was pounding in your chest, each beat echoing in your ears.

When he pulled back, just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours, his hand still resting on your waist, his voice was low and thick with emotion. “You sure about this?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt, any hesitation.

But there wasn’t any.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and all you saw was the man in front of you—not the thief, not the charming rogue, not the man who had been running from his past for so long—but Remy. Just Remy. The man who had let you in, who had shown you the most vulnerable parts of himself, who had trusted you with his pain, with his heart. And that was enough. More than enough.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His hand slid from your waist to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin before his lips were on yours again, this time with more intensity, more urgency. The kiss deepened, and you could feel the shift in the air between you, the way the tension that had been simmering for so long now threatened to consume you both. His hand slipped to the hem of your shirt, his fingers brushing against the skin of your waist, and the feel of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. It was like every nerve in your body was suddenly alive, every inch of you hyperaware of him, of the way his body pressed against yours, of the heat that was building between you.

As your fingers slid up Remy’s chest, your palms pressed against the firm planes of his body, you felt the smooth, taut skin beneath his shirt, you could feel his muscles ripple under your touch, warm and alive in a way that made your own pulse quicken. His chest was solid, strong, the kind of strength that came from years of living on the edge—running, fighting, always moving. His muscles were defined but not overly so, more lean than bulky, the kind of body that told a story of someone who had always depended on both speed and agility, someone who had learned to survive in a world that constantly tried to take from him.

When he pulled back long enough to strip off his shirt, tossing it aside with an effortless grace, your breath caught at the sight of him. His body was sculpted, lean and powerful, his skin a canvas of sun-kissed bronze, with faint shadows cast by the low light of the room. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing as he moved, as he reached for you again, his hands already pulling you back into him with a kind of quiet desperation.

The bare skin of his chest pressed against you, and the warmth of his body was almost overwhelming, like being enveloped in a heat that both burned and soothed. Every inch of him felt alive, buzzing with energy, with the raw intensity of the moment. His breath hitched when your fingers traced the line of his collarbone, and you could feel the slight tremor in his body as if even the smallest touch was enough to undo him.

His hands were on your waist, firm but not rough, guiding you into his lap as you straddled him, as if every movement had its own rhythm, its own unspoken language. His touch was deliberate, slow, like he was savoring the feel of your body against his, like he was trying to memorize every curve, every sensation. His lips found yours again, more insistent this time, more desperate, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles flexed beneath your hands, the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts as your lips met and parted, again and again.

His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck, and the soft press of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, making your breath catch in your throat. You could feel the steady, deliberate pressure of his mouth as he kissed along the line of your neck, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers tracing patterns that left a trail of heat in their wake.

There was something intoxicating about the way he moved, the way his body felt beneath yours—a combination of strength and vulnerability, of someone who had always fought to keep his distance but now, in this moment, was letting you in, letting you see him, feel him. Every touch, every kiss felt like a revelation, like peeling back the layers of someone who had spent years hiding behind masks and walls, someone who had always kept everyone at arm’s length—until now.

And now, as his lips found yours again, as his hands roamed over your body with a slow, deliberate intensity, you could feel it—the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, the emotions he didn’t know how to express. But he didn’t need to say it. You could feel it in the way his body responded to yours, in the way his breath hitched when your fingers traced the curve of his spine, in the way his hands gripped your waist like he was afraid to let go.

Remy’s fingers, warm and sure, slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch sending sparks across your skin as he gently tugged upwards. There was no rush in his movements, no frantic need, just the slow, deliberate pull of fabric as he lifted your shirt over your head. You raised your arms, letting him undress you, and in that brief moment before the shirt joined his on the floor, you caught the look in his eyes.

He was watching you, really watching, like he was trying to imprint the image of you into his memory, to burn it into his mind. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail—the way your cheeks were flushed with heat and anticipation, the way your lips were slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. There was something reverent in the way he looked at you, something almost tender, as though this moment—you—were more precious than anything he had ever held before.

His breath hitched, just barely, and you could see the way his chest expanded as he took in a slow, deliberate breath, like he was trying to steady himself, to ground himself in the moment. His eyes darkened with a mix of desire and something softer, something deeper, and it made your heart race even faster. You could feel the heat building between you, the air thick with the weight of everything neither of you had said but both of you understood.

For a few heartbeats, neither of you moved. His hands, now resting on your waist, gripped you with a kind of gentle possessiveness, like he wasn’t sure if this was real, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d disappear. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady rise and fall of his breath, and it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of you—your bodies, your breaths, your heartbeats, all in sync, all connected by this invisible thread that had been pulling you together for so long.

Then, in that low, gravelly voice that always seemed to send shivers down your spine, he asked, “Ya got a bedroom, chère?”

His tone was soft, almost hesitant, but there was an edge of heat to it, a quiet urgency that echoed in the space between you. His accent, that lazy Cajun drawl, wrapped around you, making your skin tingle, making your breath catch. And in that moment, you knew that this wasn’t just about the physical. This was about more. This was about trust. About the walls that had come down between you, about the vulnerability you were both offering each other.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice, your heart pounding in your chest. Without breaking eye contact, your fingers slipped into his hand, guiding him as you stood, pulling him up from the couch. The air between you felt electric, charged, as his hand slid down to intertwine with yours, his grip firm and steady, but his thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles against the back of your hand. It was such a simple gesture, but it made your heart swell, made you realize how much care, how much tenderness, was wrapped up in this moment.

With a soft tug, you led him toward the bedroom, the weight of his presence behind you both grounding and intoxicating. Every step felt heavy with anticipation, every beat of your heart loud in your ears, each breath shallow and quick. You could feel his gaze on you the entire time, his eyes dark and hungry but patient, like he was letting you set the pace, like he was waiting for you to make the final call.

When you reached the bedroom, you pushed the door open, the soft creak of the hinges the only sound that broke the quiet tension between you. The room, dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, felt intimate, like it had been waiting for this moment. The bed, with its rumpled sheets, suddenly seemed like the center of the universe, a quiet invitation to let go, to give in.

Remy stepped in behind you, his body close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, but he didn’t touch you just yet. Instead, he stood there, his breath warm against the back of your neck, his presence a steady, grounding force that made your pulse quicken. His hands hovered just above your hips, like he was waiting for permission, waiting for you to make the next move.

You turned to face him, your chest brushing against his as you looked up into his eyes. His gaze was intense, filled with a hunger that matched your own, but there was something else there too—something softer, something that spoke of more than just desire. His fingers found your waist again, slow and deliberate, and he pulled you closer, the fabric of his jeans rough against your bare skin, the heat between you almost unbearable now.

His lips found yours once more, but this kiss was different from the others. It was softer, slower, filled with a kind of quiet reverence, like he was savoring the taste of you, like he was trying to commit every second to memory. His hands roamed your back, tracing lazy circles on your skin, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back, waiting for you, giving you the space to lead.

You pulled him closer, your fingers threading through his hair, your body pressing against his as the kiss deepened, your tongues tangling in a slow, deliberate dance. You could feel the heat building between you again, the soft friction of skin on skin, the way his breath hitched when your hands slipped down to the waistband of his jeans, teasing the line of flesh just above.

“Remy…” you whispered against his lips, your voice barely more than a breath, but it was enough to make him groan softly, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you even closer, his body firm and solid against yours.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. His eyes searched yours, dark and full of something raw, something that made your chest ache with how much he was holding back.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, full of need but also… something more. Something that told you he was waiting for you, that he’d follow your lead, that this wasn’t just about what he wanted.

And in that moment, you knew what you wanted. You wanted him. All of him. Not just his body, not just the heat and the passion, but everything—the vulnerability, the trust, the connection that had been growing between you for so long.

You pulled him toward the bed, your steps slow, deliberate, your heart pounding as you whispered, “I want you, Remy.”

His eyes darkened at your words, a soft groan escaping his lips as he followed your lead, his hands never leaving your body as you both moved toward the bed. When the back of your knees hit the edge, you sank down onto the mattress, pulling him with you, his body pressing down against yours, warm and solid and real.

He hovered over you for a moment, his gaze locked on yours, his breath shaky, his hands framing your face as if you were something fragile, something precious. And then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss so soft, so full of emotion, that it made your heart ache.

This was it. This was the moment when everything else fell away—the past, the walls, the fears. It was just the two of you, together, in this moment. No running. No hiding. Just you and him, giving in to the connection that had always been there, waiting for you both to finally let it happen.

And as his body moved over yours, as your hands explored the expanse of his skin, as your breaths mingled and your heartbeats synced, you knew that this wasn’t just a physical act. This was the start of something deeper, something so much more. Remy’s body pressed down against yours, his weight grounding you in a way that made everything feel more real, more intense. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate hunger, like he wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, savoring every second of contact, every taste of your skin. But there was a tenderness in the way he touched you, a carefulness that made your heart ache with the realization of how much he was holding back, how much he was afraid to break this fragile moment.

His hands slid down your sides, his touch featherlight but firm, as if he was learning your body, mapping each curve, each dip, committing it all to memory. When his fingers brushed the waistband of your pants, he paused, his breath hitching, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. There was a tension in him, a restraint, as if he was waiting for a sign from you, waiting for you to tell him it was okay to keep going.

You tilted your head up and kissed him again, soft and slow, your hands tracing the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled beneath your touch. His skin was warm, almost hot, the heat between your bodies growing with every second, with every soft press of his lips against yours.

“Remy…” you whispered his name, and the sound of it seemed to break something in him. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you flush against him, his body hard and unyielding against yours. You could feel the tension in every inch of him, the way his muscles coiled with barely restrained need, but still, he waited, his lips hovering just above yours.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, barely more than a breath. His accent, thick and languid, wrapped around you, making your skin tingle. “Tell me ya want me.”

The raw vulnerability in his words made your heart skip a beat. You could hear the hesitation, the unspoken fear that maybe this was too much, that maybe you’d change your mind, that maybe you didn’t want him as much as he wanted you. But you did. God, you did.

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble of his jaw. His eyes closed at the contact, a soft sound escaping from the back of his throat, like even the smallest touch from you was enough to undo him.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice steady, full of certainty. “I’ve always wanted you.”

The moment the words left your lips, something shifted in him. His eyes snapped open, dark and intense, and the look he gave you was full of so much heat, so much raw need, that it made your breath catch in your throat.

Without another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, desperate, a release of all the tension that had been building between you for so long. His hands moved to your pants, fingers deft as he unbuttoned them, pulling them down your hips with a kind of quiet urgency that made your pulse race.

You kicked them off, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt the cool air of the room against your bare skin. Every nerve in your body was alive, buzzing with anticipation, with the weight of what was about to happen.

Remy pulled back just long enough to look at you, his eyes raking over your body with a gaze so intense, so full of desire, that it made your breath hitch. His hand came up, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your breast, down the line of your stomach, his touch so gentle, so reverent, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You’re beautiful, chère,” he whispered, his voice rough, full of awe. “So damn beautiful…”

The words made your chest tighten with emotion, with the realization that this wasn’t just about lust for him. There was something deeper here, something raw and unspoken that neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. But it was there, simmering beneath the surface, in every touch, every kiss, every breathless moment between you.

You reached for him, your hands slipping to the waistband of his jeans, your fingers fumbling slightly as you unbuttoned them, the anticipation making your hands tremble. Remy let out a low groan, his hands tightening on your hips as you pushed the fabric down, revealing more of him, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms.

When his jeans finally hit the floor, and he stood before you, bare and vulnerable, it felt like the air between you shifted. The weight of the moment hit you both, the realization that there was no going back from this. This was it. This was the moment when everything would change.

And yet, when he lowered himself over you again, his body pressing against yours, his skin warm and slick and solid, it didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like the most natural thing in the world.

His lips found yours, softer this time, slower, and you could feel the way his body trembled slightly against yours, the way his breath shuddered as he kissed you. His hands slid down your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your hips, before he finally found the last barrier of fabric between you. He hesitated for just a second, his eyes searching yours, asking for permission, waiting for you to give him the final signal.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat as he slowly peeled away the last of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. The cool air hit your skin, but the warmth of his body was enough to keep you grounded, to keep you tethered to the moment.

For a few heartbeats, the world seemed to hold its breath. Remy’s eyes roamed over your face, dark and intense, but filled with something deeper than just desire—something vulnerable, something that made your chest tighten because you could see it all, the unspoken emotions swirling behind those crimson-black irises. He wasn’t just looking at your body; he was seeing you, all of you, every layer you’d let him peel back, every scar, every secret.

His hands moved slowly, sliding back up your sides, his touch feather-light as though he was afraid to break the moment, like he was memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. His fingers traced a delicate path from your waist to your ribs, then higher, brushing along your collarbone, before settling just below your throat, where your pulse raced wildly beneath his fingertips. The rhythm of your heartbeat, fast and erratic, seemed to draw him closer, his breath warm and unsteady as he hovered just inches above you.

His forehead rested against yours, the intimacy of the gesture making your head spin. You could feel his breath, hot and shallow, mixing with your own, and the closeness of it all—the rawness of being this open, this exposed—made the moment feel more real, more significant, than anything you had ever experienced before.

His voice, when it came, was a low rasp, barely more than a whisper. “You’re sure?” There was a crack in it, a kind of quiet, desperate plea hiding beneath the words. It wasn’t just about asking for consent; it was about asking for reassurance, about making sure this was real, that you truly wanted him in the same way he wanted you. You could feel the weight of what he was really asking—his need for confirmation that he wasn’t alone in this, that you were with him, not just physically, but emotionally, in every way that mattered.

The tenderness in his question made your throat tighten. You could feel the vulnerability radiating off him, the way his body trembled ever so slightly, the way his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he waited for your answer. It wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t just about the heat between you. This was about trust—about breaking down the walls you’d both kept up for so long, about letting each other in, completely, without reservation.

You reached up slowly, your hand shaking just a little as your fingers brushed against the rough stubble of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your palm, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles coiled as though he was trying to hold himself back, trying to give you space, to let you decide what came next. Your thumb brushed over his lips, soft and full, and his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a quiet, shuddering breath escaping him as he leaned into your touch.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, your voice steady, unwavering, even though your heart was pounding in your chest. “I want this. I want you.”

The moment the words left your lips, something shifted in him. His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His pupils dilated, darkening the crimson in his gaze, and his breath hitched, his chest rising sharply as if your words had punched the air out of him. The vulnerability in his expression melted into something deeper, something raw and urgent, but still laced with so much care, so much tenderness.

“Tha’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his voice rough, thick with emotion.

And then, his lips were on yours again—no more hesitation, no more holding back. The kiss was deep and consuming, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that spoke of all the unspoken things between you. His hands, which had been so careful, so tentative, now gripped your waist with a new sense of purpose, pulling you closer, aligning your bodies until there was no space left between you. The heat of his skin against yours was almost overwhelming, but in the best possible way, like being consumed by a fire that didn’t burn but instead made you feel alive.

His mouth left yours only briefly, trailing down your jaw, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Each kiss sent a wave of heat rushing through you, making your body arch into his, seeking more contact, more of him. His hands moved over you, slow and deliberate, tracing the lines of your body with a kind of reverence that made your heart ache, made you feel like you were something precious, something sacred.

When his lips found yours again, he shifted, his body moving over yours with a slow, deliberate grace, his weight pressing down on you in a way that felt grounding, reassuring. His hands slipped to your hips, guiding you, holding you steady as he positioned himself between your legs. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles flexed and tightened as he held himself back, waiting for the final moment, the final signal.

As he finally entered you, the world seemed to stop for a moment, a breathless pause where nothing else mattered but the feeling of him, the connection between you. Your body tensed at first, not from discomfort but from the overwhelming rush of sensation that swept through you, making your breath hitch, your heart race. It was as though every nerve in your body had come alive all at once, heightened to the point of being almost unbearable, but in the best possible way.

The slow, deliberate way he moved, the care he took, made it feel so much more than just a physical act. There was an intimacy in it, a kind of quiet reverence that made your chest ache with emotion. You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tightened and flexed as he held himself above you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath shaky, uneven. His hands were firm yet tender on your hips, holding you steady, guiding you into him as though he didn’t want to rush a single moment, as though he wanted to savor every second, every inch of you.

And as he filled you, slowly, completely, it was like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, in every way that had been building between you. A connection that went beyond touch, beyond words. It was something deeper, something that had been growing for so long, waiting for this moment to be fully realized.

Your breath caught in your throat as he moved, your body instinctively responding to his, meeting him, matching the slow rhythm he set. There was no urgency, no frantic pace. Just the steady, deliberate movement of your bodies, each thrust a gentle push and pull, like a dance you had always known the steps to but had never truly danced until now.

The way your bodies fit together felt effortless, natural, like you were made for each other. Each movement sent a ripple of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t just the physical sensation that made you gasp, that made your fingers tighten in his hair, your nails dig into his skin. It was the emotional weight of the moment, the way he looked at you—his eyes dark and filled with something so raw, so vulnerable, that it made your chest tighten with everything you felt for him.

Every soft sound he made, every groan, every whispered breath of your name, sent a shiver down your spine, made your body tremble beneath his. You could feel the need in him, the way his body tensed, the way his breath hitched each time your hands roamed over his back, down his sides, pulling him closer, deeper. But more than that, you could feel the care, the tenderness in every touch, in the way his thumb brushed over your skin, the way he kissed you softly in between ragged breaths.

It was as though time had slowed, and each second stretched out, adding weight to every movement, every touch. The intensity of it all wrapped around you both like a cocoon, insulating you from the rest of the world. There was no past, no future—only this moment, only the feel of his body against yours, inside yours, the rhythm of your heartbeats syncing as you moved together, as you breathed together.

And it was more than just the pleasure, more than just the physical connection. It was the release of everything that had been building between you for so long—the tension, the longing, the unspoken words, the walls you had both kept up for so long. They were gone now, crumbled away in the quiet intensity of this moment, leaving nothing but the raw, honest truth of how you felt for each other.

You whispered his name, barely more than a breath, and the way he responded, the soft groan that escaped his lips, the way his body trembled against yours, made your heart swell with emotion. His hands gripped your hips a little tighter, his movements becoming just a fraction more deliberate, more focused, and you could feel the way he was struggling to hold back, to keep himself in check, to make sure that this was perfect for you.

And it was. It was perfect in a way you hadn’t expected—perfect not because of the pleasure, though that was undeniable, but because of the connection. Because in this moment, it wasn’t just about the physical act. It was about trust, about letting each other in, about breaking down the walls and allowing yourselves to be vulnerable, to be seen, to be loved in a way that went beyond words.

Your hands slid up to his face, your fingers brushing over his jaw, his cheeks, as you pulled him down to kiss you, slow and sweet. His breath shuddered against your lips as he kissed you back, his body moving with yours in perfect harmony, the pace never quickening, never rushing. The slow, steady rhythm between you felt like a promise, like a vow that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment, that this was something real, something deeper than either of you had ever let yourselves acknowledge before.

And as you moved together, as your bodies found their perfect rhythm, you knew that this was the culmination of everything you’d been feeling for so long. It was the release of all the tension, all the unspoken desires, all the walls that had kept you apart. It was the quiet, profound acknowledgment that there was more between you than just desire, more than just physical attraction.

It was love.

Pure, unspoken, undeniable love.

And when you finally reached that peak together, when your body trembled beneath his and his breath hitched in his throat, it wasn’t just the physical release that overwhelmed you. It was the emotional release, the sense of finally letting go, of finally allowing yourself to feel everything, to be completely open, completely vulnerable, and knowing that he was there with you, feeling the same way.

He shuddered against you, his body tense, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts as he held you close, his forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing against your skin in soft, reverent kisses. And in that moment, as you lay there together, your bodies still tangled, your heartbeats slowly returning to normal, you knew that everything had changed.

You knew that this was more than just a connection of bodies.

This was a connection of souls. <><<><><><><><><> As the night deepened and sleep began to pull you under, Remy's arms wrapped around you with a protective, almost possessive tenderness. His body molded perfectly against yours, fitting like a puzzle piece. His chest was pressed against your back, his heartbeat a steady, soothing rhythm that lulled you further into the quiet peace of the moment. His breath, soft and slow, caressed the back of your neck, each exhale a reminder that he was still there, holding you, grounding you in the present.

You shifted slightly in his arms, a soft murmur escaping your lips as you nestled closer to him, your body instinctively seeking his warmth. His grip tightened just a little, his hand sliding over your hip to rest against your stomach, holding you close, as if he was afraid that if he let go, even for a second, you might slip away. His fingers spread out across your skin, firm but gentle, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your skin.

For a while, he just watched you. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of the sheets and the faint sound of your breathing, now deep and even as you drifted into sleep. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast a soft glow over your face, illuminating the peaceful expression you wore, the slight curve of your lips that made it seem like you were smiling in your dreams. And as he looked at you, something inside him tightened—a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name, but knew with certainty that he had never felt anything like this before.

There was a softness to the way you slept, a vulnerability that made his chest ache. You had let him in, trusted him in ways that no one else had. And in return, you had made yourself a part of him—woven yourself into the very fabric of his being without even realizing it. And that scared him in a way he hadn’t expected. Because for the first time in a long time, he had something—someone—to lose.

As he held you, his mind began to wander, thoughts creeping in despite the quiet peace of the moment. Remy had always been careful, always lived with the knowledge that his life came with risks. The shadows he walked in weren’t just metaphors—they were real, dangerous, and constant. His world was one of deception, of danger lurking around every corner, of enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to use the people he cared about to get to him. He knew how easily things could change, how quickly that darkness could spread and consume everything in its path.

And that was why, as he looked down at you, so peaceful, so safe in his arms, he made a silent vow to himself.

He would keep you safe. No matter what it took. No matter how hard it became. He would protect you from the world he lived in, from the dangers that followed him like shadows. You were too precious, too important. He couldn’t let you be pulled into that darkness, into the chaos that constantly threatened to swallow him whole. You deserved better than that. You deserved peace. And this place—this bed, these moments with you—would be your sanctuary.

He would make sure of it.

His hand tightened slightly on your stomach, as if reinforcing that silent promise. He would never let anything touch you. Not here. Not in the space you had created together. He couldn’t change who he was, couldn’t erase the past that haunted him, or the enemies that would always be out there, waiting for a moment of weakness. But he could draw a line. He could make sure that his world stayed separate from yours.

You could know of his life, of the things he did, the people he dealt with. He wouldn’t hide the truth from you. But you would never be a part of it. He would never let you get too close to the danger. There would always be a boundary, always that invisible wall between you and the darkness he carried with him. He had never been good at protecting himself—had always accepted the risks, the wounds, the scars that came with his life. But you? You were different. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being hurt, of his world touching you in any way.

The thought of it made his chest tighten, a sharp stab of fear that he hadn’t expected. He had never been afraid of much in his life, had always faced danger head-on, unflinching. But now, lying there with you in his arms, the stakes felt higher. The thought of you being pulled into his world, of you being hurt because of him, was the one thing that truly terrified him.

He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering for just a moment as he breathed you in, trying to ground himself in the warmth of your skin, in the sound of your steady breathing.

This place—here—would always be your sanctuary. He would make sure of that. No matter what happened, no matter what danger came knocking on his door, he would keep it away from you. You had given him something he hadn’t even realized he needed—peace, comfort, a place where he could just be without the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he would protect that with everything he had.

He knew it wouldn’t be easy. His life wasn’t one that allowed for simple happiness, for quiet moments like this. But for you—for what you had given him—he would fight to keep it. He would keep the darkness at bay, even if it meant keeping parts of himself hidden from you, even if it meant sacrificing the parts of him that longed to let you in fully.

Because in the end, keeping you safe was more important than anything else. It was the only thing that mattered.

With that silent promise heavy in his chest, Remy closed his eyes, his arms still wrapped securely around you. He allowed himself to breathe in the moment, to let the softness of your body against his, the warmth of your skin, anchor him. And as sleep began to pull him under, his grip on you never loosened, his body instinctively curling around yours as if to shield you, to protect you even in sleep.

This place, this bed, this night—it was yours. It was his. It was safe.

And he would make sure it stayed that way. <><><><>><><>< You awoke with a groan, the shrill sound of your phone’s ringtone dragging you from the warm cocoon of sleep. Without opening your eyes, your hand fumbled across the nightstand, searching blindly for the device. Finally, your fingers found it, and you slid your thumb across the screen to answer, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your head sinking back into the pillow, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to cling to the remnants of your dreams.

“You’re late,” came Abigail’s sharp voice, cutting through the grogginess like a knife. “I’m giving you twenty minutes to get here before I fire you myself.”

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear long enough to squint at the screen. Your eyes widened when you saw the time—thirty minutes past the start of your shift. Shit.

“I—uh, sorry, I’ll be right there,” you stammered, your heart kicking into high gear as reality started to sink in.

“Good,” Abigail replied, her tone as icy as ever. “Because James is an idiot without you there managing him.”

Before you could respond, the line went dead, leaving you holding your phone to your ear with a growing sense of panic. You groaned again, louder this time, the sound muffled by your pillow as you flopped back down onto the mattress. Great. Just great.

But as your mind cleared and your heart stopped racing, you became aware of something else—someone else.

You turned your head slowly, the events of the night before flooding back into your consciousness as you gazed at the figure lying next to you. Remy. His bare chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of sleep, his arm slung lazily over his eyes, blocking out the morning light that filtered in through the curtains. The sheet had slipped down to his waist, leaving his torso exposed, the faint scars on his skin a quiet reminder of the life he lived beyond the sanctuary of this room.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you watched him, your heart swelling with a mixture of affection and wonder. He looked so peaceful, so different from the guarded man he usually was. The lines of worry and tension that normally creased his brow were gone, replaced by the calm serenity of sleep. And for a moment, you let yourself just look at him, drinking in the sight of him lying there beside you, so open, so vulnerable in a way you had never seen him before.

You didn’t want to wake him. God, you really didn’t want to wake him. Especially after last night—after that quiet, intense connection you had shared. You wanted to stay in this moment, to curl back into him and let the outside world disappear for just a little longer.

But you didn’t have a choice.

With a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, the cool air hitting your skin as you slipped out from under the covers. The bed shifted slightly beneath you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see if the movement had disturbed him. But Remy didn’t stir. His arm remained draped over his eyes, his breathing deep and even. You hesitated for just a second, your gaze lingering on the curve of his lips, the soft rise and fall of his chest.

As you leaned down to press a soft kiss to Remy's cheek, you felt him stir beneath you. His breath hitched slightly, and before you could pull away, his arm shifted, falling from his eyes to rest lazily across his chest. He blinked up at you, his eyes still heavy with sleep, a small, sleepy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Mm, mornin’, cher,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand reached for you, his fingers brushing lightly against your side, as if he wasn’t quite ready to let you go just yet. His touch was soft, warm, and for a moment, you were tempted to crawl back into bed with him, to let the rest of the world wait.

But then you remembered the phone call.

You let out a soft sigh, brushing your fingers lightly through his tangled hair as you whispered, “I’m late for work.”

Remy’s eyes flickered with amusement, but there was something warmer behind it, too—something softer, more tender. He shifted onto his elbow, leaning up slightly as his gaze roamed over your face, taking you in as if he was trying to memorize every detail before you slipped away from him again.

“Work, huh?” he teased, his voice still thick with sleep. “Was hopin’ I could convince ya t’ stay a little longer.”

You laughed softly, but the sound was tinged with regret. “Believe me, I’d love to, but Abigail’s already threatening to fire me.”

He winced slightly at that, a sympathetic smile crossing his face. His hand slipped from your side, trailing down your arm before resting on the bed beside him, his fingers brushing against the sheets where your body had been just moments ago. “Guess I can’t be the reason ya lose your job.”

You shook your head, smiling as you leaned in to kiss him again—this time, a little more firmly, savoring the feel of his lips against yours, the warmth of him, before you pulled away. “Not today, at least.”

As you stood up, reaching for your clothes scattered around the room, a thought crept into your mind, one that you couldn’t quite shake. You glanced back at him as you pulled your shirt over your head, your movements slowing as you watched him stretch out lazily on the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with each steady breath. His eyes were on you, dark and intense, full of something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Will I see you later?” you asked, trying to sound casual, even though the question carried more weight than you intended. It felt strange, waking up like this—so close, so connected—and not knowing when you’d see him again.

Remy’s smile faded slightly as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still half-covered by the sheets. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, his expression softening, though there was something guarded in his eyes now—something distant.

“I don’t think so, cher,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “Got some things I need to take care of today. Business.”

You tried to hide your disappointment, but he saw it, his gaze flickering over your face as if he could read every thought, every feeling. He sighed softly, reaching for your hand and pulling you gently toward him. You stepped closer, letting him tug you between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly on your hips.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. “Ya know I’d rather be here wit’ ya, right?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you looked down at him. His thumb brushed softly over your skin, a silent reassurance, but the distance in his eyes remained, like there was something unspoken between you—something he wasn’t letting you see.

“I get it,” you said softly, though the words felt heavier than you wanted them to. “You’ve got your life, I’ve got mine.”

Remy’s grip on your hips tightened slightly, just for a moment, as if he didn’t like the sound of those words. But then he let out a quiet breath, his lips quirking into a faint smile as he looked up at you.

“Don’t worry, cher,” he said. “I’ll find ya soon enough.”

You smiled, but there was still a lingering sense of uncertainty as you pulled away from him, stepping back to gather the rest of your things. You couldn’t help but feel like there was more to his words, more to the way he was pulling away from you. But you didn’t press him. Not now.

As you finished pulling on your shoes, you glanced back at Remy, still sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare chest catching the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. He was watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes warm, following your every move. You hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave him alone in the quiet of your apartment, but work was calling, and you were already late.

“Hey,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “You can stay as long as you need to. Feel free to use the shower, grab something to eat.” You paused, offering him a small smile. “Just remember to pull the deadlock when you leave, okay?”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and he leaned back slightly, resting his hands on the bed behind him as he looked up at you. “You're t’ good t’ me, cher.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but the way he was looking at you made your stomach flutter. “It’s no big deal. I trust you.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes—something deeper, unspoken—but before you could dwell on it, he stood up, moving with that easy grace that always seemed to follow him. He reached down to where his jeans lay crumpled on the floor, fishing around in the pocket until he pulled out his phone.

“How abo’ I make it up to ya?” he said, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Lemme take ya out tonight. Just you and me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the offer. “Tonight?”

He nodded, already scrolling through his phone, his fingers moving deftly over the screen. “Yeah. After ya done wit’ work, I’ll text ya. We can meet somewhere. No distractions, no interruptions. Just us.”

You bit your lip, feeling a surge of excitement rise in your chest despite the lingering haze of your morning rush. The way he said it—just us—felt like a promise, something more than just a casual night out. It felt like he was offering you a piece of himself, something you hadn’t quite seen before. And despite everything, despite the uncertainty that sometimes clouded your connection, you wanted that. You wanted him.

“Okay,” you said, your smile growing as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “Text me, and I’ll meet you.”

Remy’s grin widened, a rare, genuine smile that softened the edges of his normally guarded demeanor. “I’s a date, then.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, you forgot all about the ticking clock, about Abigail, about how late you were for work. All you could think about was him—the way he smelled, the way his body radiated heat, and the way his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room.

When he pulled back, his hand lingered on your arm for just a second longer before he let go, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “I’ll see yalater, cher.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as you turned toward the door. “Yeah. See you.”

As you stepped out of the room, you glanced back one last time, catching one more glimpse of him standing there, his phone still in hand, his gaze following you like a quiet promise. You didn’t want to leave, not really, but the thought of seeing him later—just the two of you—gave you something to look forward to, something to hold onto through the chaos of the day ahead.

“Don’t forget the deadlock,” you called over your shoulder with a teasing grin.

Remy chuckled softly, his voice warm and familiar as it trailed after you. “I got it, darlin’. Don’t worry.”

And with that, you slipped out the door, a smile still lingering on your lips as you headed down the hallway, already counting the hours until you could see him again.

[sachirobabe]

Chapter 3

Kuroo Tetsurou x reader

Wc: 1664

Summary: You, a dedicated member of the girls' volleyball team, find an unexpected connection with Kuroo Tetsurou. Igniting a bond over shared passions and stolen moments, love blossoms on the court; all because you met him at a captains meeting.

<— Previous | Masterlist | Next —>

Taglist: @merlucide, @lemurzsquad, @02shuuu

After a grueling week, your tryouts officially ended. There was already an idea of what the lineup would be looking like, but your coach wanted to have a meeting about it.

Which is why you're at school on your only days off from both practice and your studies. Normally, meetings weren't every week, but it was a new season so they'd be more frequent for the first couple of weeks.

Your team had been too busy with tryouts to have a practice match with the boys', but it'd be happening this upcoming week and you were so excited.

"Good morning." You say walking into the gym, Kuroo and coach Nekomata were both seated—well Kuroo was on the floor, lying on his stomach.

"Good morning." Kuroo smiled, then began writing on his piece of paper on the floor.

"Where's Mori at?" You look around confusingly, trying to spot her light brown hair, pulled back into a loose pony tail.

"Her office, I think." Kuroo answers.

"I thought she said the bathroom?" Coach Nekomata furrows his brows and in response Kuroo shrugs. You sit down next to him and eye his paper, he's drawing up some lineups.

You frown at the absence of your coach. She made you get up early when you should be sleeping in like the rest of your teammates. The worst part is she didn't bribe you this time so you had nothing to look forward to.

Kuroo finishes and hands his paper to his coach, he examines it and held onto it for a minute or two. He kicks his feet, waiting for feedback. You laugh at him silently, in your head. He's kinda cute.

"What do you think about this, Y/n?" Coach Nekomata hands you the paper, it's slightly crumpled, you're starting to think that all of Kuroo's papers are.

You take it from his hands and look at the rotations, "I think a 5-1 is a good choice, especially if your second setter is clearly outplayed by Kenma." You follow the rotations more, seeing which players are getting switched.

"You guys also run a 5-1 too, right?" Kuroo bites the inside of his cheek, not wanting to sound like a creep for knowing.

"Yeah," you chuckle, "I think it looks great. You have a good use of substitutions." You smile and hand back the paper to him. His hand brushes yours for a millisecond as he grabs it.

"This is the lineup we'll beat your team with." He smirks.

"Oh yeah? Confident, I like it." You say,the door to the gym opens and all of your heads turn. "And where were you? We agreed on 9:30 am sharp. You're late." You lecture.

"Oh please, I don't want to hear it." She laughs. "I was here before you, I just had to get some things from my office." She shuffles some things around in her backpack, then pulls out a blank piece of paper, like Kuroo's, just not crumpled. "Start thinking of some lineups." She says.

You frown, "Can I borrow that?" You point to Kuroo's pencil and he immediately nods and slides it to you. "Thank you."

"I think we got this one in the bag." Kuroo now flips from his stomach to his back and faces the gym ceiling.

"Uh-huh, sure." You draw out the last word. "How many tournaments have you won?"

He clicks his tongue, "We've won."

"Recently?" You raise an eyebrow, staring into his eyes.

He can feel his cheeks begin to heat up, he turns away before you could see, "Yeah well, you lost some valuable players last season."

"We have good first-years." You say, "I heard one of your first-years can't receive well, isn't that what your team's known for?"

The two coaches watch you two banter back and forth, Mori reminding Kuroo that you had to finish the rotations still and to stop distracting you. The meeting was pretty short, there wasn't a lot to cover besides lineups.

"You're staying?" You point between the two coaches, Kuroo and you helped clean up and were ready to leave.

"We've got a board meeting in a little." Coach Nekomata says and you nod, bidding them goodbye for the day as you walk out with Kuroo.

You're not surprised to see that it's lightly raining, since it had been all week, and yet you still didn't bring an umbrella. "You have an umbrella?"

"Of course I do." He chuckles, opening it and luckily it was big enough for the two of you to be under. "Have you eaten already?"

You shook your head, "I was starving that whole time," you laugh, "Have you?"

He shook his head, "There's this convenience store by my house, you wanna go get something?" He strengthens his grip on the umbrella.

"Yeah." You smile.

He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and turns his head so he can smile like a schoolgirl, he quickly recomposes himself and look forward again.

You thought Kuroo was nice, you've never really gotten to know him, but you were semi-close to Kai, one of his teammates, only because he was in your class.

"How'd you feel about the first week of classes?" You ask after a moment of silence.

"Pretty easy, I'm enjoying it while it lasts." He says and you chuckle.

"Yeah, it gets rough around June and July. We usually use the first hour of practice to study before actually playing." You say.

"So you guys practice less?" Kuroo is intrigued by this, he had never heard of a team doing anything like it.

"No, we extend it to end an hour later, coach just wants to make sure we at least do something productive before practice." You clarify.

He hums, "I'm sure you have no issue passing exams." He compliments.

You smile, "Not really, I study frequently. I could say the same about you." You slightly nudge him.

He shrugs and rolls his eyes playfully, "Aw stop it, I just pay attention, that's all."

"Consider that the last time I compliment you." You laugh.

"I'm kidding! I appreciate it, thanks." He laughs along with you. "This is it." He says, looking both ways before crossing the street to the convenience store. The second you spot food, your stomach began to grumble.

You found yourself in a different aisle than Kuroo, trying to choose from the two onigiri in your hand. You decided to take both, you're extremely hungry. Kuroo came up next to you in line, you noticed he had a sandwich and a drink, an iced tea you think.

It was your turn next in line, you kindly greeted the man at the register and placed your items on the counter. What you didn't expect was to see Kuroo's items placed next to yours, you turn confusingly, but he had already given the man his card.

"You didn't have to—"

"Nonsense. I'm the one who asked you to come." He smiles widely, then quickly takes his card back and puts it inside of his wallet. "Cmon, let's eat." He grabs the bag full of your shared items.

"Thank you." You sincerely say, feeling a little bad about him paying, not that it was expensive, but still.

"Of course." The rain had stopped, the sun began to come out of the gray clouds. He leads you to one of the benches at a nearby park, it had an umbrella so it wasn't too soaked.

"God, I'm starving." He says, handing you your items.

You agree with him and a comfortable silence falls between you two as you're both distracted with eating. You eye the area around you, it was unfamiliar, but it wasn't too far from your home.

You watch an owner play with her dog, repeatedly throwing the ball for the dog to run and get it, it made you smile. You crumble up the wrapper the onigiri was in and place it on the table.

"You know," You begin, Kuroo was also watching the dog, but now his eyes were looking into yours, "I've lived here for a while now and I've never been to this park before."

Kuroo chuckles, "It's nice, right?" And you nod. "Kenma and I would play here all the time."

"That sounds nice." You smile and begin watching the dog again, Kuroo can't help but continue to stare at you.

"He didn't like it very much, his arms would hurt after playing volleyball for a long time." Kuroo recalls the memory.

"I believe that. I'm surprised he's still playing." You honestly say.

"I think he likes it. In his own way." He shrugs. "You and Himari are close, too."

You smile, thinking of your best friend, "Yeah, we grew up next to each other. It was nice having someone in the same grade, it felt like I wasn't going through anything alone."

"I get that, she's like a sister to you." He says and you immediately agree. Both of your families had been close since the day they moved in. "You don't have siblings don't you?"

"No, only child." You shrug.

"I have an older sister." He says.

"Really?" You're surprised, you would've thought he was an only child.

"Yeah, she's way older, so I don't see her very often." As he finishes his sentence, the sun quickly goes away and the sounds of thunder hit your ears. "Oh shit." Kuroo says.

"I think it's gonna rain again." You say, "I better get going."

"I hope it's not too long of a walk." Kuroo says, worried that you're going to get soaked.

"No, don't worry it's not." You smile, "I'll see you later. Thank you again for paying!" You say as you leave, speed walking towards your house.

Kuroo watches you get further and further away, his heart was pounding from the moment you walked into the gym. A small smile remains on his face as he walks back home.