#he’d be working on something at night in his tent and reader’s sitting by the fire on watch duty making some really beautiful lace

[lethargicluv]

Astarion with a reader that weaves lace as a pastime while travelling.

[kittenintheden]

When I Think About You

surprise jorkin it PWP fic drop lol. enjoy.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Reader (You) Word Count: 1550 Content: 18+, jealousy, voyeurism, masturbation, mutual masturbation (sort of?), pillow humping, gender-neutral Tav/Reader

AO3 Link

You went to bed early tonight.

Well, earlier than you typically do. Not that Astarion has been paying you much attention. Hardly any, really. You’re just easy to miss.

Notice. You’re easy to notice. Because you’re so obvious.

Obviously annoying, obviously infuriating, obviously determined, and obviously infatuated with him. True, that had been his goal, but hells, you could blush a little less at his come-ons. Even if it does look cute on you.

Not that he thinks you’re cute. Not really.

The others are packing up their gear and turning in for the night. Astarion will take first watch like he typically does, have a quick trance, and get up in the early morning hours for a hunt. Easy. Routine.

So what if he’s falling into a routine with these people. It makes things simpler.

He should check on you. Just to make sure you’re not ill. For his health more than yours. These days, a headache could mean a rapid onset of calamari face. He’s doing everyone a favor, honestly.

When he approaches your tent, his steps slow to a stop as his ears pick up noise from inside your tent. You aren’t asleep.

And by the sound of it – and it’s a sound Astarion knows well – you aren’t alone.

He huffs an irritated breath through his nose. Gods damn it. He really thought he had you in the bag. There’s a shard of something sharp lodged beneath his rib. Annoyance, probably. Disappointment that he’s back to square one. Bitterness that he lost another competition, even when he’s doing what he does best.

Astarion turns to walk away. Takes three steps. Stops. Turns his head back toward the sound.

Who is it?

Who are you with?

He has his suspicions, but might as well take a quick peek to verify. His steps as he approaches are catlike. Not that you’d notice anyway, preoccupied as you are. He won’t look much. Only enough to see who stole his prize.

His mark. Who stole his mark.

Astarion pauses at the far side of your closed tent flap and finds a gap in the cloth. He leans in, eyes keen in the dark, and his mouth goes dry when he sees your hips grinding against someone, the length of your body pressed tight to theirs while you move over them. A blanket covers you both, but it doesn’t hide the passion of your movement.

He jerks his head away, a ball of tension aching in his gut. Ridiculous. He should go kill something. He walks toward the woods.

And stops with a sigh.

Astarion hates himself for it, this burning curiosity to know exactly who you’re riding so enthusiastically. Steeling himself, he creeps back and peeks once more through the split in the fabric.

You’re sitting up, now, showing him the long line of your spine in the center of your bare back as your hips continue to work. Every puff of breath through your lips is desperate, occasionally lilting up in a breathless moan.

Astarion worries his lip between his teeth. The muscles beneath your skin ripple, your blood thrumming so close and smelling so much of you, sweetened with the scent of arousal. If you’d just lean a little one way or the other, he could see who’s working you so… so…

There’s a flash of heat in his core followed by a sparking current of electricity, setting everything alight. He’d been doing his best to ignore the steady swell of his cock, but ignoring it is no longer an option as he goes hard as stone, the length of him straining toward his hip bone. Subconsciously, he cants his hips into the empty air and finds absolutely no relief. He has to swallow back a soft moan of his own.

The rolling globes of your arse are shaped perfectly beneath your thin wool blanket. Sharp, rocking thrusts against your playmate, against whichever lucky wretch currently feels the sticky heat of you while he watches.

Astarion lets his hand drift to the front of his breeches and sucks his breath in through his teeth when his palm grazes firmly over the covered head of his cock.

 You run a hand up your side and feel your own chest, maintaining your rhythm as you whimper.

Astarion’s fingers move to loosen his laces, lips parted as he begins to softly pant.

Your hand moves back down and you’re… yes, you’re putting your fingers between your legs, and you throw your head back with a gasp.

His fingers dip below his waistband and he curls in on himself with a huff as he takes himself in hand and begins to pump. Once, twice… ah, gods, that’s nice.

Though being under you would be even nicer.

Lucky sod. Who is it?

The blanket slips down over the curve of your arse, falling to one side and his breath catches as he realizes he’s about to get his answer.

Fabric falls aside and your incredible arse is grinding back and forth. You’re riding yourself to absolute delirium with…

A spare bedroll.

Astarion’s hand stutters to a stop and he doesn’t even breathe as realization hits him. You weren’t with someone else at all. The whole time, you’ve been furiously fucking yourself, grinding needily against your bedding for relief.

And somehow, some way, that makes him even harder. He mouths “oh, fuck” and goes back to stroking himself with renewed vigor. 

You’re desperately aroused, no longer trying to quiet your whimpers as you work your hips in circles against the bedroll while you rub yourself at the same time, your shoulders flushed with need. Your body undulates in wave after wave and Astarion feels quite certain that if he were inside you right now, he’d have come already. He puts his free hand over his mouth, pressing his palm to his lips to keep quiet.

You make a frustrated noise and swing your leg off the bedroll, and for a brief alarming moment, Astarion thinks you’re about to give up, and there’s no way he could let that stand. For either of you.

But then you shove the bedroll away with a huff and flop onto your back without opening your eyes, which is good news for Astarion, since you’d almost certainly see the silhouette of him outside your tent if you were paying attention. Instead, you spread your legs wide and give him a glorious view as one hand returns to its place between your legs and is quickly joined by the other.

Astarion shudders out a breath, the sound thankfully masked by your own rapid pants as you stroke yourself with one hand and trace around your entrance with the other. When you push two fingers inside and begin to pump in and out, Astarion’s knees threaten to give out as he picks up his pace. The tide of pleasure in his core rises and threatens to crest.

Gods, gods, he isn’t even fucking you and you’re still going to make him come before you do.

Your pretty little moans are too much. Your furrowed brow, your flushed cheeks, the way your thighs twitch and your belly shivers with the pleasure you’re lavishing on yourself. What a beauty you are, what a treat, what a-

“-arion,” you whisper, so quietly that he nearly misses it.

“Hah,” he breathes, his pleasure shuddering right on the edge of its peak. His mind must’ve filled that in. There’s no way you said what he thought you said.

He presses his face to the split in the fabric and leans against the tentpole, jerking himself firmly as he watches you arch your back up off the ground, lifting your hips into the air again, again, again, until your hands slow.

“Oh, Astarion,” you whisper just before you slam back down to earth and groan out your release, your slick making your skin shine in the low light.

“Sh-”

Astarion slams his hand over his mouth and ducks to the side, sinking silently to the ground around the corner of your tent just before he creams himself, a pulse of spend striping the ground beneath him, followed by another, and another. His head hangs heavily before him as he catches his breath and dazedly tries to piece together what the fuck just happened.

He sits back, chest heaving and ears ringing.

Then whips his head to the side when he hears you stir inside the tent and tentatively say, “... Hello? Is someone there?”

Astarion holds his breath, which does not help with his current state of floaty lightheadedness.

Then you say, “... Astarion?”

And the sound of his name on your lips sends another ripple of pleasure through him as his cock pulses and drips one last time for good measure.

It takes a minute, but you eventually convince yourself you were hearing things and settle down to sleep, presumably in a more relaxed state than when you first retired. Astarion waits until your breathing slows before he sneaks away, silently tucking himself back into his clothes.

He holds his breath the entire time.

On the other side of camp inside the safety of his own tent, he releases it in a rush, running his unused hand through his curls as realization finally catches up to him.

“Oh, no,” he whispers.

[ddarker-dreams]

What Remains Unspoken.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan

Warnings: Yandere themes & unhealthy relationships. Word count: 2.2k.

If there’s anywhere Feitan looks out of his element, it’s in the sun. 

The celestial object serves as his antitheses — warm, bright, and inviting. Given his pallid countenance, he must agree. On the rare occasions you can go outside, he keeps to the shadows, whose darkness could never match the depravity festering inside his rotten soul. You believe night itself would flee from him if it knew a fraction of his crimes. 

When you first saw him enter direct sunlight, a certain superstition overtook you, triumphing over reason. You observed with tentative expectation, waiting for something to happen, whatever that something may be. For his skin to break out into blisters, flesh to sizzle, and howls of agony to dominate the air as he disintegrated into a pile of ash; in short, a demise befitting a monster like himself. Regrettably, this didn’t happen. Disappointment weighed heavy on your chest when he went on his merry way. 

Presently, he stands hidden amidst a cluster of trees, acting every bit the fairytale ghoul your overactive imagination wished him to be. Through the branches' interstices, light speckles his dark outerwear. It’s a hot, balmy day, though evening’s arrival soothes the worst of the heat. 

Unlike him, you’re dressed for the weather. This morning, upon leaving your shower, you found the comfortable clothes you picked out beforehand ‘mysteriously’ replaced. A short, light blue dress featuring a sweetheart neckline and spaghetti straps laid there instead. That wasn’t all. Jewelry, heels, and other various accessories were tossed haphazardly alongside it, like you’d been undecided on what to wear before a first date. Except you hadn’t been the one to get everything out. Feitan was. Prior to that, he never took any interest in what you wore. 

No, that attribute belongs to another, whose memory fills you with sickening dread. 

You sit at a wooden picnic table, examining the park’s abundant foliage. There’s little else for you to do. Feitan’s yet to give any indication as to why you’re here. Typically, his modus operandi consists of stashing you far away from the public’s purview. From time to time, you’ll travel elsewhere, always using methods that limit your potential interactions with others. This part of the park may be less populated, but hikers and families can still stroll by. You take care not to draw attention to yourself when they do. 

Sighing, you stand, fully aware of the eyes monitoring you in the distance. Unsure of what else to do, you approach the last place you spotted Feitan. He says nothing as you approach. You hug yourself, almost regretting your decision to seek him out. By giving you no parameters to work with, you’re left constantly second-guessing yourself, fearing that you’ve broken some unspoken rule. Standing by his side feels like a safer bet than risking a stranger coming over to strike up a conversation. 

“Bored?” Feitan asks. 

You freeze, thinking over your next words with care. If he believes this little outing is a ‘privilege’, you doubt he’d appreciate you maligning it. Then again, he’s suggested creative punishments for your tongue whenever it’s formed a lie. Considering this, you decide it’s best to redirect the conversation. 

“I’m just wondering if there’s anything I should be doing,” you say. When he raises a thin eyebrow, you hastily add, “Sorry, I mean—” 

He flicks your forehead, silencing you. 

“So nervous,” he croons. “Like little rabbit.” 

Irritation bubbles up inside your chest, like a geyser ready to erupt. You want to scoff, as king why he thinks that is, but the provocation goes unchallenged. He isn’t wrong, per se. Every snap of a twig or distant conversation the wind carries instills unease. Endless grisly possibilities swarm your mind. All it could take is a greeting, wave, hell, even a look for Feitan to decide that person’s committed the ultimate transgression. 

Suddenly, this preoccupation flees your mind.

Shivers erupt all over your body. Your breathing halts, as do all other forms of movement. The five senses that categorize and make sense of the world recede, like the shoreline moments before a tsunami. What remains eclipses common sense. It’s this unprovable premonition, a whisper amidst the universe’s chaotic chorus few can ever hear. No tangible stimuli support this phenomenon. You’d believe yourself temporarily mad, if not for one damning detail. 

You’ve felt this before. 

The time you’d been found after your first (and only) escape. 

After a well-meaning Hunter pried you from the shackles of captivity, for less than a minute. 

Then, at the height of your hubris, when you yelled that your first love would be your last. 

The intensity honed to a fine point. It pierced through you like a gunshot, so visceral that you’d check yourself for signs of the wound. You never found anything. You think it was how your brain wanted to make sense of the unknown, mistaking the force of concentrated emotion for a flesh wound. This extremity wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t malevolent either; it was oppressive. Heavy, carnal. A starved beast prowling toward cornered prey. 

When you’d been subjected to this, the subjugator always spoke some variation of— 

“—Apologies. My control waned there, for a moment… but can you blame me?” 

Someone’s touching you. Someone’s cupping your face in their hands, devouring each detail of your being, and Feitan’s letting them. You stumble back, only to be caught. The hands holding you in place are larger than Feitan’s. Warmer too, a little less calloused, though no less stained in oceans of blood. If Feitan’s eyes are knife-like, trying to stab through your skull for any hint at your inner thoughts, then these eyes are calm. Calculating in a way that makes you feel small. 

“You’re lovelier than I remember,” the man murmurs. A breeze passes through, displacing your hair, which he tucks back into place. His lips twitch upward, indicating amusement. “What? Did you believe you’d ridden yourself of me?” 

Despite your reverie, you shake your head. The man before you — Chrollo Lucilfer — smiles. It’s deceptively soft. Had you not known him better, you’d think the fondness he currently regards you with as warm; the gentle flames of a hearth. There are tells that reveal another story. His grip varies in strength as he’s reminded of how delicate you are, indicating a lack of his usual ‘mindfulness.’ You both know he’s putting on a front of normalcy, yet the charade is rarely this lackluster. He descended upon you faster than the human eye could comprehend. There’d been no casual stride, just an impulse to have you as immediately as physics would allow. His pupils are dilated and his cheeks slightly flushed, like you were a substance to get drunk off of. 

The embrace he pulls you into is tight enough to make you squeak. 

You expect him to rile you up, whispering teasing words into your ear, yet he’s silent. Unusually so. He buries his face into the crook of your exposed neck, breathing you in, holding you close. Any pretense of cordiality is dropped as he acts like the greedy man he truly is. This neediness is reminiscent of a child reunited with their lost, favorite toy. 

The unsettling intimacy doesn’t last for long. 

Chrollo releases you from his grasp. The relief is fleeting, as you’re acutely aware of Feitan’s presence. He’s stationed not far behind you, watching the scene in silence. The sadistic man’s capacity to share fully eluded your understanding. From what you can remember, Chrollo’s more willing to discuss their past, but solely on his terms. He’s never explained why Feitan is the way he is, or how he views you. 

“He’s fond of you, in his own way,” is the most you got out of Chrollo, during a late-night talk. “He’s just shy.” 

“It’s good to see you again, Fei,” Chrollo greets. 

Feitan nods — his way of returning the sentiment, you reckon. In Chrollo’s absence, you’ve learned to interpret his behavior to minimize friction. The deference he has for Chrollo is subtle yet undeniable. Others might misinterpret Feitan’s silence as indifference, but you know better. In Chrollo’s presence, he straightens his posture, giving him rapt attention. He follows any order given by his boss. 

Especially those regarding you. 

Ever since that fateful September, Feitan went from a background character in your life to the lead role. He didn’t reveal much, just that you wouldn’t see ‘the boss’ anytime soon, as he needed to ‘fix things.’ York New was a sore subject that you rarely broached. Nearly ten months have passed since you’ve last seen Chrollo. Physically, he’s the same. There are bandages wrapped around his forehead, covering his forehead tattoo. He’s wearing his teal earrings, dark jeans, and a gray v-neck. 

Seeing him now, it’s almost like nothing’s changed. 

Almost. 

“Lost in thought, love?” Chrollo wonders. 

Blinking rapidly, you realize they’re both staring at you, awaiting an answer. 

“You’re… you’re back,” is your genius observation.

“I am.” 

“You were… um… gone,” you fiddle with your fingers, “For a long time.” 

“I was,” he agrees with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. You see dark circles forming beneath them. “This entire affair has proven itself tedious. No matter. In a few short days, it’ll all be over.” 

“There’s more to take care of?” 

He hums, the sound low and somehow eerie. “You could put it that way. Originally, I was going to wait until after I evened one last score to see you, but impatience got the best of me.” 

“Ah,” you shift your weight from foot to foot. “That explains it, then.” 

“Explains what, dear?” 

“You seem, I don’t know… off? Creepy to the second power? Cubed?” 

Chrollo gives you a blank stare. Feitan’s hissing something about how you ‘talk too much,’ his displeasure evident. It dawns on you then that you haven’t interacted with Chrollo in so long, it’s possible his tolerance for your nonsense isn’t what it once was. Especially considering the state he’s in now. Regret churns your insides as silence fills the air, thickening it like smoke. You think to apologize, only to recall their dislike for insincerity. Feitan never wanted apologies, whereas Chrollo accepted them if proven genuine through a rigorous process. 

You wince at the sound Chrollo muffles behind his hand. 

Then, much to your disbelief, it evolves into a chuckle. 

His shoulders tremble as his eyes turn crescent-shaped, gleaming with mirth. He shakes his head and clears his throat. After a few seconds, he regains control of himself, though his posture is less rigid. This visage aligns better with your memories of him. He liked pretending he was ordinary — almost as much as you liked pretending to believe him. 

Feitan clicks his tongue. “This girl… always says. Never thinks.” 

“You must admit, it’s a cute habit,” Chrollo says.

To this, Feitan mutters a phrase in his native language, turning his gaze away from you. 

You cross your arms over your chest. They both had an irritating tendency to talk about you like you weren’t present, a pet peeve you hadn’t had to deal with in a while. The candidness they displayed made you wonder what they spoke about when you weren’t around. A pandora’s box best left unopened, surely. 

Chrollo pries one of your hands free to hold in his own. “Words cannot convey how much I missed you."

He follows this admission up by kissing the back of your hand.

“... I can’t stick around much longer, I’m afraid,” he murmurs. “Bear with me a while longer.” 

Another chaste kiss. After allowing his lips to linger on your skin a while longer, he relinquishes his grip, tucking his hands into his pockets to deter him from further indulgence. 

Unexpectedly, it’s Feitan who shifts the topic. 

“Boss,” he speaks, now lurking by your side. “She watch the fight?” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance between them, thrown off by the cryptic language. Truthfully, you don’t want to know about whatever it is Chrollo has to do. From what you can glean, it’s likely to involve people getting hurt or dying. You’ve learned the best way to keep your conscience clean is to remain ignorant. If you press on certain issues, Feitan will gleefully overshare gritty details you could’ve gone without. 

His response is swift and firm. “No, not this one.” 

“... That bad?” Feitan asks. When all Chrollo does is smile, he adds, “Heh. Poor clown.” 

Chrollo’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Upon reading the caller’s name, he steps away. “Keep an eye on her for me a while longer, Fei.” 

The aforementioned man grunts. 

Chrollo spares you a long, final look. 

His lips part, as if he intends to say something, before they shut. Inquisitive, you tilt your head, not used to him hesitating. He’s always projected this self-assured image — untouchable, near omnipotent. Flaws don’t suit him. There's this invisible screen that separates you from men like him and Feitan. Their access to abilities beyond comprehension elevates them, setting them apart..

You prefer it that way. Categorizing them as 'others' is easier than reconciling the fact their more human than infernal.

Eventually, he gives you an unusually reserved smile. 

"After everything's over, I'll find you."

[nhlclover]

CINDY LOU WHO MAT BARZAL

pairing: fem!reader x mat barzal

summary: after an agonizing breakup drove you from the country you return to long island for the holidays. but a chance encounter at a holiday party forces you to confront not only your unresolved emotions from your past, but also the revelation that mat had moved on with someone new.

warnings: talks of a breakup, mat being extremely a little bit dumb, talks of marriage, appearances from sydney + matt martin

wc: 4.82k

notes: based on 'cindy lou who' by sabrina carpenter. my first barzy fic and it’ll rip your heart out😁

The frost clung to the edges of your breath as you stepped out of your car, staring at the warm glow spilling from the windows of the house, sitting amongst the backdrop of a familiar city. Despite a new sense of distance, there was something comforting about being back here, among friends, with the garlands and wreaths hanging just as they had every December before you left.

Back then, everything felt simpler. Or maybe it was just the illusion of simplicity, the way the lights blurred the edges of things when the snow fell thick and heavy. That was before the break-up — the one that fractured your world and sent you spiraling into an impulsive decision. England had felt like a lifeline, a clean slate, though the flight across the Atlantic had been more of a desperate escape than a planned move.

Long Island held too many memories: the late-night drives down the shore, the coffee shop where you had your first date, and the little bookstore you stumbled into during a summer rainstorm. It wasn’t just the places; it was the people. Friends who knew too much. Strangers who seemed to know enough. It was suffocating, the way they all looked at you with pity when they thought you weren’t watching.

Being with Mat, Long Islands hockey star, meant living in a world where your private life was never truly private. Nearly four years together had built a life intertwined with his, marked by team gatherings, charity events, and being an active member of the Islanders community, where media and fans alike knew your name. Four years as Mat’s girlfriend had turned you into more than just yourself — you were part of a narrative. A love story people loved to romanticize, right up until it unraveled.

You’d known early on what you wanted — marriage, a family, a partner who shared your vision of the future. Mat loved you deeply, but when it came to tying the knot, he was hesitant. He didn’t know if he wanted to get married so soon, let alone at all. The conversations had been difficult. What started as tentative questions turned into heated arguments, and eventually, into something far heavier: the realization that this might be something the both of you couldn’t work past.

The break was supposed to be temporary, a chance to clear your heads and figure out if you could reconcile your hopes. But time apart didn’t bring clarity — it brought distance. Weeks turned into months, spent away from each other. You’d waited for a sign that Mat had changed his mind, that he’d decided your love was worth the risk of stepping into a future he couldn’t fully envision. But that moment never came.

Instead, you found yourself drifting further away, until one day, it hit you: you weren’t waiting anymore. Not for Mat. Not for the life you’d imagined together. The realization came with a sharp finality, one that sent you packing for England on a whim. Across the ocean, there was no history, no lingering reminders of what might’ve been — just a fresh start.

Yet, Long Island still had its pull. It wasn’t the lights or the traditions of the holidays that had rolled around, though they held their charm. It was your family, their persistent calls, their unspoken hope that a few weeks at home might be good for you. You told yourself it was just temporary, a chance to reconnect and recharge before returning to the quiet anonymity of England. But stepping off the plane, you felt the weight of nostalgia settling on your chest.

Your childhood home smelled of pine and cinnamon, the same way it always did this time of year. Your parents, ever nostalgic and sentimental, kept your bedroom a time capsule of your teen years, down to the posters peeling slightly at the corners and the worn-out bookshelf crammed with novels. It was strange, being back in this space as someone who had grown beyond it. The familiarity was both comforting and unsettling, like putting on a sweater that didn’t quite fit anymore.

A day after your arrival came the call from Sydney. Word had gotten around that you were back — you blamed your mother for that. Her voice had been warm, tinged with excitement, but she’d tread carefully, as if wary of unearthing old wounds.

“You have to come,” she’d said, the invitation carrying the same enthusiastic charm you remembered from the years you’d spent as her friend. “It’s a small thing, just a bunch of us catching up before the chaos of Christmas really hits.”

You’d hesitated, your instinct to protect the delicate emotional state you’d cobbled together over the past year. But Sydney had always had a way of wearing you down. “It won’t be weird,” she promised. “Mat was invited, but he didn’t RSVP. He’s so bad at answering invites, but honestly, he’s been MIA lately. He probably won’t show.”

Her words were meant to be reassuring, and at the time, they had been. But now, standing in front of their decorated idyllic Long Island mansion, with the weight of familiarity pressing in on you, you weren’t sure if you were ready for the possibility of seeing him. Sydney and Matt’s party had been a staple during the holidays when you and Mat were together, a gathering of friends, teammates, and their significant others. Coming here meant stepping back into a world that had once felt like home but now felt foreign.

You inhaled deeply, the crisp air stinging your lungs as you smoothed down your coat. The snow crunched beneath your boots as you approached the door, and the muffled hum of music and laughter grew louder. Sydney greeted you the moment you stepped inside, her arms pulling you into a warm hug.

“Look at you! You look amazing!” she exclaimed, stepping back to take you in. Her radiant smile was genuine, and for a moment, you let yourself relax. “I’m so glad you came.”

The house was just as you remembered it: garlands draped along the staircase, twinkling lights wound through every corner, and the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air. Familiar faces turned toward you, some smiling, others with expressions of surprise. There were hugs, quick exchanges of “it’s been too long,” and the inevitable question, “How’s England?”

You answered politely, sharing anecdotes about your new life while carefully steering clear of the topic everyone probably wanted to ask about: Mat. You didn’t need to look around the room to know he wasn’t there. You would’ve felt it — the almost magnetic pull he seemed to have, even when you tried to ignore it.

The night unfolded like a nostalgic montage, full of laughter and rekindled friendships. As you caught up with familiar faces, it felt like no time had passed, like no distance had been shoved between everything you once knew. Sydney was an impeccable hostess, darting between guests but always circling back to you, her voice brimming with excitement over every little update you shared. It was easy to forget, for a time, the reasons you’d hesitated to come. You caught up with old friends, indulged in festive treats, and even found yourself laughing at stories you hadn’t thought of in years.

Matt, Sydney’s husband and Mat’s teammate, joined you two in the living room, his hearty laugh filling the room as he recalled an embarrassing moment from a long-ago road trip. It felt good, almost normal. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you could exist in this space again, untethered from the weight of your shared history with Mat.

But then, a commotion from the front hall shattered the fragile peace.

Voices rose in unison, cheers and exclamations ringing out. “He’s here!” someone shouted, followed by a ripple of excitement that surged through the crowd. Your stomach tightened as the energy in the room shifted. Sydney exchanged a quick glance with you, her lips parting as if to say something, but before she could, you caught sight of him.

He stepped into view, his face unmistakable even amidst the crush of people greeting him. The years had softened some edges and sharpened others. His jawline was softer and less defined, the faintest trace of scruff along his chin. His hair, still dark and unruly, was shorter than he ever had it when you were together. And his eyes — those deep, expressive eyes — swept the room in a way that made your breath catch.

But he wasn’t alone.

A tall, striking blonde was tucked against his side, her arm looped through his. She was stunning, her lipstick a bold red that stood out against her crisp white trench coat. She leaned into him, smiling warmly at the people around them, and you didn’t need to hear the introductions to know who she was.

“Cindy,” Sydney whispered, confirming your silent dread. “They’ve been seeing each other for a while. She’s… nice.”

Nice. The word hit like a dull thud. You barely managed a nod, swallowing the lump rising in your throat. The warmth you’d felt earlier seemed to evaporate, replaced by a cold, sinking sensation in your chest.

“I need to get out of here,” you murmured, your voice tight as you turned toward Sydney.

She caught your arm gently, her grip firm but understanding. “Don’t,” she pleaded. “Please, just stay. You don’t have to talk to him. Avoid him if you need to. But I’ve missed you so much, and the team’s not the same without you. You said we’d catch up, remember?”

Her words tugged at your determination. You couldn’t deny how much you’d missed Sydney, how much you’d missed being part of this circle that had once felt like family. And yet, staying felt like stepping on a live wire, every moment charged with the potential for pain.

You nodded, the weight of Sydney’s words pressing against your reluctance. You’d promised her you’d stay, and part of you knew leaving now would only make everything harder. Still, you resolved to avoid Mat at all costs, to slip through the cracks of the party like a ghost.

The first hour wasn’t difficult. The house was large, full of nooks to retreat to and people to talk to. Every time you felt Mat's presence encroaching into the room, you quietly slipped away. When he moved to the kitchen, you migrated to the living room. When he lingered by the staircase, you found solace near the fireplace.

You clung to the edges of the room, weaving in and out of conversations just enough to seem engaged, but always slipping away before he got too close. Each time you caught a glimpse of him, your stomach twisted. He looked good — better than you remembered. It was unfair, the way time had seemed to sharpen his features, like it had been kinder to him than it had to you.

And then there was Cindy. She wasn’t just stunning — she was confident, poised, with a natural ease that made her the center of attention without trying. Watching her was like witnessing a carefully crafted version of the life you’d once lived, a life that had moved on without you.

You couldn’t stay in one place for too long. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air too warm and stifling despite the winter chill outside. You moved from room to room, dodging conversations that veered too close to the past, smiling politely but never letting your guard down.

But then, the spaces began to run out. The house wasn’t as big as it felt at first, and the guests were everywhere. You’d exhausted the kitchen, the den, and even the hallway by the coat rack. Finally, with nowhere else to go, you found yourself slipping out onto the porch, the cold biting into your skin through the thick knit sweater you wore.

The porch was quiet, the muffled sounds of the party fading behind the door. Snow was falling softly now, delicate flakes catching in your hair and melting against your skin. You leaned against the railing, your breath forming little clouds in the air, and tried to focus on the stillness of the night. The cold seeped into your bones, but it was a welcome contrast to the heat and tension inside.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, staring out at the blanket of snow covering the lawn. Long enough for your fingers to go numb and your cheeks to sting. The quiet was a balm, but it wasn’t enough to dull the ache inside you.

The sound of the door sliding open softly pulled you from the brief daydream that consumed you, and you didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. The hesitant shuffle of shoes against snow got closer, then his voice cut through the silence, quieter than usual.

“Hey.” Mat spoke.

You froze at the sound of his voice, the word hanging in the air like a weight you couldn’t quite lift. Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your chest. You didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to face him yet, but your body betrayed you, slowly pivoting to see him standing just a few steps away.

Up close, the changes in Mat’s appearance became much more noticeable. You could see just how different he looked — older, in a way. The sharp edges of his jaw had softened, and his hair, though shorter, still had that messy quality that made you want to run your fingers through it. But what hit you hardest was the look on his face — uncertainty, maybe guilt, but there was something else there too, something you couldn’t place.

He stood there for a moment, unsure whether to close the distance or wait for you to speak. You felt the awkward tension between you both, thick enough to cut. He didn’t know what to say to you. You didn’t know what to say to him.

“Hi,” you finally said, the word tasting strange on your tongue. It felt like you were saying it to someone you barely knew anymore. The woman he’d left behind was still standing there, but the version of her that had once known him inside and out was now a stranger to herself, too.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said quietly, his eyes shifting away from yours, as though he didn’t want to intrude on your space, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.

You nodded, your throat tightening. “It’s fine. Just needed some air,” you replied, your voice calm, though you were sure it didn’t match the chaos spinning inside you.

Another long pause passed, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. He shifted on his feet, as if trying to find the right words. He didn’t speak again, and you weren’t sure what you were waiting for — for him to apologize? For him to explain? For him to say something that would make sense of all the things that had happened?

Then, just as you thought the silence was becoming unbearable, the door opened again. Cindy slipped out onto the porch, her arms wrapping around her torso tightly. “Hey, there you are.” she said, her voice warm and sweet.

Mat’s face shifted, a moment of hesitation passing through his eyes. He turned to Cindy, who was standing there with a bright, welcoming smile, unaware of the tension that had already settled in. Mat hesitated for a beat, as if he was trying to find the right words to introduce you, the person who had once meant everything to him, to the woman who now filled that space.

“Cindy, this is y/n,” he said, his voice tight, “y/n… this is Cindy, my…”

Mat’s voice trailed off as his gaze got stuck on you. You could see the thoughts rushing through his mind as the words got trapped in his throat. Cindy stepped forward, finishing his sentence for him with a laugh, her tone light and playful. “His fiancée!” she said, her smile gleaming bright in the porch lights. “I think Mat is still getting used to the title!”

Fiancée… Fiancée… Fiancée.

The word fiancée echoed in your mind, drowning out everything else. It was like a punch to the gut, a slap of cold reality that stung with more force than the night air ever could. The way Cindy smiled, the way Mat looked at her — there was no mistaking it. This was real. He was engaged. To her.

You tried to breathe, but the air felt heavier now, thick with a weight that pressed against your chest. You’d never imagined him moving on so quickly, not after everything that had happened, not after the promises and hopes you’d once shared. You had walked away, yes, but you had done so believing, in some quiet part of yourself, that maybe, just maybe, the door wasn’t completely closed. Maybe Mat would change his mind, maybe time apart would make him see things differently. But standing here, in front of him, in front of Cindy, it all came crashing down.

The confusion tangled with something else, something darker. Anger. It flared up inside you, hot and sharp, burning through the numbness you’d carefully cultivated. Mat had told you he didn’t want to get married. He had said it over and over again — he wasn’t ready, and didn’t think he ever would be, not seeing marriage in the future he’d envisioned. And you had believed him. You had let go of a future with him, moved halfway across the world to escape it, to build something new. But now here he was, with a woman he was so obviously ready to commit to, ready to marry.

How could he?

You could feel the bitterness crawling up your throat, but you swallowed it back, offering a tight smile to Cindy as she stepped closer, oblivious to the storm raging inside you. Mat’s gaze flickered between the two of you, his unease palpable. You wondered if he saw it — the hurt — but didn’t know how to address it.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your voice steady but strained. The words tasted like ash, each syllable carrying the weight of everything unspoken, everything that had been left behind. “And, uh, congratulations.”

Cindy beamed, clearly unaware of the complex undercurrents swirling between you and Mat. “Thank you! It’s been a whirlwind, but in the best way.” Her fingers brushed against Mat’s arm, the small gesture so natural and intimate it made your stomach churn.

“I can imagine,” you managed to say, gripping the railing a little tighter. The air around you felt suffocating now, despite the cold. You needed an exit, a reason to leave before the fragile façade you’d constructed cracked.

Cindy pressed on as she mistook your smile for interest. “Yeah, who would’ve thought that a girl from Arizona would wind up getting married to a hockey player!” she laughed, her arm hooking around Mat’s. “I mean, it was such a funny coincidence — I was out with some friends, and Mat was there on a road trip with the team. We just hit it off right away.” She laughed lightly, oblivious to the way your grip on the railing tightened. “It’s crazy to think that was just two years ago now. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch. Two years ago? You did the mental math, your mind immediately circling back to the timeline. Arizona. A road trip with the team. Two years ago. It aligned too perfectly with the so-called “break” you and Mat had taken — the time you were supposed to spend figuring things out, deciding if your future together was salvageable.

Your heart pounded as the pieces clicked into place. He hadn’t just moved on; he’d started over with Cindy while you were still clinging to the hope of reconciliation. The realization stung, bitter and raw. While you had agonized over every phone call he didn’t make, every moment of silence that stretched too long, he’d been out meeting someone new.

Mat’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tight, as if he knew exactly what you were piecing together. For the first time, Cindy’s presence didn’t seem to ground him. Instead, he looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

“That’s… great,” you said, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. Your voice felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. “I’m glad you two found each other.”

Cindy beamed again, utterly unaware of the turmoil behind your words. “Thanks! I mean, it’s wild, right? Sometimes things just fall into place when you least expect them to.” She leaned into Mat, who gave her a small, absent smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Cindy tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “So, how do you two know each other? I thought I knew all of Mat’s friends, but then again he knows so many people.”

You opened your mouth to say something but nothing would come out. What should you even say? Tell the truth and say you and Mat used to date? Tell her that you were so head over heels for him, that you wanted to marry him, before he broke your heart and drove you from the country? Or should you lie, and just tell her you two don’t really know each other at all? After all, that wouldn’t be so far from the truth. You weren’t sure you really knew him at all.

But before you could come up with something to say, whether it was a lie or the truth, Mat spoke up, his voice tight but composed. “Y/n’s an old friend.”

Old friend. The phrase hung in the air, feeling both false and insulting. Once, you’d been everything to him, and now you were reduced to a generic label that erased the depth of your shared history. You bit back a sharp retort, unwilling to unravel in front of Cindy, who smiled, oblivious to the tension.

“That’s lovely!” Cindy said, her eyes lighting up. “It’s always nice to meet those who knew Mat before I did.”

You offered a faint smile, trying not to let her words sting. She wasn’t at fault. She was simply living in a story that had once been yours.

Mat shifted uncomfortably beside her, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. His eyes flickered toward you again, but you refused to meet his gaze, focusing instead on Cindy’s eager expression.

“Well,” Cindy said after a beat, sensing the awkward tension but clearly unsure of its source. “I should probably get back inside before I freeze out here.” Cindy offered you another warm smile before turning back to Mat. “Come on, babe,” she said softly, tugging at his arm.

“I’ll be in soon,” Mat said, his voice quieter now. Cindy hesitated for a moment, her gaze lingering on him, before nodding.

“It was really nice meeting you, y/n.” She smiled warmly, then leaned up to press a quick kiss to Mat’s cheek before disappearing back into the house, leaving the two of you alone on the porch.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of music and laughter drifting through the closed door. Mat stayed where he was, a few steps away, his hands still shoved in his pockets as he stared at the ground. You didn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for him to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, surprise.”

Mat flinched at your tone, his jaw clenching as he looked up at you. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

“Like what?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Awkward? Painful? Completely humiliating? Which part, Mat?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan on this happening tonight. I—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

You folded your arms across your chest, trying to shield yourself from the biting cold — or maybe from him. “Didn’t know how to tell me what, Mat? That you’re engaged? That you’ve managed to figure out what you want after telling me for years that you didn’t want marriage? Or is it just that you didn’t want it with me?”

His face tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but no words came. The silence between you stretched unbearably.

“You could’ve told me,” you pressed, the anger bubbling beneath your skin now impossible to hold back. “You could’ve been honest. About her. About what you wanted. But instead, you let me walk away thinking…” You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. “Thinking it was me. That I was asking for too much. That I didn’t matter enough for you to even try.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Mat said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t know what I wanted back then. I was confused.”

“Confused?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly as you turned to fully face him. “You told me — over and over — that marriage wasn’t something you ever wanted. You were so certain, Mat. I believed you. I left because I thought I was respecting what you needed, and now…” You gestured toward the house, toward the life he’d built without you. “Now you’re engaged to someone else.”

Mat rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “Things… changed,” he muttered, almost apologetically.

You let out a hollow laugh, blinking back the sting of tears. “Changed? Just like that? Or was it never about marriage? Was it just that you didn’t want to marry me?”

The question hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, cutting through the tension like a blade. Mat’s head shot up at your words, his eyes wide with something like guilt — or was it regret? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his silence more damning than anything he could have said.

“That’s what I thought,” you said softly, the weight of his non-answer crushing you. You turned back toward the railing, gripping it tightly as you fought to steady your breathing.

“It wasn’t about you,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I loved you — God, I loved you so much. But back then, I didn’t know if I could be the person you needed me to be. I didn’t know if I could… give you everything you wanted.”

You swallowed hard, your breath fogging in the cold night air as you turned back to face him. “But you figured it out for her,” you said quietly, the words cutting both ways. “You found a way to be that person for Cindy.”

Mat didn’t respond, and the silence that followed felt like the final nail in the coffin. You nodded to yourself, the last flicker of hope extinguishing in your chest.

“I need to leave,” you said abruptly, stepping away from the railing.

“Wait,” Mat said quickly, reaching out as if to stop you, but you took a step back, keeping the distance between you.

“I’m happy for you, Mat,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Really, I am. You and Cindy… you deserve to be happy.” You took a shaky breath, your lips trembling as you forced a small, sad smile. “But I can’t do this. I can’t stand here and pretend this doesn’t hurt. Because it does. It hurts like hell.”

Mat’s hand dropped back to his side, his face a mix of regret and helplessness. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he said softly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But you did.”

You turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. As you reached the door, you paused for a moment, glancing back over your shoulder. Mat was still standing there, his shoulders slumped, his breath visible in the cold air. For a brief moment, you thought he might say something — anything — to stop you. But he didn’t.

With a final, resolute step, you slipped back into the warmth of the house, the sound of laughter and music washing over you like a distant echo. You grabbed your coat, said a quick goodbye to Sydney, and left before anyone could stop you.

Outside, the snow had started to fall more heavily, covering the world in a soft, quiet blanket. You stood by your car for a moment, staring up at the dark sky, the cold air stinging your cheeks. It was over.

As you slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, you made a silent vow to yourself: no more looking back. England was waiting for you, and with it, the life you had started to build — a life that wasn’t tied to Mat or the dreams you had once shared. It wasn’t the ending you had hoped for, but maybe it was the one that was best for you.

[nerdy-novelist017]

Apologies (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader pt 6)

Ahhh don't come at me for the lack of updates lately! 😅 I've been so distracted with watching the Olympics and my job. I'm not meant to work a ful-time job, your honor. I just wanna write silly fanfics all day and read all night pls and thanks ! Anyway, enjoy! 🩷

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 3.4k+

Summary- The last person you expect to be there to dry your tears is that stubbornly persistent biker of yours.

******

Pete never showed up to your fundraiser. You had waited the whole afternoon in the hopes that you’d see him, but he wasn’t there for your event. He wasn’t there for the bake sale, or the picnic. He didn’t even show up for the auction which you were sure he’d be interested in that since one of the items to be sold was an expensive golf club set. He must have had other plans, you tried to tell yourself. He must have been too busy. 

You hadn’t seen Benny after that either, but you tried to find that as more of a relief than disappointment, after all, he was the reason you and Pete had a bit of a disagreement anyway. Part of you wondered if he only showed up for your tent since you hadn’t seen him anywhere else at the charity afterwards. Regardless, the hours passed at the picnic and you eventually helped everyone pack up before you left too, riding home on your bicycle. You tried to call Pete when you made it home, but his mother answered and told you he wasn’t home. You asked her to have him call you when he could. You ate dinner with your family and tried to not look too hopeful every time the phone rang because it was never Pete calling you back. You expected to go to bed with a sense of dejection, but instead you were surprised to feel something closer to  . . . relief. 

So the next two days went by quickly. You were too busy with work and household chores to notice that Pete hadn’t called you back. It was only when you had gotten up early to start on breakfast on the third day that he finally did ring you. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen you much,” he told you over the phone. “I miss you.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were busy,” you mumbled as you stirred the pancake batter, phone receiver balancing precariously between your cheek and shoulder. 

“I want to see you this weekend. I can pick you up around noon on Saturday if you’re free.” 

You agreed a bit reluctantly, but he didn’t seem to catch it. 

******

“Oh, are you going to teach me to golf?” you asked excitedly as Pete pulled into the country club parking lot. He’d been quiet to tell you where it was that he was taking you today, but you wanted to trust the spontaneity of the moment so you let him drive you to the mystery location. Out of all the places he could have surprised you with, this certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Part of you was confused because you hadn’t expressed a particular fondness for the sport, but another part of you felt warmth that he wanted to share his hobby with you. 

“Yeah, I thought you’d like to join me and the boys today.” He smiled at you as you both exited the car. “Sit in the cart and look pretty while you cheer us on.”

Oh. So he wasn’t even teaching you his hobby. You wanted to say something back, to tell him that you were willing to learn if he taught you, but his friends came over then, interrupting your chance to speak. Pete introduced you to them, five in total and you struggled to remember their names. But it didn’t matter much since all chances of you speaking were thrown out the window when they bear hugged each other, and turned to go out onto the field. You followed behind, quietly trying to find a place in their obviously-tight friend group. And that’s how you spent the next three hours: awkwardly existing in their world, sitting on the cart and watching them play. You were the only girl, and it was clear that they didn’t know how to involve you much in their conversations. And when you were able to pull Pete to the side for a moment, you asked if he could let you take a swing once, just to try it out. He nodded but said, “Well, maybe in the next game, this one I’ve got a bet on and every shot counts.” You didn’t ask again. 

Even though you were still technically spending time with him, this didn’t feel in any way fun or exciting. You tried not to, but your mind drifted to your night spent at the bar with Benny and how fun that was, despite it being a bar full of bikers – a scenario you would have never thought you’d be in, let alone enjoy. As you sat in the golf cart, having nothing better to do than to watch Pete with his friends, you wondered if this was all he wanted you for. Were you really just a doll to him? A trophy? You didn’t get to play? 

After the next game ended, you asked Pete if he could take you somewhere for lunch and he seemed almost reluctant to leave his friends. But in the end, he did agree, and you said goodbye to the band of golfers. You walked back to the parking lot together and when you spotted his car in the distance, you figured this was your chance to actually talk with him, not just listen to him speak. 

“What do you want out of life, Pete?” you asked quietly as you slowed to a stop on the sidewalk.

“What?” He paused a few paces ahead of you, glancing back. “What kind of question is that?” 

“I mean,” you struggled to gather your jumbled thoughts. “What kind of life do you want?”

His brows pinched together in confusion. “Well, I’m going to school for engineering so I’m going to do that.”

You waited for him to continue, but he just shrugged and motioned for the car. “You coming?”

Not seeing the conversation over quite yet, your feet remained firmly planted in your spot. “But what do you want out of life? What do you want for me in your life?” 

“Geez, (Y/N),” he laughed humorlessly. “Where is this coming from?” His expression darkened suddenly. “Is this because of that dirty biker?”

It was your turn to look confused as you opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off. “Have you seen him again, hmm?”

“I . . . he was at the fundraiser–”

“What did I tell you?” He asked rhetorically as he closed the distance between you. “I don’t want you around that deadbeat again.”

“It wasn’t like I sought him out,” you defended, trying to ignore the rush of agitation at his choice of description. “I had no clue he would be there. I thought you were going to be there.”

“Well, I couldn’t be. You can’t just expect me to drop everything for you at such a late notice.”

“What was more important that you needed to be at?” You frowned.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the car. “I have my own life.”

That’s when you realized that he was so . . . disconnected, uninterested. He may have wanted you but not in the way of getting to know you. His want was selfish, only born out of lust. He didn’t care about your hobbies or interests. You weren’t even listened to when you spoke to him. The realization was painfully obvious and you felt like a fool, like he had played you. And maybe he wasn’t even aware of it himself, but you could see it now: he didn’t care for you, not in the way you longed for. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, shaking your head as you watched him approach the driver’s side door. “I know that, but . . . I was just hoping to spend time with you.”

He turned back and threw his arms out dramatically. “I’m spending time with you now, aren't I? Will you just get in the car?” 

You took a deep breath, looking down at your shoes. “I think I’m gonna walk home.”

“Are you serious?” His voice grew colder as he yanked open his door. “Because I didn’t go to your bake sale?”

You shook your head. “No, I like walkin’ and I just want some time to think–”

“You’re going off to find that biker, aren’t you?” 

“What?” Your gaze shot back up to his. “No, I–”

“I knew this would happen.” He shook his head, an unamused smile flashing on his face. “He’s filling your head with all these dangerous ideas. He’s poisoning you against me. Me.”

“I’m not–” 

“Get in the car.” You didn’t realize that it wasn’t a request anymore. 

“Pete, I just don’t–”

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N)!” He shouted, slamming his hand on the roof, and you jumped at the sound. 

You stared at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. You’d never seen any man act like this, especially not Pete. Panic turned the blood in your veins to ice and you were suddenly painfully aware of just how fast your heart was beating in your chest. Seconds ticked by, and he finally reacted to your speechlessness by rubbing a hand over his face, sighing loudly. 

“Look, just get in the car,” he tried again, his voice barely controlled. “We came here together and I don’t want people to talk about how I’m leaving without you, okay?”

No, it wasn’t okay, you wanted to say, but your throat was suddenly too tight to speak. All you could do was stare at this man who you thought you had a pretty good understanding of, who you never thought would raise his voice at you, who would never command you to do something you very obviously denied. You shook your head, hand holding over your chest in an attempt to even out your heart rate.

He called your name, but you turned and forced your legs to walk, to move away from him. You just wanted to get home to the safety of your bedroom. Behind you, you could hear his car door slam shut and the engine whine as it fired up. He drove over to you, nearly hitting the curb as he weaved.

“Fine, walk home then!” he yelled and revved the engine, tires peeling out on the blacktop as he zoomed away. 

That’s when the tears started falling. You sucked in a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and a sob choked into it. The sidewalk blurred from the stream of tears but you trudged on, wanting nothing more than to escape the prying eyes of the neighborhood. The action of Pete slamming his hand against the metal proof of his car replayed in your mind and something unpleasant gripped your heart at the realization that what you saw was his reaction to not getting what he wanted the first time. This was supposed to be the exciting moments of you relationship, the time when you were still discovering who each other were. If he could be so easily angered by you now, what would 5 years of marriage look like? What would 10? 

And as you approached the intersection, a thought came to you and you felt sick at the possibility that maybe this is what your mother felt before she married your father. And your grandmother before she married your grandmother. Like a chain, these women with hearts and ambitions and dreams all just got married and became something their husbands wanted, lived a dream their husbands had. And maybe that was their dream, but what if it wasn’t yours?

The revving of an engine broke you free from your all-consuming thoughts and fresh fear spiked through you. Was it Pete coming back? But no, you realized. The engine was coming from the gas station you were passing on the corner, and it wasn’t a car, but a motorcycle. The rider pulled up to one of the free parking spots, cutting the engine and kicking out the kickstand. His back was turned to you, but you knew who it was already by the messy blonde hair and signature blue jacket lettered “Vandals” across the shoulder blades. You groaned because he was the last person you wanted to see right now but you needed to walk right by him to continue on your way home. And as ridiculous as it was, you wanted to cry harder at the thought of him seeing you crying. 

When he dismounted, you quickened your pace, putting your head down in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice you. But of course, you heard him call out, “Hey, Little Bunny.”

You sniffed hard, quickly swiping your fingers across your cheeks as you heard him approach. Even though you didn’t slow your pace, he caught up to you quickly. 

“You walkin’ home again?” His voice was light, teasing but you didn’t dare to look up at him. “You must really like–”

But he must have seen your tear-soaked face because he stopped, his hand gently grasping your upper arm. “What’s wrong?”

You bit your lip, and against your better judgment, you glanced up at him. That was all it took before his shoulders visibly stiffened, and his jaw locked tightly. “Who did this?”

“Nobody,” you muttered softly, voice cracking. “I’m fine.”

“Was it Pete?” his grip remained firm on your arm.

“Please, just leave it alone, Benny,” you whispered desperately, and his eyes softened as he released you. A painfully long beat played out between you as you watched him decide if he wanted to press you further for details. But to your surprise, he dropped it, instead, reaching out, his calloused thumb brushing away a solitary tear from the apple of your cheek. You flinched at the contact, not expecting him to touch you so intimately. As quick as he was to make contact, so was he able to let his hand fall back to his side, leaving you wide-eyed at the act. 

“Let me give you a ride home, please,” he asked, his voice so quiet, so compassionate that you were honestly dumbfounded that this was a biker in a notoriously revered club standing before you. “I don’t want you to have to walk back when you’re upset like this.”

You glanced down the sidewalk, knowing you still had a few miles to go before you’d see your house in the distance. You sniffed again, “You won’t try to propose to me again, will you?”

“No strings attached, I promise,” he replied quietly. 

You relented, nodding slightly, and you didn’t protest when he slid his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together and gently tugged you back to his bike. 

******

Benny drove slowly back to your house, and you just buried your face against his jacket the entire ride, focusing on the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. It gave you time to settle your breathing, to dry your tears, and when he finally did pull up to your house, a disappointed wave surfaced over you. He put both feet down to balance you both, but he didn’t cut the engine, and you didn’t release your arms from around his torso.

“Can we . . . keep going?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of just how patient he was willing to be with you.

“You wanna keep going?” he questioned over his shoulder, and you responded with a brief nod. “Where?”

“Anywhere, just not here.”

He pushed off the ground, revving the engine slightly and the bike picked up speed as you left your neighborhood. You tightened your grip as he drove you out of the city, down the long country roads, past barns and farms, out by the lake and through the winding back roads which cut the woods. He drove until the sun began to make its descent over the far wheat fields, the last warmth of those golden rays catching the two of you like a spotlight, like you were the only two people on stage. And you realized that’s what riding with Benny felt like: solidarity together. You’ve felt a strange sense of loneliness most of your life, even when you were surrounded by others who loved you, but with Benny . . . it was like you were finally being seen. No, not just seen, it was like you were finally being heard. 

But reality came back too quickly when Benny pulled up to a stop light, hand moving to brush across yours as he asked, “You ready to go back now or d’you wanna keep going?”

Keep going, your heart wanted to shout, keep going and let’s drive until we hit the sandy beaches of California. But your head always won the battle in the end, and you only nodded mutely. 

When Benny pulled up in front of your house again, he cut the engine, but remained seated. He held his hand out for you as you dismounted, and he wanted to say something – anything– to make sure that you were okay, to help you. But Benny’s not known for his good communication skills so he clenched his jaw tightly, frustration building in his chest. You needed him, you needed to be consoled, and he was so pathetic that he wasn’t even sure how. 

Sure, he knew how to have someone’s back, especially in a fight. He knew how to throw punches and get back to his feet after getting knocked down. He could do that all day. But you staring at him with your Bambi eyes and heartbroken expression, he couldn’t take it. He just wanted to pull your tiny frame to him and kiss away the tears, to tell you that everything would be okay because he’s got your back. Then a horrible thought clouded his mind because what if he was the reason you were crying? A bitter taste filled his mouth at the possibility. And my god, how stupid could he be because of course he had to dig himself deeper into that hole when he had told you that he wouldn’t apologize for his conversation with your date. At the time he said it, he had no guilt or shame for his actions because he saw nothing wrong with it. He wanted you more than Pete did, he was sure of that. But now as he glanced at your sweet face, he realized that his actions could have hurt you. And all for what – his pride? That seemed so insignificant now.

“Thank you for the ride,” you said ever-so-politely. 

Before you could turn to walk to your front porch, Benny’s hand reached out to lightly touch your own, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did to Pete. That was wrong, and I see that now. I’m sorry if what I did has hurt you in any way, that was never my intention.”

Your frown deepened, and Benny’s heart sank. But then you said, “I’m not upset with you, Benny, but thank you. That . . . that means a lot to me.”

He was at a loss for words, struck by your angelic voice and unwavering benevolence. He could only watch as you slipped from his grasp and turned away. You were walking away from him, but Benny couldn’t help but feel it meant something more than just putting physical distance between you. His mind raced with thoughts, trying to find something he could say to get you to stop, to be able to see your face again. 

However, it seemed that fate had other plans because you halted in your tracks, hesitating a moment before spinning back around and approaching him again. He opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you cut him off as you leaned up and planted a quick kiss to his cheek. His heart skipped a beat at the gentle touch of your soft lips, and he widened his eyes as you pulled back, a shy smile on your face. He grinned because every time he thought he had you figured out, you continued to pull stunts on him. You were the most entertaining thing he knew. 

You took a few steps backwards, but maintained his eye contact as you spoke, “Maybe . . . next time we could go a little faster?”

He knew you were referring to the bike, but God help him because heat burned in his lower belly, and he wanted to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you into your house where he’d show you just what speed he was capable of. He wasn’t sure you even knew what effect your words had on him, or if you even knew the sexual implications, but he felt himself losing a battle of will. “You want there to be a next time?”

You nodded and that adorable rosy color tinted your cheeks. “Yeah, if-if you do.”

He shook his head in disbelief that you were finally giving him a chance. Though looking at your sweet smile now, he didn’t seem to mind the extra effort he had to put in. “You wanna go fast? Look who’s the trouble now.”

You fought to control your smile. “Goodnight, Benny.”

“Night,” he replied as he watched you walk back up the steps to your house, his fingers ghosting over the spot on his cheek that you kissed, wondering if apologies were really that easy. 

-Tag List-

@elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love e @ironmooncat @imusicaddict @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan @cynic-spirit @pomtherine @tranquilty @m00npjm @twistedunivers5 @justsomewritingblog @nhlfs @thepassionatereader @rebecca-hvnstn @nethanybear @dreamlandcreations @buckysteveloki-me @simsiddy @zablife @sansaorgana @autumnleaves1991-blog @butler-trouble @lindszeppelin @wavyjassy @real-lana-del-rey @xcallmetaniax @lovenewfandoms @youngestxhearts @abaker74 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @thefallofthedamned @hottpinkpenguinreads @nctma15 @vendylewin @capswife @alexa4040 @pearlstiare @sweetestrose569 @18lkpeters @pao-prazz @thedreamingfish99 @mrsalwayswrite

[rbfclassy]

heyy! can you please write something with geto being a nonchalant person but then he meets this girl that’s got him so intrigued, she seems innocent at first but the more they talk the more he realises she isn’t and she’s all he thinks about, at work at home everywhere and obv he starts being a perv and thinks pervy things about her but when he tells her she’s like “that’s what I was going for, glad it worked” so he’s HOOKED also pls pls pls need some size kink there🤲🏼🤲🏼 thank uuu

NOT SO INNOCENT! — GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS...when a not so innocent girl like you gets geto’s head spinning, and little does he know that it’s on purpose

INFO...geto x fem!reader, they’re in college, touching, dirty thoughts, jerking off, dirty talk, making out, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

thank you for the request anon!

You were Geto’s new class partner, paired up for a project that you guys both had in chemistry. He’s never talked to you before, but he knew you were smart, and quiet, always stayed to yourself. He was hoping with you around that you’d both pass with an easy A, usually opting out of working with others unless it was his best friend—he is sometimes even hard to tolerate.

You’d try sparking a conversation with him, trying to get him to open up, trying to make jokes, he was going to be your partner after all. But, all he did was give dry responses or ignore you, settling for just working in silence instead. But as the days went on, you never failed to keep talking to him, going on about the annoying professor in your history class. He won’t lie, you’ve earned a chuckle from him or two, but still, he would always act nonchalant.

Then, the light touches started after a few weeks, your hand brushing over his when reaching for something, sneaking by him and accidentally rubbing your ass against him. Not to mention when you leaned over the table, your tits threatening to spill out of your cute top while explained some stupid equation to him. Was he not supposed to stare? His eyes would flicker up to your lips, taking notice of the tinted pink lipgloss you wore. He just stared and stared, nodding his head at what you were saying as if he was listening—he couldn’t hear a thing.

He hated to admit that every night when he got back home from working with you, he’d find himself pent up, a tent in his pants, aching to the touch. He’d groan in annoyance because what was it even about you that got him so worked up like this? You’re practically some nerdy, shy girl that he’s partnered up with. Or were you?

One late night in library answered his burning question. That focused look on your face, writing down your notes from your computer as he tapped his pen on the table, staring at you. His eyes narrowed as you stretched, looking away from your computer and back at your notes, when suddenly your pen dropped under the table. “Oh no,” you mumbled, quickly getting on your hands and knees. Geto just sighed, looking back down at his paper to realize he had one sentence written down. He rolled his eyes, but they quickly shot open when he felt your hands on his thighs, so dangerously close to touching his clothed dick. “Got it!” You spoke from under the table and removed your hands from him, sitting back in your chair. Surely that was just an accident, just like the rest of them.

That night, Geto wasn’t even able to make it back home without pulling over in some empty parking lot and jerking off to the thought of you. Every single day and night, you cloud his brain, picturing your soft tits, your plump lips, the way your hands feel on him, and how your ass pushes up against him. God, you’re starting to drive him fucking crazy. He doesn’t like it…he loves it. “Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, tossing his head back as he grows closer to his orgasm. His eyes are screwed shut, imaging it’s your hands that are making him feel this good, and before you know it he’s cumming so much, broken moans filling up the empty space of his car.

And the next day, he goes about meeting you up at the library like nothing happened, like he didn’t just jerk off to the thought of you last night. “Hey, Suguru!” You greet with a cute smile, waving at him. He waves back, setting his things down at the table you usually work at. A few hours go by and he’s looking at books on the shelf, trying to find one that relates to your project topic and here you go, walking up to him. “Excuse me,” you say, brushing up against him once again.

Hie clenches his teeth and before he can even think, he snatches your wrist and pulls you towards him. You let out a little squeak, staring up at with confused eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, huh?” He asks, yelling in a whisper.

“What…what do you mean?” You question, your chest flushed against his, the grip on your wrist still tight.

His nostrils flair and he inhales deeply. “Stop playing so innocent. I know what you’re doing, y/n. Always rubbing your ass against me, having your tits out in my face, the accidental touches near my dick. You’re driving me fucking crazy, you know that?” He stares down at you. “Every fucking day and night I’m constantly thinking about you, getting so fucking turned on, hot and bothered, jerking off to the thought of you touching me. Fuck…” He exhales.

A small smile starts forming on your face before you start giggling, looking up at him. A confused look is plastered on Geto’s face. “Oh my gosh, took you long enough,” you laugh. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice for so long, Suguru. I’m so glad it worked.” You placed your hand on his chest, inching your lips closer to his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in disbelief. “Fuck you.”

“Oh? When and where? I’ve been practically waiting for that moment.” You smile at him, pushing him against the library wall. “Should we do it right here, hm? Where no one can see us?” You slowly start sinking down to your knees.

“Get up off the floor before someone sees you!” He pulls you back up to your feet, looking around to make sure no one saw the both of you. You laugh in his face, leaning against him.

“Come on, I know you wanna fuck me! I see the way you stare at me, and based on what you just told me…you’re quite desperate.” You reach your hand up to his face, the pad of your thumb ghosting over his pink lips. “I am too,” you whisper.

He stares back at you with dark eyes, and you could tell he’s holding everything back no matter how hard it is, but one more word from you and you’ll shatter that wall and make him lose all control. He can’t help himself when it comes to you.

“Please, Suguru.” The sound of his name rolling off your tongue goes straight to his dick and he realizes he can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck…fuck, okay, okay. Come here.” He pulls you in for a hungry kiss as if he was a starving man. His plump lips colliding with yours, tongues messily moving against each other. At this point, he doesn’t care if anyone catches you both, he just needs to feel you wrapped around him so badly right now. You drive him insane.

yes I left it on a cliffhanger (sorry for being devious)

[moonstruckme]

Haloooo!!! I wanted to request something but I jus wanna say how much i adore your workkksss😭 not to shade other writers but youre probably my fave out of them, theres just something about your writings thats so comforting and I love it!! Can I request a academic rival trope for Remus and reader??🥹 Im excited to read it!! Thank you!!🫶

I'm so glad you enjoy them my love!! Thank you for requesting <3

cw: mention of skipping meals (never fear it is remedied)

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Remus is the only other person in the library. You’ve been hopelessly aware of him since he’d sat down four tables away from you an hour ago, and you’re positive he’s being distracting on purpose, because no one really eats chocolate like that. 

It’s abominable and should be punishable by death, honestly, the way he’s getting brown smudges all over the pages of his book. He’ll pop a chocolate in his mouth, let it get all melty in there, then slowly suck the remnants off each of his fingers, the movement distracted and tantalizing. Brow furrowed and eyes sharp, he looks entirely absorbed by his studies. 

You wish you could say the same. 

You’ve read the same page four times now, and the information keeps bouncing off your brain like someone’s put an invisible shield around it. Your eyes burn slightly, your back aches from too long spent in this wooden chair, but you need to know this stuff by tomorrow. Somehow, you need to make yourself retain it. 

“Do you mind?” 

You stop tapping the end of your pencil on the table, looking over at Remus. Your eyes narrow on instinct. 

“Do you?” 

He raises a brow. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Yes, you are. You keep smacking your lips, it’s irritating.” It’s not, really, it’s…it’s something else. It’s not conducive to a distraction-free study environment, that’s what it is. “Are you even allowed to have those in here?” 

Remus sighs heavily. “Alright.” 

Before you can figure out what he means by that, he’s pushing back his chair, walking over to join you at your table. He holds your gaze as he sits down and then pushes his chocolates towards you, seemingly expectant. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You’re clearly jealous. Go on, have a few.” 

“I am not jealous.” You glare at him, arms folding over your book. It’s a habit, to hide the answers from him, but when you notice his gaze drop to the protective motion you feel silly. “And I’m not eating those. You’ve been licking your fingers and reaching in there, it’s gross.” 

“Oh.” Remus retreats slightly, cheeks pinkening. “I didn’t realize I was, sorry.” 

It’s gratifying to see him embarrassed. He’s the shyest of his group of friends (which is to say, he won’t automatically go and talk the ear off anyone within ten yards of him), but he goes about his day with their same unshakeable confidence, earned by social status and, admittedly, an intimidating academic prowess. Though you’ve always met each other head on in class, you’ve never felt up to par with him in any other respect. It’s nice to feel on a similar playing field. A bit endearing to see this tentative, boyish side to him, too. 

It doesn’t last long enough. 

There’s the barest shift in his expression, but you note with dread that familiar twinkle in Remus’ eyes. “Seems like you’ve been paying more attention to me than your book, hm?” 

Yup, the endearment is gone. 

“I’m basically done studying for the night anyway,” you lie through your teeth. “I was just finishing up.” 

Remus’ brow lifts. He clearly doesn’t believe you. “Good for you. How long have you been here?” 

“Since five.” It’s the truth this time, and you say it proudly. You want to show him that you work harder than him, are better, but your smugness fizzles out when he frowns. 

“That long?” Remus asks, looking less defeated and more…troubled. “You must be exhausted. I was only going to put a couple of hours in.” 

It nettles you, the implication that he can do better than you by studying half the time. You shrug with feigned insouciance. “I guess we’ll see who does better tomorrow.” 

“Did you miss dinner?” He breezes right by the challenge, leaning forward as his brows come down. “You must have taken a break then.” 

You cross your arms, appraising him as he does you. What is he playing at? 

“I don’t take breaks, Remus.” I work hard. I play to win. 

Remus hums, eyes still on you. It’s a struggle not to squirm under his gaze. After a minute, he sighs. 

“Okay,” he says, starting to pack up his things. He puts his chocolates back in his bag. “I would offer you some of these, but you’ve made your thoughts about that known. I guess all that’s left is to go to the kitchens.” 

You look up at him as he stands. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t just not eat before the exam, love. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

“To who?” 

“To either of us. You need to do well, and I need to know you can do well so that I do well.” He leans against the table, a soft curve to his bottom lip. Like you’re friends. “Come on, grab your things.” 

“I can’t just—” You shake your head incredulously. “I still have to study.” 

“I thought you were done studying.” 

“I—not—not all the way done,” you hedge, cheeks warming. Remus smiles like you’re funny. 

“Let’s be done for tonight,” he says in a gentle tone. It’s not so different from his usual voice, and yet the sound of it caresses your nerves, lulling them to rest. “There’ll be time before the exam tomorrow. You’ve put in plenty of hours already, and those won’t do you any good without food and sleep.” 

You bite the inside of your lip, considering this. Though you’ve tried to ignore it, you are tired. The bone-deep, heavy kind, from a week of exams that have left you nearly in tatters. You’re afraid that if you take to your bed now, getting out again may seem more trouble than it’s worth. 

“And,” Remus adds offhandedly, “if beating my score is your goal, I like your odds. You’ve been studying all night, and I hardly opened my book a half hour ago.” 

You blink up at him. Remus seems to realize you’re not going to start packing up yourself and, with a long-suffering sigh, begins doing it for you. “Why aren’t you staying to study?” you ask. 

He shrugs. “I don’t mind going to the kitchens with you. And would you really go if I stayed here and studied?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

He gives you a wry, knowing look. “Then I suppose it’s a small price to pay.”

[bwabys-scenarios]

Hi bwaby ~ I’m new to your page and I love your yandere posts ^^ I’m reading the ones you’ve written for Kurapika. I saw your requests were open.

How do you think hxh yanderes would respond to their captive s/o having a panic/anxiety attacks when their captor tries to get intimate? How would they go about that?

🖤 ur work 🖤🖤🖤 thnx

Yandere!HXH respond to you panicking during intimacy

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: dubcon, panic attack, bad aftercare, forced cuddling, slight manipulation/coercion with Chrollo(it backfires), vomit in Chrollo’s, Feitan is emotionally distant, Kurapika is unstable

A/N: just a little note that none of my yanderes will ever rape the reader. I just include dubious consent because being captive blurs the lines of consent. Can you really consent when you’re captive? I don’t know, so I include it just in case, even though in my eyes reader is always consenting during these acts. I’m not comfortable with writing out rape, so this situation is the farthest I go.

characters included: Kurapika, Leorio, Chrollo, Feitan, Illumi

Yandere NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @aliceattheart @pannacottababy

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Kurapika

First of all, Kurapika is VERY hesitant to initiate any intimacy after he takes you away. He wants you to get used to your captivity before he starts anything.

Kurapika is also the only yandere on this list that won’t be overly pushy in terms of physical contact most if the time, and honestly he’s okay if you never love him again… even if he really wants you to love him and give him lots of affection. He knows he did something unforgivable by taking you away from your life, and he’s willing to be hated by you if it means you’ll be safe.

Now, when you do eventually initiate some kind of intimacy he is over the moon. He would do anything for you, desperate to please you and make the experience as good as possible. Kurapika wants your love, your physical touch, and he wants it willingly.

So when he initiates, kissing along your neck with his hand gently rubbing your clothed cunt, he stops immediately when you start to panic. “My angel? Are you okay?”

He’s quick to pull away and give you space. His hands shake and he feels guilt and panic rise in his own chest. Did he just ruin all of the progress the two of you had?

But you calm down after a little, and lean against him. “I… I’m sorry, I just… I got really anxious.”

He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, tentatively smoothing out your hair. “Don’t apologize… shh, just relax. We don’t have to do anything.”

Kurapika spends the rest of the night just a bit unstable, terrified that he’ll do something to upset you. He just loves you so much and he doesn’t want to lose your love and affection when he just got it back. The next day he makes sure to pamper you more than usual, and he’s almost a bit clingy… as if he’s scared he’ll lose you.

Leorio

He’s pretty handsy, though most of his touches are just affectionate in nature. When you cuddle, he has his hand in your ass or thigh, kneading at the soft flesh.

Leorio likes to have you in his lap as often as possible, where he can move you as he pleases as cover you in kisses as he holds you as close as possible.

He’s eager to get back to sex after he takes you, though he won’t push… too much. Leorio is just super clingy and you’re already sitting pretty on his lap, the only thing separating you from his is that pretty skirt you’re wearing!

It was a normal day, with you sitting in his lap after he tugged you his way. But this time, instead of the usual soft squish he’d give your thigh or kisses to your cheek or the top of your head, Leorio started moving you back and forth against the bulge firming in his pants.

You instantly froze, feeling his warm breath on your neck. When you began to panic and cry, Leorio paused for a moment. “Princess? Something wrong?”

When you started to struggle, he gently set you down. The air was thick and heavy with tension and awkward energy. He scratched the back of his neck, his boner gone. “You alright?”

You shook your head. “I… I don’t want to, Leorio… I’m scared…”

He felt his heart break a little, but he was quick to reach out and gently ruffle your hair. “Don’t be scared… I won’t… do anything to you that you don’t want…”

But it felt a bit hypocritical, considering he did steal you from your old life against your will. Leorio had standards though, and one of those was not assaulting people.

That night, he was way less clingy than usual, giving you some space and time to process things… but you joined him in bed for snuggles later.

Chrollo

He kept telling you he wanted to make your first time with him special, that he’d buy you flowers and pretty lingerie to wear. He even suggested getting a nicer hotel than usual, which was shocking because the hotels you usually stayed in with him were beyond luxurious.

So when the special night came, he took you out to a fancy dinner, letting you order whatever you wanted. You had become very complacent, accepting the fact you’d never be able to escape him… not even in death.

So you are your food, and you bathed before putting on the set of lingerie he surely paid a high price for, and sat on the bed, waiting for him to get back from a meeting with some phantom troupe members that were in town.

The wait already had you anxious, but the way he kept going on and on about how perfect he made everything and how much effort he put into this night put a lot of pressure on you to do well.

And that was on purpose. He wanted you to know just how much he had done for you… how much he craved and adored you. With him, you would be endlessly pampered and loved… all you had to do was be a good girl and do as he said.

So by the time he got back, you were already anxiously fidgeting with your lacy black lingerie, biting your lip.

Now… he didn’t want to make you anxious, just a little nervous. He thought it would be cute to see you squeak like a timid little mouse as he took you… he didn’t want you to stiffly lie down and tear up when he unbuttoned his shirt.

And he hadn’t expected you to throw up from the stress of it all.

He felt a bit guilty, you were crying and muttering apologies as he called for room service, trying to clean it up yourself. Had he instilled that much fear in you that you shook in terror at the thought of upsetting you? That’s not what Chrollo wanted… despite his sly and manipulative nature, he wanted you to genuinely love him and see him as someone that protected and took care of you.

So once you calmed down a little, he pulled you in and snuggled you, kissing the top of your head. “I..: apologize. We’ll do this at your pace.”

You couldn’t really break away from his grip… and you didn’t want to anger him, so you let him hold you close and gently rock you.

Feitan

Feitan already is absolute garbage with intimacy, so it’s rare he’ll initiate anything. He’s both insecure and emotionally distant, but also longs for your affection and physical touch.

But he also HATES physical touch… so being his darling is a confusing experience where you’re constantly walking on eggshells.

The rare instances when he tries to be intimate with you, you almost leap with joy. He’s the only other human you have physical contact with, and you’ve almost gone crazy without touch and affection.

He’s very insecure and sensitive to rejection, so when he touches you, even if it’s just subpar, you praise him endlessly with soft whimpers and moans. He’s pretty skilled with his fingers considering he was a virgin before he met you.

So when he’s got his hands on your hips and ready to push his cock into your pretty pussy, instead of the usual happy whines you make… you instead whimper and shy away from him.

He’s tortured many people, so he can recognize the signs of a panic attack easily. You don’t know what came over you, but you just started to break down, crying and rocking yourself.

Feitan froze up, not knowing what to do. He’s not used to comforting others, and he already feels the harsh sting of rejection from your reaction. Was he that bad?

But… he’s able to push that away. He puts a blanket over your naked form and gently rubs your back while looking the other way.

“… don’t have to. Just say when don’t want it.”

And that’s all you get. He doesn’t kiss away your tears or clean you up… but it’s a big step forward. For Feitan, comforting another human being is hard, so the fact he’s trying for you proves that you mean something to him.

[wethotcrazy]

THE GOLDEN LOTUS

pairing: Ollie Bearman x Reader

word count: 864

university au!! i just wanted something cute and sweet and i think i really cooked with this one. also thinking of maybe making this into a series or having other uni au's for other drivers, what do you guys think???

Ollie Bearman wasn’t one for change. Predictability was his sanctuary, a warm cocoon that he didn’t much like leaving. His life ran on routine: lectures, workouts, and pasta dinners in his dorm room. But predictability took a nosedive the day he stumbled into the Golden Lotus.

It was a small Chinese restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a charity shop, a little worn but radiating charm. Ollie’s first visit was born of desperation—he’d forgotten to do a food shop, and the Golden Lotus was cheap, convenient, and smelled amazing. He didn’t even like Chinese food that much, but the portion sizes? Enormous. Enough to feed a starving uni student for two days, if he rationed it right.

The food, however, quickly became secondary.

The real reason Ollie found himself at the Golden Lotus every Tuesday and Thursday night was the girl behind the counter. YN.

She was a computer science major with a sharp wit and a smile that felt like a reward when Ollie managed to coax it out of her. YN worked the evening shift, her laptop often open beside the register as she chipped away at coursework between filling takeout orders. She lived in the apartment above the restaurant, earning a rent discount by working their… or so he overheard.

At first, Ollie had been too shy to do much more than order his food, offer a polite smile, and retreat to his usual table. But YN had noticed him—how could she not? He was the only customer who regularly dined in. That was rare enough, but when someone started showing up twice a week like clockwork, well… she couldn’t help but be a little curious.

It had started innocently.

“You’re becoming a regular,” she’d said one night, sliding his order across the counter. Her tone was teasing but kind, and Ollie had stammered some excuse about the convenience. She’d laughed softly, and the sound stuck with him longer than it should have.

From that moment, their interactions had begun to stretch beyond the standard “Cash or card?” conversations. On slow nights, Ollie would linger, striking up tentative chats about coursework or whatever music was playing on the overhead speakers. He learned that YN hated group projects but loved building things—apps, websites, anything she could tinker with. She learned that Ollie was studying business but had a secret dream of running his own karting center someday, a nod to his childhood passion for motorsports.

It wasn’t long before they’d fallen into a quiet rhythm.

When YN wasn’t busy, she’d sit at a table with her laptop open, her brow furrowed as she debugged code or prepared for lectures. One evening, Ollie surprised her by setting his business textbook across from her.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

She blinked at him, caught off guard, then shrugged. “Sure, but I’m not sharing my Wi-Fi password.”

He grinned, and just like that, Ollie became a fixture of her workspace.

Mr. Zhou, however, was less enthused at first.

“That boy again?” he’d muttered one evening, poking his head out of the kitchen to see Ollie hunched over his notes. “Does he not have a home?”

“He’s harmless,” YN had assured him.

“Harmless or homeless?”

But Ollie grew on Mr. Zhou over time. The older man had caught him fixing a wobbly table one night, unprompted, and begrudgingly admitted the “straggler” wasn’t so bad.

By November, Ollie had started hanging around until closing. Not to pester YN—though he did enjoy the extra time with her—but because the restaurant had become a comfort to him, a little pocket of warmth in his otherwise hectic uni life. Sometimes, after locking up, YN would invite him upstairs to her flat. It was tiny, crammed with textbooks and a perpetually half-finished Lego sets, but Ollie loved it.

Their hangouts weren’t dates. Not officially, anyway. But Ollie couldn’t deny how much he looked forward to them. Whether they were watching a movie or playing video games, he felt at ease in her company.

The turning point came in mid-December, on a freezing morning when Ollie was walking to class with his flatmate, Kimi.

“So,” Kimi began, glancing at him with a sly smile, “how’s your girlfriend?”

“What?” Ollie nearly tripped over his own feet.

“You know, YN,” Kimi said, casually sipping his coffee. “You’re at that restaurant all the time. I just thought… you know?”

“She’s not my—” Ollie started, but the words died in his throat.

Because, truthfully, he didn’t hate the idea. In fact, the thought of YN as his girlfriend made his stomach flip in a way he hadn’t felt before.

That evening, as he sat at his usual table in the Golden Lotus, Ollie caught himself staring at YN while she worked. She was wiping down the counter, humming softly to herself, her hair falling loose from its tie. She glanced up and caught him looking.

“What?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“Nothing,” Ollie said quickly, feeling his cheeks heat.

But in that moment, he realized he didn’t want to keep playing it safe. Maybe it was time to take a chance.

Just as soon as he worked up the courage.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Lucky Rabbit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: Noooo… no haha I didn’t just finish this right now and am posting it only right now haha whatevs

Day: 7: Breeding Kink

Steve wasn’t sure what it was about you. Whether it was how you blushed up at him as he carried your bags to your room or how you placed your hand on his arm, thanking him sweetly before he left either way, he’d had his first crush since 19 something and he didn’t know what to freaking do about it. 

So he went to Bucky, because who else would know how to put the moves on someone as good as he did? And in true Steven Grant Rogers fashion… It went terribly. Bucky had a good laugh when Steve came to him with his tail between his legs after he’d given him the advice.

“I told you to just be your fuckin self man” He laughed, barely able to get the sentence out. 

So that night Steve hesitantly knocked on your door, and he did what little Steve would have wanted him to do. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you. He took a leap of faith, hoping you wouldn’t slap him across the face and this embarrassment of a date didn’t change your mind about him completely.

You walk backward, pulling him into your room. He kicks the door shut and his t-shirt is off with it, your hands travel over hard arms, feeling his muscles ripple underneath with every movement and you groan softly. He picks you up, takes you back to the bed, and tosses you down. You squeal and he growls, crawling up the bed and pinning you down, you giggle and tug at his short hair, bringing his lips to yours.

“You sure you can handle all of this?” You pant in between kisses and he pulls away, hovering over you 

“I guess we’re about to find out” 

You watch as he pulls his tank top over his head, tossing it to the side. Your jaw drops slightly as you stare at the man in front of you, your hands come up and you gingerly pat his pecs.

“You- uh- you’re-“

He chuckles and takes your hands, pressing them to his chest and holding them. He’s gotten a bit smoother, as time has gone on, but he can’t help the intense blush on his cheeks as he leans forward and kisses you softly, slowing down for a second 

“You like what you see?” He asks you and you can hear it in his voice and see it in that boyish smile that he’s trying to seem completely confident but he’s not 

He’s worried that you don’t. 

You sit up a little and reach out for him, pulling him close to you and letting him settle against you as you both fall into the pillows.

“I really like what I see,” You say softly, running your fingers through his hair and tugging softly at the nape of his neck, he seems to relax a little in your arms as you massage his scalp. 

“Just one question” You boop his nose and he shakes his head

“Anything” 

“Did the super serum work everywhere?” 

He groans loudly, letting his head fall against your shoulder and you cackle, choking on air as he props himself back up. 

“I’m making a mistake aren’t I?” 

“Oh absolutely” You smile up at him playfully and he rolls his eyes before shifting between your legs and that’s when you feel it. Your eyes widen and you blink rapidly at that stupid little smug smile on his lips. 

“That answer your question?” 

You nod dumbly and he nods with you, sliding his hand down your side and over your curves. 

“You sure you can handle all of this?” he teases and you swat at his chest as he pulls his pants down, his boxers coming with them. You gulp as you look down at him, his cock isn’t even fully hard as you reach down, giving it a tentative stroke and he moans, his head falling forward.

If you’d thought he was gorgeous with clothes on, without clothes is an entirely different story. He pumps his hips into your hand, hardening with each stroke. You reach out, wrapping your other hand around him too, and squeeze lightly, jerking him off slowly.

“This okay?” You ask quietly and he scoffs, panting 

“I think I might cum just from this” 

You giggle and stroke him faster, your hands moving more confidently now up and down his shaft. You let go, crawling forward and pushing him down onto his back.

“What are yo-“

He doesn’t even finish the sentence before you spit on his cock, and your hands wrap back around it, stroking him faster this time. 

He gulps and his jaw falls open slightly, watching your hands work him over. 

“Oh you dirty girl” He mutters breathily, as his hips thrust into your hands in time with your strokes. 

“Wanna do this to you” He moans, his head tilting back “Wanna fuck my cum into you” 

Your cheeks flush and your hands stutter a little, his head snaps back up as he looks into your eyes.

“Oh… you liked that, didn’t you? You like the thought of me filling you with my seed huh? The idea of your pussy being so stuffed full you can’t even get out of bed…” 

He stops thrusting, enjoying the hungry look in your eyes. 

“Is that what you want?” Now it’s his turn to get up, he easily pushes you down and opens your legs for him, he licks his lips as pulls your panties to the side and stares at your dripping cunt in front of him. 

“Look at how easy you are for me…” He drags a finger through your messy folds, earning a little squeak out of you when he sucks his finger clean 

“Taste as good as you look” He winks, before lifting your hips and pulling your panties off. He throws them somewhere to the side and sets you back down, fisting his cock and stroking it a couple of times. 

He doesn’t waste any more time and positions himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your slick folds. 

"You're so wet for me already, Y/N”

He thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one swift motion. A groan escapes his lips as your tight walls envelope him, your heat surrounding his throbbing length.

"Fuck, that's it, baby" he growls, starting to move his hips in a steady rhythm. You struggle to adjust for a moment, he’s so big and he’s definitely enjoying the way you’re trying so hard to take him all. 

"Take my cock pretty girl, let it fill you up. I'm gonna pump you so full of my seed… you like that? You like the idea of being full of my cum?” 

Your jaw drops as he growls in your ear, his cock plunging in and out of you. Your eyes roll back, as he whispers dirty things, you’re not even sure where he learned that shit but you’ve never been happier he did. 

He reaches down, grabbing your thighs and pushing them up towards your chest, so he can sink in deeper. You both groan out as he pushes deeper inside you, his cock stretching you even more than it already was. 

He pounds into you harder, his balls slapping against your ass with each powerful thrust. He makes you wrap your arms around your legs, holding them in place as he slams into you, you can hear the bed beneath you squeaking in protest at his enhanced strength. 

“Tell me how much you want it” He pants, moaning as he leans into you more “Tell me how much you want me to breed your little cunt” 

He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, driving his cock deeper into your wet heat. He could feel your pussy clenching around him tighter, milking his shaft, begging for his seed.

“I need your cum” You gasp, hugging your knees tighter, a high-pitched whine coming from you “Please I can’t live without it I need to be full of your cum, I wanna be your cum slut” 

“Dear god..” His moans are breathy and needy as he thrusts into you harder, and faster, his hips slamming against yours, the sound of skin-on-skin echoing through the room.

“I-I’m so s-so close” You whimper and he opens your legs, putting your ankles on his shoulders, and reaches down, rubbing his thumb against your clit again in fast circles. 

You grip the bed sheets as your orgasm rips through you, your back arches off the bed as you practically scream Steve’s name. 

He groans as he feels your pussy clench around his cock, your body trembling as you come undone beneath him. He loved the way you opened your legs wider, inviting him in, begging him to fill you up. He can feel your tight cunt fluttering around his shaft, the wetness gushing out as you squirt, screaming his name.

"That's it, baby. Cum for me. Cum on my cock," he growls as your body writhes beneath him.

He leans down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. With a guttural moan, he cums, his cock pulsing as he pumps his seed deep into your soaked pussy. 

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he continues to grind his hips, making sure every last bit of his seed is inside you. You shift a little, accommodating his size and letting out a little whining noise as he finally rolls off of you, his chest heaving in time with yours. 

“Holy shit” You pant as he turns over gingerly on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“You okay?” He trails his fingers over your curves and you nod fast, your cheeks a light pink 

“Uh huh…” 

He cups your face, pulling you closer and kissing your forehead 

“I’m sorry if uh… if I was a bit rough” 

“A bit?” You giggle as you turn toward him now, he puts his hand over your hip, rubbing soft circles with his thumb 

“So uh- breeding kink huh?” You wriggle your eyebrows and he groans, falling back on his back again and you take that opportunity to snuggle into his side, putting your leg over his bare torso while he puts his arm over you 

“Only when it comes to you” He admits as he strokes your hair, toying with the ends and you smile. 

“Soooo does that mean we’re exclusive?” You look up at him and he smiles, adoring the way your cheek is smushed into his chest 

“If you want to be… I’d really like that. I was kind of hoping things would end like this…” 

“Well, aren’t you just so romantic?” You tease, maneuvering yourself to lay on top of him. His breath hitches as he feels the tip of his cock poking at your entrance. 

“Can I ask something?” 

“Anything”

“Did the serum help with rebound time?” 

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gale and Astarion with a reader who loves making stuffed animals?

Astarion

“What’s all this?” Astarion asked as he came to [Y/N]’s tent. Looking for a cuddle, or at least to get in their space as to not be ignored, but found the space cluttered with shirts, old cotton, and…bears?

“Oh, hey Astarion! I was just doing a little sewing.”

“A ‘little’ sewing.” He commented. Looking at the dozen bears just sitting across the bed like a little army. “This is more than a little. And they’re bears. What on earth is going on?”

“Well…I felt bad that the toys for the refugees had to get destroyed.”

Ah. Of course. He should have guessed. Astarion had to agree, it was pretty cruel to booby trap children’s toys. He’d done some pretty messed up things in his life, but nothing that disgusting. Of course [Y/N] would feel bad and try to fix it. Like they tried to fix everything.

“Surely you’re not going to replace all of them yourself. And none of this better be my shirts.”

[Y/N] chuckled. “No. It’s just some of the rags and clothes we’ve found around that have been cluttering the packs. I wouldn’t take your lovely shirts.”

“Well, you can take them, darling.” He cooed. “Just not to make toys.”

He tried to lay on the charm a bit more, but their focus seemed transfixed on their work. He wasn’t going to win. “Well, come find me when you’re done with this chore. I don’t want to help, but I’m more than happy to help deliver them for you and get all the praise.” He said as he left the tent without another word.

One bear suspiciously missing from the pack.

Gale

“I didn’t know you were so adept at a kitting needle. You might have mentioned that when I asked before.” [Y/N] giggled at Gale’s teasing but continued to focus on their work.

Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised. In Gale’s eyes they were good at everything. And just a good person.

When they found out about the rigged toys, they had all been shocked and upset. Gale felt sick to his stomach. He knew the followers of Bane were cruel, but to target children? No one more innocent. To trick their innocence with something that should be for fun & play to foster it, not destroy it, was something that Gale could not abide. He was glad they were able to stop them, but the children were still without toys, in the end.

“I just hope these will be alright. They aren’t exactly ‘professional’.”

“A gift made with love holds more value than one made of rubies.” Plus, these children had nothing, which made it all the more upsetting to think what was taken away. “I’m sure they will love them.”

“I don’t know….”

Gale smiled and sat beside them. “Well, let’s give them something a little more magical then, eh?” He waved his hand, enveloping the dolls & bears in purple, and they stood up.

The plush creatures began to dance and move all on their own. “Wow! That’s amazing Gale!”

“It’s nothing really.” A simple spell. But the look on their face when they saw it made his heart swell with pride like he had conquered the Netherese cantor all on his own. “They’ll do that for the foreseeable future. You can add a lock word to shut them off, or, conversely, turn them back on. That part if rather critical in a spell like this.”

“You seem to be speaking from experience.”

“Well…I may have enchanted my own toys as a child to play back with me. Being an only child, and one of considerably brilliance, can be quite lonely. The problem was they’d never let you get a full night’s sleep after that. Eventually it got so bad my parents had use their own counter-spells to turn them back to normal. I never liked my toys as much after that.”

[Y/N] laughed at his story, but then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure the kids will love them. And their parents will appreciate the ‘off switch’.”

Gale smiled. Then sat back with them as he watched them finish making the toys. Gald he could help in what little way he could.

[hellishjoel]

flora and fauna

1.4k / pairing: javier peña x f!reader

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summary: "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." – William Wordsworth warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), smut, oral (f!receiving), nature exhibitionism??? use of petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart, etc.), swearing, reader is able-bodied and wears athletic clothing A/N: this if for the summer lovin' 2024 writing challenge hosted by @pedgito @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy! thank you for having such a fun challenge to start off the summer right! and thank you for letting me join and post a lil late <3 banners made by @saradika-graphics!

It’s Javi’s fault, really. He was the one who decided to disregard the hiking trails and reroute your course. 

He’d never admit that he was wandering.

“You’re lost, aren’t you?” 

He huffs loudly and plants his hands on his hips, brand new hiking boots coming to a halt on the desire path he was determined to follow. 

“Lost is a bit of an exaggeration. We’re exploring.” 

“We’re lost.” 

You yank the folded-up map of the state park out of his hands. The sight of random splatters of green and blue alone is enough to make Javier groan. 

“Point to where we are. Please. Just for my sanity.” 

Javier slowly pushes the aviators he’s wearing to the tip of his nose, looking between you and the map. Both sets of eyes scan across the map before Javi yanks it loose from your fingers. He does the worst thing imaginable and rotates the map a few times, not even sure which easy is up. 

“Come on, we’ll come across somethin’ we recognize.” He folds up the map and stuffs it in his pocket, taking your hand and exploring further through the landscape of trees. 

You follow the sounds of a beautiful stream, where the wildlife drink and the plants are vibrantly green. Javi kneels and splashes some water on his forehead and the back of his neck. Skimming your fingers along the top, you watch as the pretty ripples dance. 

Soon, getting lost was no longer frightening; it had become a blessing in disguise. Both you and Javi worked demanding careers, and stress relief for the two of you had become reduced to drinks at the local cantina or nights in watching the television. 

But this—a day out in nature, with the sun soaking into your skin and reviving something within both of you—was perhaps just what you needed.

By the late afternoon, Javi has you secluded in a wildflower field. You lay on your back, sat up on your elbows as you tip your head back and take in the sweet summer sun. Surrounded by butterfly weed and yellow coneflowers, it seems almost mystical as happy pollinators buzz around you and enjoy the sweet nectar the field offers. 

Javi’s lingering eyes have landed on his own source of nectar. 

“If we’re lost,” he starts, eyes lusting over as he takes in the sight of your skin below your hiking shorts and smirks, “then we can do whatever we want.” 

No- was he seriously suggesting this?

“Right now?” You whisper. 

You can’t deny the thought doesn’t make your stomach flutter with excitement. Doing it out here surrounded by the flora and fauna. 

Javi sits up beside you, his hand already skirting up the top of your warm thigh. Air is taken from your lungs, and you find yourself holding it, in awe of what he might do when no one is around. 

“This okay?” His gravely voice whispers. You purse your lips and look around, but there seems to be nothing more than literal birds and bees spying on you. 

With your shy nod of approval, Javi slowly peels down your brightly colored shorts and panties, allowing you to kick them off once around your ankles. 

Javi takes in your sweet skin and mutters something approvingly, your pretty pussy on display just for him - even out in the open like this. 

His fingers tentatively squish into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, pushing them apart wider to allow him more access. He sinks to lay on his stomach, fingers brushing along a path that trails with goosebumps.

A weak sigh leaves your parted lips as Javi spreads your folds with his index and middle finger, in awe of the arousal that’s already starting to flood your core. 

“I think you like doin’ it out in the open, princess,” his eyes meet your more desperate ones, teeth nibbling on your lower lip with anticipation. 

“What do good girls say?”

You extend your hand and run your fingers through his dark hair, allowing a shaky breath to leave you as sweat grows tacky on the back of your neck and the hinge of your legs. 

“Please, Javi, I want you.”

With a degrading smirk, he tuts almost disapprovingly. “So naughty. Want me anywhere I can have ya, huh?”

You nod feverishly, and that’s enough to get him to continue. 

He presses a pretty kiss against your pearl, feeling her twitch under even the lightest of his touches. Javi leans in once more and presses a longer, sloppier one on your pussy, sucking ever so lightly that has heat simmering across your skin. A long whine leaves the depth of your throat, your fingers weaving through Javi’s locks as you keep him close. 

He darkly chuckles and knows that your sense of patience is waning thin. 

“You want me to eat this pussy, angel?”

“Fuck,” you huff, “please, Javi, I’ve been good.” 

“You have, baby, you have.” He mutters and moves in closer. 

Javi doesn’t so much as eat you out as he does makeout with your cunt, holding your hand by his head and feeling the squeezes of what makes you feel good. 

He slowly lets go of your hand and nudges the tip of his finger against your entrance. You’re begging at this point for the heavenly stretch, nodding your head almost anxiously. 

He doesn’t start with just one; he knows you can take two. Your back arches with a gasp that enters the open field, and you instinctively put your hand over your mouth. 

“Come on, baby, I wanna hear you be loud for me. No one’s gonna hear you but me.”

It’s difficult to pull your hand away, but once you do, Javi continues to push two of his thick fingers inside your entrance.

The burn is insatiable, causing your stomach to clench with excitement. 

“Please,” you moan out into the grass, clutching the soil and flowers between your fist with need. 

He starts a steady pace, but soon, it’s picking up enough to make you moan his name repeatedly. 

You were free out here, with every other creature that was free and happily existing. This feels like a dream, one where your lover would take you in such a beautiful place. 

Javi is quick to bring you down to Earth, his fingers curling inside you and leaving you breathless as heat spills down your spine. He suckles your clit before returning to fluid circles that massage your throbbing clit, losing your breath with how good he’s eating you out. 

“M’close,” you whisper, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple. When your open your eyes, you see the most ravenous thing you’ve ever seen; Javi’s pink tongue extended and flicking against your clit, his dark eyes lusted over, and his fingers making your pussy squirt amongst the wildflowers. 

“Fuck!” You whine, your legs shaking as your orgasm crashes against you, the knots in your stomach finally plucking loose. Your lungs fill with air as you cry out his name, Javi not stopping as he eagerly laps up your release. 

He grunts against your core, moaning lowly and watching in awe as his eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Your bleary eyes see Javi rut his hips against the ground, his fist at your hip clutching nothing but the roots of grass that he had ripped from the ground. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling off your core and seeing his face smothered in your arousal, “Taste so fucking sweet on my tongue, baby.” 

The world soon begins to form around you, but not until Javi puts your panties and athletic shorts back into place, a shy grin on your face as you glance around out of habit, seeing only nature watching. 

Javi licks his lips and uses his forearm to wipe away any other lacquer, smirking as his eyes roam over your body. 

“We should really start finding our way back.” You trail off, attempting to find your balance as you wipe away the dirt on the back of your legs and hands. 

Javi playfully laughs and shakes his head, following you to stand. “We’re not lost. We’re like a mile from the car. I’ve been wantin’ to take you here for a while.”

You stop in your tracks, dumbfounded, glancing around a bit confused. 

“We’re not lost?” You try not to be shrill, but you’re quick to smack his pec with the back of your hand. 

“You think I would get us lost? Please.” He says jokingly, taking your hand and escorting you out of your perfect fantasy. 

Through the trail of trees and following the stream upwards as the sun melts against the horizon, it’s enough to make you wish you sort of did grow lost. Because maybe you both could stay like that forever. 

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[nhlclover]

LAST CHRISTMAS QUINN HUGHES

pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes

summary: you are forced to confront lingering emotions and the complexities of a past romance when you and quinn cross paths at a holiday party.

warnings: no unfaithfulness but pretty damn close, quinn not being the greatest person/boyfriend, reader isn't that good either

wc: 2.82k

notes: based on 'last christmas' by wham!. i am fully aware that this is an extremely gay song, but i love the plot so i altered the interpretation a bit. hope you enjoy :)

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart But the very next day, you gave it away

The house hummed lowly, holiday conversations bouncing off the walls. You navigated the crowded living room, clutching a cocktail glass that held the homemade mixture that Colleen was calling ‘Mistletoe Kiss’. It was tart and slightly bitter — much like the season itself. Colleen was hosting a last-minute bash before everyone scattered for the holidays, a final get-together before the new year. The rush of the holiday season was clearly getting to everyone, seasonal jet lag laced in all your friends' eyes.

You were doing your best to keep your head down, getting yourself stuck in conversations to keep yourself occupied, and never exposing yourself to a potential interaction with Quinn. 

The knowledge of his presence had landed like a gut punch earlier when Colleen’s boyfriend, Kyle, casually mentioned he’d arrived. “Yeah, Hughesy just got here. Grabbed a beer in the kitchen,” he’d said, completely oblivious to the ripple it sent through you.

Your history with Quinn was beyond complicated. For years you liked him — really liked him. When Colleen introduced you to one of her boyfriend's friends, you weren’t expecting to fall as hard as you did. 

Quinn had this way of making everything feel lighter just by walking into the room. His smile, easy and genuine, had a magnetic pull, and his laugh — deep and sincere — could dissolve any tension in an instant. It wasn’t just his looks, though they were undeniable. It was how he made you feel like you were the only person in the room, even when the place was filled with people.

But back then, Quinn was in a relationship, and you were the friend. The one who listened when he vented about the highs and lows of his relationship, the one who offered advice when things felt rough. You never let your feelings show — kept them buried deep, a secret you couldn't share without risking the delicate balance of friendship you’d worked so hard to maintain.

Then, the inevitable happened. Quinn and his girlfriend broke up. The breakup was messy, full of unanswered questions, lingering emotions, and unspoken regret. But through it all, you were there for him. The late-night phone calls, the long walks that turned into marathon chats about life and love. You were there as he processed his feelings, as he tried to make sense of everything that had unraveled. You listened, you comforted, and you kept your distance — telling yourself that you were just being a good friend.

But when he kissed you that night, everything shifted. It was a quiet evening, after a few too many drinks, the weight of the conversation having settled into something more comfortable between you two. You were sitting on the couch, the hum of the party muffled in the background, and Quinn, in that way of his, leaned in close. His eyes searched yours for something, as if asking for permission, and then his lips brushed against yours in a slow, tentative kiss.

For a moment, you thought you might wake up from some kind of dream. You never expected it to happen. The line between friendship and something else had been so carefully drawn, and yet here you were, tangled in the blur of it all. But you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed him back, your heart racing as the world around you disappeared.

That kiss changed everything. It was the moment you realized that maybe you had been falling for Quinn all along, not just in the way of a casual crush, but in a deeper, more consuming way. It was never just about being his friend. Somewhere along the way, you had become someone who wanted more than just to comfort him through the pain of his past relationship. You wanted to be a part of his future.

The shift in your relationship was seamless, like turning a page to the next chapter. Quinn wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, but in his quiet, steady way, he made you feel like you were the only person in the room. He showed up with coffee when he knew you’d had a rough day and pulled you into late-night drives just because he wanted your company. For a few fleeting weeks, everything felt like it was falling into place.

But there was always a part of you waiting for the other shoe to drop. Quinn was kind and thoughtful, but he was also guarded — his walls didn’t come down easily, even for you. You sensed that he was still carrying the weight of his past relationship, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

Just a few days after you’d rung in the New Year with a sweet connection of your lips, Quinn was sat on your couch with his hands clenched in his lap, telling you he wasn’t ready for anything. The sting of his previous relationship still lingered despite reassurances that you’d helped him get through it. 

The winter months after that conversation were some of the hardest you’d ever endured. It wasn’t just the biting chill in the Vancouver air or the relentless gray skies; it was the hollow ache in your chest that followed you everywhere. The city itself felt like a constant reminder of Quinn. His face was plastered on billboards, buses, and newsstands, the unmistakable symbol of the Canucks’ future. You couldn’t even grab a coffee without overhearing someone discussing his latest performance on the ice.

You buried yourself in work, determined to fill your days with enough activity to keep your thoughts at bay. But no matter how much you distracted yourself, memories of him crept in like the cold drafts under your door. The moments you’d shared replayed in your mind on an endless loop, leaving you wondering if he regretted kissing you or if it had meant as much to him as it had to you.

By the time spring arrived, you were ready for a change. The first thing was your hair. You traded your usual style for a rich, darker color and committed to letting it grow long for the first time in years. There was something cathartic about watching the stylist cover up the light color that felt too tied to your old self. Next, you tackled your wardrobe. Out went the comfortable but somewhat juvenile staples, and in their place came sleek blazers, tailored pants, and minimalist jewelry. You wanted to project confidence and maturity, even if you were still trying to find your footing internally.

Spring turned into summer, and with it came an unexpected lightness. You threw yourself into hobbies you’d neglected — morning yoga classes, weekend hikes, evenings spent sketching at the beach. It was during one of those hikes that you met Caleb. He was warm, easygoing, and funny in a way that caught you off guard. He didn’t play hockey — thank God — but he shared your love of the outdoors and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you.

Dating Caleb was simple in a way that being with Quinn never had been. He made you laugh and let you take the lead when you needed space. Over time, you convinced yourself that you were moving on, that you were happy. And you were — mostly. But there was always a part of you that felt like you were lying to yourself like you’d left a piece of your heart behind with someone who didn’t know what to do with it.

By the time fall rolled around, you had settled into a comfortable rhythm with Caleb. But Vancouver’s hockey season was back in full swing, and with it came the constant reminders of Quinn. You saw him in advertisements along the streets, in post-game interviews on TV, and in casual mentions from friends. He was everywhere, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape the shadow he cast over your life.

Now, standing in Colleen’s crowded living room, the knowledge that Quinn was here felt like a cruel twist of fate. You avoided the kitchen like the plague, keeping a safe distance while you plastered on polite smiles and engaged in surface-level conversations. Every nerve in your body was on edge, hyperaware of the possibility that at any moment, you might turn a corner and see him.

It wasn’t fair. You’d done everything you could to move forward, yet here he was, pulling you back into the orbit of what could have been. You couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way. Did he think of you when he passed your street? Did he ever regret telling you he wasn’t ready, or had he moved on completely?

You moved through the space, finding a new conversation to occupy yourself in every time the old one faltered, doing your best to avoid Quinn. You stopped at the entry of the living room, spotting Kyle holding court near the fireplace, his animated storytelling drawing bursts of laughter from the small crowd around him. 

Caleb stood nearby, his grin soft and familiar as he leaned against the wall, his broad shoulders relaxed in the easy way that had initially drawn you to him. Watching him, a small smile tugged at your lips. Caleb didn’t demand space in your life — he simply filled it, effortlessly complementing your days. Being with Caleb was uncomplicated. He didn’t carry the weight of unspoken feelings or unresolved emotions. It was light, refreshing.

But light wasn’t the same as fulfilling.

A pang of guilt gnawed at you as you realized your thoughts had wandered from Caleb to the person you’d spent all evening avoiding. Despite your best efforts, Quinn remained an unfading part of your narrative. No amount of moving on seemed to erase him completely.

As you lingered in the corner of the living room, trying to fade into the background, a voice pulled you from your thoughts.

“Wow, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Your heart jolted. You turned, your eyes landing on Quinn. He stood just inches away, his presence as commanding as ever. He had one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his dark jeans, the other holding a bottle of beer. His hair was slightly longer, curling at the ends, and the familiar cut of his jawline sent an unwelcome pang through your chest. His eyes raked over you, lingering just long enough to make you self-conscious of the changes he was referencing — the darker hair, the clothes.

You find the strength inside you to muscle out some words. “Yeah well… it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me.”

Quinn lets out a soft laugh, nodding slightly. “The hair suits you,” he added, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” you managed, your voice steady despite the storm brewing in your chest. You felt the heat of his gaze, his attention unnervingly focused. “You look good too,” you added, gesturing vaguely toward him. It was true — he always did, but now there was something different. An ease, maybe, or a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” Quinn said, his tone light but his eyes searching.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you lied, taking a sip of your drink to buy yourself a moment. “Just…busy, you know? Catching up with people.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you crackled with unspoken words, the kind that lingers in the space between two people with too much history and not enough closure. You glanced over to Caleb, hoping he saw you talking to your ex, hoping he’d come over and rescue you from the situation you couldn’t seem to tear yourself away from. However, the stayed intensely focused on the story Kyle was telling, leaving you to your own defenses. 

Quinn followed your gaze across the room, landing on the guy he’d seen you arrive with earlier in the night. “Who’s he?”

Your eyes snapped back to Quinn as he tipped his beer bottle to his lips. You felt your cheeks warm, though whether from the cocktail or the sudden shift in conversation, you weren’t sure. “Caleb,” you said, his name firm and steady in your mouth, a reminder to yourself as much as to Quinn. “He’s…he’s great.”

Quinn nodded, his eyes locking on yours with that steady, unreadable gaze he always seemed to have. “That’s good. I’m glad for you.”

You hesitated, unsure why you felt the need to elaborate but knowing you couldn’t leave it at that. “He’s been really good to me, actually. Supportive, kind… everything you’d hope for.” The words came out earnest, almost defensive, like you were trying to prove something — to him, to yourself.

Quinn’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “That’s…that’s what you deserve,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice cutting through you like a knife. The words were kind, but the way he said them made your chest ache. You opened your mouth to respond, but Quinn stepped closer, the subtle movement making your breath hitch. He studied you intently, his eyes tracing your face like he was committing it to memory.

“Are you happy?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stumbled, the question catching you off guard. “Quinn…”

“Are you?” he pressed, his tone gentle but insistent. His gaze dipped briefly to your lips, and the air between you crackled with tension. “Because I’ve been trying to convince myself I’m okay with this — with seeing you with someone else — but I’m not. I miss you.”

The world seemed to narrow in that moment, the low hum of Colleen's holiday party fading into a distant echo. Quinn's words lingered in the air between you, heavy with longing and regret, and you felt your pulse quicken as he stepped closer. His familiar scent—a mix of fresh pine and something distinctly his—wrapped around you like a memory you couldn’t shake. The ache in your chest deepened as his gaze flicked to your lips again, and your breath caught.

You were terrified. Not of him, but of yourself. Of how easily you could lean into him, let him kiss you, and lose yourself in the familiarity of his touch. And the scariest part? You wanted to. Despite Caleb, despite everything, there was a part of you that ached to feel Quinn’s lips on yours again. To know, even for a fleeting moment, that he still cared.

But you couldn’t. Could you?

The sound of Caleb’s laughter cut through the moment like a lifeline. You turned your head toward the fireplace, where Caleb stood, his grin wide and carefree as he laughed at something Kyle had said. His warmth, his steadiness, and the way he had so effortlessly become a part of your life came rushing back to you. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be a footnote in a story still haunted by Quinn Hughes.

Stepping back, you forced yourself to put space between you and Quinn, the cocktail glass trembling slightly in your grip. “Happy Christmas, Quinn,” you said softly, the words catching in your throat but firm enough to leave no room for ambiguity.

Quinn blinked, caught off guard by your sudden retreat. His brow furrowed slightly, as though he wanted to say more, to stop you, but he didn’t. He simply nodded, his jaw tightening as he stepped aside to let you pass.

You moved through the room on autopilot, weaving through clusters of partygoers until you reached Caleb’s side. He looked up as you approached, his easy smile breaking into something warmer when he saw you.

“Hey, you okay?” Caleb asked, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. The gesture was small but grounding, anchoring you in the moment.

You nodded, forcing a smile as you slipped your hand into his. “Yeah, I am now.”

He smiled back, leaning in to press a light kiss to your temple. The simple gesture was everything you needed in that moment—a reminder of what you had, of the life you were trying to build, even if it wasn’t perfect.

But as Caleb’s attention shifted back to Kyle’s story, you couldn’t stop the fleeting glance over your shoulder. Quinn was still standing where you’d left him, his expression unreadable as he watched you. For a moment, your eyes met, and the weight of everything unsaid settled heavily between you.

You looked away first, turning back to Caleb and focusing on the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his hand in yours. You had made your choice—at least for now. But deep down, you knew this wasn’t over. Quinn had a way of lingering, of leaving his mark on your life even when he wasn’t trying.

And no matter how much you wanted to believe otherwise, part of you still wasn’t sure if letting him go was the right thing to do.

[illusivelle]

shake the frost / 2

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 3,044 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, cursing, bruises/cuts, tending to wounds (my jam) summary: you don't expect to find will waiting for you so late at night, and especially not for these reasons. a/n: just a sucker for one person taking care of another while they're hurt. really just feeding into my own agenda here. and also a sucker for some idiots who think their pining is unrequited. read part one link to ao3 here!

Next time.

Two words that had been ringing in Will’s ears, bouncing around his head. Words he’d been repeating to himself because he wasn’t sure you meant it, wasn’t sure what spurred it. Wasn’t sure why it awakened something in him that had been dormant for so long. Two words that felt like a promise of more – more time, more you.

It wasn’t as if it was something novel considering the way he’d looked at you, and caught you looking at him, too. All those fleeting glances you’d both share when he thought the other guys weren’t looking, tiny smiles and faint touches in passing. But this was something different, wasn’t it? A step in a direction he wasn’t certain either of you would make a move toward, or maybe he’d been overthinking the entire thing and it was just something polite you’d offered.

Either way, Will Miller couldn’t seem to get his mind off – nor wrap it around – the idea of ‘next time.’

If only said next time wasn’t under these circumstances, knocking on your front door in the state he was in, hoping that you were actually home. 

You’d just pulled into your parking spot, locking your car door three times as you walked up to your apartment. The silhouette that’s slumped over your door is enough to have all the hairs rising at the back of your neck, one hand digging into your purse to clutch for something you could potentially use as a weapon. Shit, if only you’d listened to Frankie all those years ago, you might’ve been better prepared for moments like this. The only thing you could feel as you rummage in your bag is the dull handle of a switchblade, the one thing you did accept from Frankie if only to appease him and make him feel better about your safety.

And now you were kicking yourself in the fucking ass for not listening.

Tentative steps bring you closer to your door, your fingers grasping the knife tightly as wary eyes assess every inch you can see. In the darkness, you can only make out the fact that the person is a) much, much larger than you and b) hunched over like they might be sleeping. At your door, though? It doesn’t tell you much, save for the fact that you had to be very fucking careful about what might happen next. One more step brings you only a few feet away but the rustling of your clothes is enough to have the other’s head snapping up, and you whip out the knife from where it’d been hiding. “You should–”

“It’s me.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in your haziest dreams, you could pick out that deep timbre and husky rasp that belonged to the one man that had no business occupying so much of your thoughts, especially as of late. “Will?” His name is a hushed whisper as you toss the switchblade back into your bag and quickly close the distance between you two. You’re crouching down as he’s pushing himself up, clumsily meeting halfway, your hands rising to settle on his shoulders. Not that he needed you to steady him, but you needed something to steady yourself, the sight of Will Miller sitting at your door something you’d never in a million years think would happen. “What’re you– is everything okay?” Immediately, your thoughts fly to all sorts of scenarios, a wary and assessing gaze raking over him as your palms work in a similar fashion, running up and down his arms like you might find a broken bone or a gaping wound. 

It’s only when your eyes finally land on his face that you notice, in the small sliver of moonlight peeking through a break in the sky, how dark red has matted along his hairline and paired nicely with the cut slicing his brow. Icy blue eyes dance as they search yours and Will remains quiet while you continue your inspection, finding more surface wounds on his lip and jaw, one that clenches when you linger too long. “Come in,” are the only two words you can think to say, reaching past him to shove your key in and unlock your door.

Maybe it’s your imagination, or maybe there really is only just a few inches between you and Will, his heat seeping through your clothes and prickling your skin. You swear you can feel his ragged and warm breath fanning out across your nape, a subtle roll of your neck like that might alleviate some of the tension thickening in the air when you push open the door to let both of you in. “Thank you,” his hoarse voice cuts in before he immediately tacks on an apology, “I’m sorry. I can go if you–”

“No.” You interrupt him before he can spiral. “Stay.”

His reaction is physical. His shoulders sag like that one simple word washed away all of his worries, the divot between his brows smoothing as he takes one step further into your place and then another. You’ve already dropped your bags and shrugged off your sweater, shuffling to the bathroom to grab your first aid kit and wet a towel with warm water. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Calling out to him, half expecting Will to remain planted where he stood because if there’s one thing about the stoic blonde man standing in your home, he always knew boundaries.

But when you close the medicine cabinet and turn on a heel, you nearly smack into a solid wall of carved muscle, one palm flying up to meet his firm chest to keep yourself upright. “Oh– Will–” blurting out his name while colour steals across your cheeks, “um, you can just have a seat there, then.” He takes orders so well, almost as well as he gives them. The only reason you know what that might sound like is because you’ve heard him bark them out to his brother Benny, even to Frankie and Santi. There’s no way it was anywhere near how he sounded when he’s on the field and you’re not delusional enough to think so, but it’s always been enough to strike a match in your gut. To spark that flame that burned for William Miller.

That same fire is ignited the second you lock your gaze with his pool of blues, tipping your head to the side with a cocked brow. Imploring him with your expression alone, hoping that he’d take the bait or feel comfortable enough to say something – anything – as you slowly and gently bring the edge of the warm towel up to wipe away the dried blood on his temple. “Benny got into somethin’ stupid after his fight tonight,” Will grumbled, those bright arctic irides breaking away from yours for a beat, “they didn’t like how he mouthed off too much in the ring. I told him one day it’d come to bite him in the ass, but you know Benny.” He huffs out a breath, one that tickles the sliver of skin peeking from your shirt, a lick of your lips to hide the way you noticed and zeroed in on the sensation so quickly. 

“Mmhm. In one ear–” “Out the other,” he finishes with a dry chuckle. 

Will barely flinches as you start to clean out his wounds, pressing damp alcohol-soaked pads to open cuts. It’s a testament to all that he’s endured out in the field, things far worse than you can ever imagine. Things far worse than what you’ve seen with your own two eyes at the hospital. You remember Frankie talking about a gunshot wound on their last ‘mission’ that Will simply patched up with a few pads of gauze, and even remembering the way Frankie told the story has your brows pinching together with distaste. “Is it bad?” Will murmurs, bringing your eyes down to his again.

“No, it’s not bad.” Were you really that easy to read, or maybe this close Will can just see right through you? “Are you feeling okay? Need a painkiller or something?”

“Probably just some water but I can wait.”

A hint of a smile teases the edges of your lips, wanting to lighten the sullen mood that’s fallen between you two. “I’ll make it quick, then.”

And you do, as much as you could. All of the open wounds were small enough that Will didn’t need any stitches; a few slips of the skin glue enough to close them, followed by pressing the thin adhesive strip bandages on top to make sure everything held. You lean in close when you get to the cut along his cheek, not wanting to mess up something that could’ve otherwise turned into a scar. Not that you thought Will would mind or didn’t have plenty of those, but you’d always been cautious about the face for any of your patients and he was no different. So focused on your work, steady fingers brushing back the small bandage, you don’t notice just how close your mouths are until you start to speak, the bristles of his beard tickling the edges of your pout. “Good as new,” you chime and without thinking, continue to say, “handsome as ever.”

If the ground could open you up and swallow you whole, you’d thank all your lucky stars and maybe even become religious. Had you really just said that? Heart hammering a bruise behind your ribs, you dare to steal a glance at Will’s face, hoping and praying and wishing you’d find something akin to indifference written over it. An indicator that he didn’t hear what you just said or maybe that he’d spare you and ignore it. Instead, you find a slick shine on his lower lip, a flirt of his tongue before he pulls it in while those thick, blonde lashes bat against his cheek. It’s silent for a few seconds, the weight of your words hanging over you like a blanket, and as soon as you open your mouth to say something, Will’s hand finds a home on your hip.

“It’s okay.” His tone stuns you, softer than you’ve ever heard it, swallowing thickly as you give him a shallow nod. “I didn’t mean to come here so late. Thank you for helping me. I was going to drive myself to the emergency, but Benny thought it’d be better to come see you directly. He all but followed me to make sure I actually didn’t go anywhere else.” All the while his thumb starts an absent sweeping motion, snagging on the hem of your shirt and sending goosebumps spreading fast on your skin.

“I’m glad you did, Will. You’d have been sitting in the waiting room for hours, you know.” Your fingers trail down until they brush over his knuckles, the same ones still holding you steady. “A heads up would’ve been nice, though, I guess.”

You’re not sure where this drop of courage is coming from. Maybe it’s the fact that Will took the lead here, the fact that his palm seems to press in more firmly where it lay. But as you search his eyes for a response, you can see the very second the moment splits into two. The moment where reality rears its ugly head and presents the staggering truth: too much. This is too much, too soon. There’s a faint quiver to Will’s lower lip, a muscle feathering in his jaw, and a few blinks is all it takes for those arctic blues to gloss over with something colder. Something you’ve seen in his eyes before, usually at the start of the night when he’s still had all his guards up and the others were around keeping a watchful and protective stance around you. Or when you’d overhear him and the guys talking about their pasts, especially their old friend. Or even the times you listened to Will’s speeches, recounting the eventful situation he found himself in at the grocery store when he all but lost his grip and sense.

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” His hands drop as low as his voice, the words leaking of shame.

You won’t pretend to ever know what happened between Will and his ex, or even Will on the last mission, but it doesn’t take a genius to recognize the wheels turning behind those wary eyes. His entire face twists like he’s trying to hide the visceral need to run, and the warning signs flood the forefront of your mind as Frankie’s booming voice echoes between your ears: it’s a bad idea, he’s not ready, he’ll hurt you, you’ll hurt each other.

“It’s okay, Will.” Barely above a whisper, you say the three words you hope will settle in his bones the same time you step back to put a small gap between your aching bodies. His aching undoubtedly from the fight he’d put up for Benny and yours for different reasons entirely, emphasized by the fact that every fibre of your being is reaching out to return to his orbit. 

His hands clasp together in front of him, another sharp breath slipping past those lips before he rises to his full height. It takes you too long to point out that his knuckles still have dried blood on them, but it’s clear he has no intent on staying any longer than necessary. Hiding the hurt from your face was easy enough but the way it stings the corner of your eyes is something that’s more challenging to tamp down. Twisting your body away from him and ducking your chin into your chest, you try to stride out of the bathroom, but his words have you faltering right at the threshold. “Do I owe you something for this?”

“What?” Brows bunching together into a frown, you peer at him over your shoulder. “No, Will. You don’t owe me anything.”

Is it relief you see as tension uncoils from his body? Like maybe the fact that he didn’t owe you anything meant he didn’t have to talk about this night, relive it, or see you again? Your mind is racing a mile a minute, your steps faster as you make it to your living room and leave him following behind. “Hey,” Will’s voice is strained and again, it has your resolve wavering, leaning against the back of the couch as you slowly turn to face him, “thank you. I’m not sure what else to say. I know seeing a man sitting at your door late at night probably wasn’t the most welcoming thing, and out of the blue, too. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You don’t mean to snap, the words falling out with a bite, but it’s too late to take them back. The only thing you can do is cast your eyes up at Will with a hint of regret flashing across your face. Because you did want him to stop saying sorry, to stop feeling bad for leaning on you when he needed help. Because you’re hit with the realization that refusing and turning him away at the door was never even an option. “It’s okay. Really, Will. I mean it. I’m happy to help you.” You admit softly, sucking in a breath to keep the momentum going, pivoting at the last second to turn the conversation into something less daunting as you murmur, “though I guess I thought the next time would’ve been under different circumstances.”

This seems to do the trick, lifting the veil of tension even for a brief moment, allowing you to catch a ghost of a smile when the lines on Will’s cheek deepen. “Mmhm, yeah. Would’ve been nicer if it were, I imagine.”

Fidgeting with your fingers yet unable to keep your attention away from him for too long, your eyes dance between your own hands and his. “Do you want me to take care of that, or…?” A little matted blood only needed a good wash, but you’d take the opportunity to tend to him if he allowed it.

Blue eyes dart down to meet where you’re looking, a quiet hum sounding in your apartment that feels like a ticking time bomb minutes before the inevitable crash. It comes far too quickly, and far too quietly, hitting you harder than you’re prepared for. “No, it’s okay. I should go.”

Whatever bubble you’d convinced yourself you were in pops, the moment once again splitting into pieces. This time, more than two, dropping around you helplessly and all you can do is agree with him as it slips like water between your fingers. “Okay.” After all, you'd have no right to ask him to stay. He’d already done that, and now Will’s decided it’s his time to leave. Palms slicking with sweat, you find yourself nervous. Find yourself wondering, not for the first time since you’ve known Will, why you were so nervous around him. It’s just Will, you remind yourself, something that’s becoming more of a mantra these days. “You drove here? You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

But would you be alright? It’s hard to tell because the longer Will lingers in front of you, the longer your mind strays. Is he second guessing himself? Is this all in your head? Is he going to shrug his jacket off and change his mind? Through the corner of your eye and in the dim light of your living room, you see the way his fingers twitch as it slowly rises. Inches before they can touch any part of you, it fades, your heart sinking into your stomach.

Only for it to crawl back up to lodge in your throat when the scent of Will threatens to overwhelm you as he steps in to press a kiss to the crown of your head, another muffled “next time, then,” before he’s skirting past you, opening your door, and leaving.

Leaving you with even more conflicted thoughts about Will Miller, ones that replay over and over again the entire night. Ones that blend into a flurry of emotions as you clean up and ready yourself for bed, ones that have you picking up your phone in the dark to type out a hurried text

'You should’ve stayed. Next time?'

[wannabespacesmuggler]

D.D. | Shane's Girl [3]

Part Three | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks

Word Count: 1.5K

Author’s Note: It has once again been a hot second. I love this idea so much and want to continue it. I'm really glad that all of you seem to enjoy this little fic as well. Did anyone else watch the new Daryl Dixon show? I liked it a lot more than Dead City; however, the final episode felt super lackluster, especially with all of the build-up. Maybe that's just me. Anyway, let me know what you guys think of this one, if you want to be added to the taglist, or just want to ask me a question.

Extras: Playlist

“Like this?”

Your voice pulls Daryl out of his quiet concentration. He’d been so busy at work, sharpening the tip of the crossbow bolt in his hands, that he’d almost forgotten that you were sitting with him. Daryl’s gotten used to being alone. Hell, most of the time, being alone is better than the alternative -- being in the company of Merle Dixon. However, you are certainly nothing like Merle Dixon. 

Daryl coughs awkwardly -- trying to ground himself back in reality. It was early evening when you wandered into the Dixons’ makeshift camp. You’d finished all of your chores relatively early for the day and desperately wanted to do something instead of sitting down by the lake and gossiping with Andrea and Amy. You had attempted to find Shane, in the hope that maybe the two of you could take watch together. Since the world fell apart, you haven’t really had any time to actually talk with Shane. You can’t blame him though, his concern for Carl and Lori is admirable. And you know that if the situation were reversed, Rick would do the same and would make it his life’s mission to look out for you. You just wish your boyfriend could extend some of that comfort to you. 

That’s how you find yourself across the fire from Daryl, sharpening the crossbow bolt you made together. Daryl’s eyes shift from your face to your hands, to assess your progress. His eyes widen slightly once he notices how you’re holding the knife in your hands. You stop moving once notice the change in Daryl’s features.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl watches as you physically shut down-- as if you’re preparing for him to be angry over a simple crossbow bolt. His jaw clenches at your reaction. He is angry, but not at you. No, he’s angry because he understands. He resists the urge to ask you who it was that has managed to make you feel so small and, instead, moves to the other side of the fire so that he can sit beside you.

“Nah, you didn’t do anything wrong. Just hold the knife like this, ‘lright?”

Daryl physically shows you how to hold the knife away from your body while you’re sharpening the bolt. Your eyes follow his movements for several moments before replicating them. Daryl watches you intently, nodding whenever you look over for his approval.

“Yeah, jus’ like that.”

A small smile plays at the corners of your lips at the sudden softness in Daryl’s voice. You distract yourself by watching Daryl’s careful work with the crossbow bolt in front of him. It’s obvious how much the craft means to him -- it’s quite mesmerizing to watch.

“You’re really good at this. Did your dad teach you?”

Daryl stops for just a split second and draws in a breath. He rolls his shoulders back, trying to rid himself of the thoughts that come to mind at the mention of his father. His first instinct is to lash out and shut down -- and he probably would if it were anyone else; however, you have been nothing but kind to Daryl since he and Merle arrived at the makeshift camp. The idea of chastising you for your harmless curiosity makes his stomach turn. 

Daryl clears his throat and finally releases the breath he was holding. He resumes carefully sharpening the bolt in his hands.

“I taught myself.”

You nod at his explanation, trying to ignore his change in demeanor. Just as sudden as the softness in Daryl’s features came, it is replaced by his usual indifference. It’s as if for just a split second you were able to see through the brick wall that Daryl has erected around himself. He lets his defenses down just long enough for you to see that there is warmth behind the cold front. 

“Well, it’s really impressive. I don’t know anyone else who can use a crossbow or make their own arrows.”

Daryl nods and attempts to keep a straight face, fighting off a small smile.

“It’s really not that hard. My daddy had a load of hunting gear in our garage and with Merle always getting locked up, I had a lot of time to practice.”

You resist the urge to ask him more about his past. Based on his previous reaction, you can tell that it’s not a topic he’s comfortable with. Before you can change the subject, a rustling in the surrounding woods grabs both of your attention. You freeze in place, expecting the worst; however, Daryl springs into action. He grabs his crossbow and places his body in front of yours -- in this position, he’s managed to shield you from the source of the noise.

Daryl readies his aim and you brace yourself for a potential fight; however, before he can release the trigger, you grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks. Instead of a walker, Shane and Lori emerge from the woods. The smile on Shane’s face fades into a deep scowl as he takes in the scene before him. 

“What the hell is going on here?”

His words are laced with venom as his eyes narrow at Daryl, who still hasn’t lowered the crossbow. You give Daryl’s arm a gentle squeeze, silently pleading with him to not escalate the situation. He shakes off your touch but lowers the crossbow. You move in front of Daryl, hoping to diffuse the situation.

“Relax Shane, Daryl was just showing me how to make some arrows.”

Shane ignores you completely. His eyes don’t even leave Daryl as you speak.

“I told you to stay the fuck away from her.”

His voice raises and Daryl notices how you shrink away from Shane as he takes an aggressive step forward. His eyes narrow at Shane, who continues to dismiss you. Now he knows who made you feel so small. A surge of anger rises within Daryl, along with the need to protect you -- which is quickly becoming a common feeling for him nowadays. Daryl mimics Shane’s actions, taking a step forward and sizing up the man in front of him. 

You watch the scene play out before you and before either of them can throw the first blow, you place yourself in between the two seething men. 

“I approached him. I couldn’t find you so I asked him for help, okay? Where did you go?”

Shane finally turns his attention away from Daryl and focuses on you. He places his hands on his hips as he looks down at you. Daryl’s brow furrows at the sight -- this isn’t the posture of a loving boyfriend. No, right now Shane looks like a parent scolding a child. He lets you take control of the situation; however, he anxiously observes your interaction with Shane, ready to jump in if Shane’s anger gets the better of him. 

“I was helping Lori look for Carl.”

Anger is still evident in his voice, but he seems to have settled down to a simmering rage. Daryl raises a brow at his explanation. He doesn’t say anything, but he finds it very unlikely that there would be anything less than a full search party if any of the children in camp actually went missing. Daryl shifts his gaze to Lori who is still standing on the edge of the woods. Her face is flushed, her hair is disheveled, and her clothing seems to be thrown on haphazardly. It seemed like she and Shane had gotten into some trouble out there, but neither of them have any blood on them. They both, however, are covered in dirt -- hell, Shane looks like he just rolled around the forest floor.

Oh. Oh.

Daryl looks at you, hoping you just came to the same conclusion. You know Shane is lying. In your search to find him earlier today, you noticed that Carol was watching Carl and Sophia play down by the lake. And as much as you want to call out his deception, you also don’t want to start yet another fight. 

You let out a sigh and give Shane a solemn nod. Lori uses this moment to excuse herself from the conversation -- muttering something about finishing the laundry. Shane shoots Daryl a final glare before grabbing your shoulder and pulling you away from the archer. Daryl watches you both walk away. Eventually, Shane releases his hold, leans his head down, and whispers something in your ear. You nod at whatever he says before casting your eyes toward the ground. Shane, on the other hand, stands up a bit taller at your reaction and walks off confidently. 

Daryl clenches his fists as you look in his direction. Embarrassment washes over your features once you notice that he is still watching you. Daryl frowns as you drop your head and walk off in the direction of your tent. You shouldn’t be embarrassed -- Shane should. He may have promised Shane that he’d stay away from you, but Daryl decides, at this moment, that he doesn’t give a damn. Nobody gets to treat you like that.

Taglist: @darylsl0ver@minervadashwood@hotgirlsshareaccounts@taterbbbug@dreamtofus@youcantstandit @ajlovesdilfs @prettywhenibleed @luvsvnlqt-things @evie-beanie @strnqer@marina-isabella@lissanovak@elissanatok@1tsk1tty@moejoeflow@ceoofdisappointment@jewellthebooknerd @callsignwidow @genderless-ghosty-boi

[duskrosecreatesstuff]

Wooden You Like to Know?

Written originally as part of a frenzy of ideas bounced around with friends over the potential for the inappropriate use of Sussur tree pieces and by-products, and submitted for #HalsinTavWeek Day 6 - Aphrodisiacs

Summary: Halsin acquires a piece of Sussur wood, and uses it to create a special toy for his lover.

Read on AO3 here

Pairing: Halsin / F!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Explicit smut, Aphrodisiac use, Sex toys, PiV sex, very slight bondage (if you squint), kinda Soft Dom Halsin (again, if you squint).

“Is that Sussur bark in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” you jokingly said, as he strode across the camp towards you, a conspicuous lump in the front of his trousers.

“Well, actually …” his face split in a wide grin as he pulled his hand from his pocket and withdrew a chunk of faintly glowing wood.

“Awww, darn.” you laughed, returning the grin.

Your feelings were mixed.  A touch of disappointment, a hint of smugness that you’d been right, and a whole lot of interest in what he actually planned to do with that piece of wood.  

“Besides, my heart.  I am always happy to see you.”  He leaned down to kiss the top of your head, before taking a seat on the log next to you.  He thoughtfully turned the piece over in his hands.

“So, why the interest in a piece of bark?  What do you intend to do with that?”

He continued to rotate the piece around, studying it.  “It isn’t bark, it’s a piece from the end of a branch.  And I’m curious.  I’ve never tried my hand at working with this type of wood before.  So I’m interested to see what my tools can do.”

So he intended to whittle something from it.  You were reluctant to touch the magical timber, although you were also curious about it.  Standing in the aura of the tree had drained your magic completely, surely it had to be affecting him too.

“How are you able to hold it?  Doesn’t it feel wrong?  And what about your magic?”

“It’s only a piece, so it doesn’t drain my magic.  Perhaps it can’t anymore, being separate from the living tree.  And it may be because I draw on Nature for my magic, not the Weave, as you do.  As for how I can hold it, well …”  He considered for a moment.  “It tingles a little, for sure.  Like a prickle on my skin. The sensation is  … interesting.”   There was something about the way he put emphasis on the word ‘interesting’, the way he caught your eye as he said it, that sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

*****

Days passed and you didn’t even think about the Sussur piece until one evening, as you were eating dinner.  He sat next to you, leaned in to kiss your cheek, and then whispered softly in your ear.

“I have a gift for you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“A surprise.  For later.” You could feel his lips curl as he smiled against your neck. “But I ‘Suss-pect’ you might guess what it could be.”

Your eyes went wide.  Was that … did he just make a pun?  And was he referring to that piece of Sussur wood?  He’d made that into a gift for you?  

Your interest was thoroughly piqued and you tried to hurry him along by eating quickly, but he ignored your efforts.  You were positively vibrating with curiosity by the time he got up to head to his tent.  The speed with which you followed him was practically indecent.

He sat on his bedroll as you closed the flap behind you, his shirt already discarded for the night.  In one hand, he held an object wrapped in a piece of silken fabric, with the other, he patted the spot next to him, in an invitation to sit down.  You did so, looking from his face, to his lap and back again.  He smiled at you.

He offered the wrapped bundle to you, and you took it in both hands, your eyes getting big with realisation as you felt the vaguely cylindrical shape beneath the fabric.  He hadn’t …

You laid the item in your lap, and peeled back the fabric, to reveal the thing inside. Your mouth fell open.  He had.  In your lap you cradled a perfectly carved replica of his own erect self.  No wonder it had taken days, the detail was exceptional, and he had clearly taken the time to polish the surface to a fine finish.  A very necessary step, given the intended use.  Somehow, the piece of wood still managed to maintain its unearthly silver-blue glow.

You stroked your fingers along it, feeling how smooth the finish on the wood was. But more importantly feeling how the magical timber felt against your skin. How had he described it all those days ago?  LIke a tingle?  A prickle, that was it.  And that was on your fingers.  How would it feel when it was pressed against … other parts of you.  You didn’t realise he was staring at you, taking in every detail of your reaction, until he spoke.

“Is it to your liking?”

“It’s beautiful.” You grinned, leaning over to give him a brief kiss.  “Thank you.”

You moved to wrap it back up.  He placed a hand over yours, pausing you.

“Don’t you want to try it out?”

“Here? Now?” Your eyes were wide, and you suddenly felt rather shy.   “You want me to …?”

“I’d like us to.  To enjoy it. Together.”

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks.  You had plenty experience with toys, but you’d always kept that private.  You’d never used one with him before.  Not with anyone.  You hesitated.

“It’s … I … “ you struggled to find the right words.  You exhaled, hard, steeling yourself.  “Sharing a toy … it’s a bit new to me.  I’ve never-”

“Then we start slow,” He reached for the toy and placed it carefully to one side, “and see where things lead us.”

He reached for you, pulling you into his lap, your thighs spreading to straddle his.  He leaned in to kiss you softly, hands caressing up your back, feeling the tension in your shoulders.  He rubbed gently, as your own hands explored over his broad, warm chest.  You relaxed into him and his hands dipped to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up.  He pulled away from your lips to lift the shirt over your head, but quickly met with you again as he tossed it to the side.

His hands drifted to cup your breasts, as his tongue licked at your lips, requesting entry.  You parted them for him, your tongues meeting, as you arched your back to press your chest into his hands.  He stroked his fingers over your nipples, felt them stiffen beneath his practised touch.  When he heard you moan softly against his mouth, he pinched them gently, rolling them between his fingertips.  Your breathing quickened, and you moved your hips to grind against his, feeling the real version of him stirring beneath you.

He leaned forward into you, a gentle pressure to lay back, his hands sliding down your sides, to slide your hips off him.  He pulled away from the kiss as he lowered you onto the soft furs of his bed, reaching for the waistband of your legwear, tugging it and your underwear down your thighs, as you wriggled your legs to help him get them completely off you.

He stared down, drinking in the view of you bared completely to him, and he glanced to the side at the toy, glowing gently like a phallic nightlight.  You watched him, lips parted slightly.

“May I try something?”

“Such as?” You felt a little nervous, but you trusted him.  Completely.

“I want you to close your eyes, and let me touch you with it. I want you to describe to me how it feels. And please, I need you to tell me if it gets to be too much.”

You took a deep breath, and nodded.  “Yes.”

You exhaled that breath as you closed your eyes, forcing yourself to relax back into the furs.  You became acutely aware of the cool air on your skin, the warmth emanating from him between your knees, the rustle as he moved.  You gasped as you felt something cool and smooth touch your breastbone, your eyes fluttering open at the tingling sensation against your skin.

“Now, now.” You heard his voice, deep and soft.  “No cheating.”

“It surprised me.”

“I could always blindfold you, if that would be easier.”

You gave it a thought, and agreed.  He quickly took the soft fabric that had wrapped the toy, and folded into a strip.  You sat up so he could wrap it over your eyes, and tied it carefully behind your head.  When he was sure you could no longer see him, he took the opportunity to steal another kiss, before pressing his hands to your shoulders, signalling for you to lay back again.

He didn’t keep you waiting long as he brought the toy to touch your chest in the same spot as before, and slowly dragged it down to your navel.  You shivered at the sensation.

“How does it feel?” he asked curiously.

“It’s like you said, it tingles.  And it’s not fading very quickly.”

You felt him repeat the motion with a warm fingertip.  You shivered again.

“And that?”

“It’s … more intense.  It's more sensitive there now.”

You felt him drawing a few more stripes over your body, his fingers trailing in the wake of sensitised skin, and you raised your hand, fingers searching, wanting, needing to touch something, preferably his warm skin.  You felt his hand encircle your wrist, and press it back down at your side.

“Behave.  Or I might just have to use the vines on you again.”

Usually, you loved that playful threat.  Another time, you would have enjoyed being just defiant enough to push him to use it.  But tonight, you were already feeling close to overwhelmed, so instead, you gripped handfuls of the furs beneath you.

He watched as you clasped the fur, and, satisfied with your token of submission, he released your wrist.  He drifted his fingertips over your ribs, moving his hand to cup your breast, and a moment later, you felt the touch of the Sussur magic brushing against your nipple, making you gasp.  The prickling sensation lingered as he moved the toy to your other nipple, and dipped his head to take your sensitised little bud between his lips.  You gasped and arched your back as he suckled gently, the sensation so much more intense than usual.

He used his knee to press your thighs a little wider as he trailed the toy lazily down over your stomach, across your mound, and down lower, to dip the tip in your dripping slick, then slid it back up along your slit to the apex. He positioned the toy against your clit, and then let it rest against your thigh, taking that moment to shed the rest of his own clothing.  You felt your clit swelling in response to the touch, a throbbing ache between your thighs.  You wiggled your hips, tilting them slightly, trying to rub against the toy, desperate for some friction.

He noticed what you were doing, and smirked, as he tossed his clothing aside.

“It seems that is to your liking.”  You could only huff in response.  He removed the toy from its position, and you whined at the loss of contact.  You were rewarded as he dipped his head to lap gently at your aching bud.

“Please.” you moaned, desperately pressing your hips up to him.

“Not yet, my heart.  I want to see how you look with this inside you.  Do you think you can take it?.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “I … I want to try.”

He slid the toy along your slit, bathing it in your slick, listening to your breath stutter as the magical wood touched your sensitive skin.  He lined it up carefully with your entrance.

“My love.  You will tell me to stop if this is too much, or you feel any discomfort?”

“I will. Yes.” you promised.

“Good.”  He smiled down at you, and slowly began to press the thick toy inside you.  You gasped, the muscles in your thighs twitching at the sensation.  You breathed hard, working to relax around the toy.  He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the feel of it, listening to your breathing, watching for any signs of discomfort from you.

“More?”

“Please.” You panted. “Gods, please, yes”

He pulled the toy back, and started thrusting it slowly, working it deeper and deeper with each push, watching the way your back arched up to meet his movements, the quiver in your thighs.  

“Oh my heart.  You’re taking it so well.  Just a little more.”

You whimpered at the praise, all sensation focused on the throbbing in your core, as he rocked the toy deeper into you.  The muscles in your thighs trembled, and you realised he had stopped moving the toy. He looked down at you, admiring the way you were stretched wide around it, your slick skin shining in the soft glow of the wood.  With one hand holding it gently in place, he leaned down again to put his lips to your clit, licking and sucking on it.

Between the shiver of magic running through your stuffed and full core, and the movement of his lips and tongue, you couldn’t help but lose control, crying out his name as your hips bucked up to meet his mouth, your sensitive walls clenching against the unyielding hardness of the toy.

You couldn’t see the grin on his face, you could only let out a stuttering gasp as you felt the toy being carefully slid out of you, followed by the soft rumble of his voice.

“Are you still alright, my love?”

“Yes.” Your voice was the barest of whispers, between panting breaths.  You felt the warmth of his body against yours, as he leant over you to tug on the silken fabric covering your eyes and toss it aside.  You blinked up at him, eyes dark, and he dipped down to kiss you, the taste of your own juices on his lips.  You raised your hands to thread your fingers through his hair, and this time, he didn’t correct your little act of defiance.

He pulled away from the kiss as he shifted his hips and you felt pressure against your dripping entrance again, every bit as rigid as the toy had been, only warmer.  Your gaze met his as you lifted your thighs to wrap them around his waist, and he reached a hand down to guide himself into you.  Thanks to the toy, you were more than ready to take him and with one strong thrust, he sank deep inside you, as you gasped out his name at the welcome intrusion, the prickle of the Sussur magic like an itch that you desperately wanted scratched.  He settled into a steady rhythm, massaging against your tingling walls, listening to the sounds of you whimpering beneath him, as your pleasure built again.  He moved to kiss his way down your neck, to your chest, the places he’d touched with the wood still more responsive.  You arched your back up to him as he took a nipple in his mouth, your hands gripping his shoulders, your thighs gripping his sides.  He felt your wet heat quivering around him.

“I want to feel you shatter over me, my love.”  he whispered breathlessly.  He deftly slipped a hand between your bodies, positioning his thumb to rub tight circles on your clit.  You moaned as he increased his pace, pounding into you, eyes closed in pleasure as he brought you to that edge, and tipped you over, your walls clenching hard around him.

His lips crashed against yours again, muffling the way you were about to scream his name; his tent might have been farthest away from the campfire, but you still didn’t need everyone else hearing you.  A few last deep thrusts and you felt him tense and pulse within you, following you in ecstasy.

He lay there on top of you for a few moments, as your hearts both slowed and your breathing became less ragged.  He wrapped you in his arms to roll you both to your sides, and you felt him slip out of you as he softened, a rush of warm liquid over your thighs.

“I wouldn’t want to crush you, my heart.”

“Would be one hell of a way to go.” you grinned, tilting your chin to kiss him gently.

He reached to the side for a cloth and some water, and carefully wiped the mess of your combined fluids gently off the both of you, also taking a moment to clean the carved wooden toy.  Once he was satisfied, he laid himself alongside you, and pulled a blanket up to cover you both.  Warm, strong arms wrapped around you to pull you in close, and you closed your eyes as he nuzzled against your neck.

“Sweet dreams, my heart.” he murmured.