#i would have made this an ask too but i don’t think your asks are turned on

[darkbluekies]

Til death do us part

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: A summer romance turns dark as Silas can't accept that you've married someone else

Warnings: kidnapping, murder, blackmail, threats, Silas belittling darling, violence, isolation, jealousy, possessiveness

Word count: 5k

He’s everything you could have ever wanted. He’s sweet, caring and works at a bank. He can provide for you. He’s from a good family. Everything about him is perfect, everything you could ever have dreamt of. You could never have imagined that you would find a man like him after what happened last summer. 

You had met a man on the way home from dinner with a friend, someone that had helped you after the grocery bag you had bought food in on the way home. He had introduced himself as ‘Silas’ and had walked you home, carrying the groceries for you. You had thanked him. Silas had asked if you wanted to meet for coffee sometime, and you had agreed, innocently thinking nothing of it. You had gone out with him multiple times. Never actually becoming a couple, but acting like it. It was harmless, you thought. You kissed, went on dates and you knew that if things continued like this, you’d fall for him. 

But you noticed that something was weird about him, and it made you feel cautious in his presence. He never told you anything about his life and when you asked, you noticed that something shifted in his dark eyes. As if he tried to come up with a lie. It creeped you out somehow, because why couldn’t he tell you? Maybe you shouldn’t have trusted a man who tried to cover up his tattoos.

You finally got to know the truth at the end of the summer. A friend who had seen the two of you together had recognised him from a newspaper. He was a criminal, a leader of a mob, who was more dangerous than you could have anticipated. You had cut contact with him and moved away so that he wouldn’t be able to find you again. 

But he did. Somehow, he did. 

Letters have been piling up in your mailbox during these last few weeks, addressed to you and written in red ink. Your heart had stopped when you read the first one. 

“Y/N, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so terribly much. My heart bleeds and aches for you. You left me because you were scared. I get that. I get that very well, this is a world you should be afraid of, but I will protect you. I will take care of you better than that man ever could. Yeah, I know that you’ve found someone new. I know that you’re planning to get married. Quite quick, don’t you think? You haven’t known him that long, and now you’re getting married? Silly Y/N, you’re so cute. Do you really think you love him? Are you trying to reassure yourself that I’m a part of your past that will never return? Or are you trying to make everyone around you believe that you’ve gotten over me and moved on? I know you still think of me. I know you want me. And I want you too. I have never wanted someone other than you. You and me are meant for each other. Don’t marry him. Come back to me. It’s you and me til the end.”

You hadn’t shown your fiance, but he had noticed that something had been wrong with you. You had become silent and distant. Letter after letter came to your mailbox and he realized that something serious had happened. You had no choice but to tell him about Silas and your past with him, the present he doesn’t want to let go of, and the future he demands. Your fiance had promised that he wouldn’t get to you, and that he was only trying to scare you. 

You had been expecting to see Silas at your wedding, but he wasn’t there—or at least you didn’t catch a glimpse of him. Maybe your husband was right? Maybe he was just trying to scare you?

The start of the honeymoon is set to be on the SS Anastasia, a proud liner with three yellow funnels, a solid superstructure and a great reputation. It is set to take the two of you to Spain, where you have decided to have the rest of your honeymoon, away from all eyes and to be with no one but each other. 

A steward welcomes you on board. You thank him and give him a smile. He lets you know that your luggage, which you left down at the terminal, will be delivered straight to your cabin, a suite in first class. Only the best for the newlywed couple.

“I’m so excited to see the room”, you admit as the two of you navigate the ship to find the mani staircase. 

“The agent said that it would be nice”, your husband replies and chuckles. “Now, if we only could find it …”

You laugh. It takes you nearly ten minutes to find the right door among mazes of identical white doors. The suite is divided into three rooms: a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom, all decorated with expensive materials and fashionable colors. Polished dark wood and electric lights. 

“This is so nice”, your husband smiles, letting his eyes wander around. “I think we’ll have a good time here.”

You hug him and he chuckles, hugging you back. 

“I can’t believe I married you”, he says. 

Me neither, you think. 

Your mind drifts back to Silas and you feel your heart sink down to your stomach. You won’t be able to relax until you know that the ship has left harbour. There’s a constant, heavy feeling in your chest that you can’t explain. But you tell yourself that it’s just that; a feeling. Nothing more than old worries that haven’t been able to come up to the surface before now. You squeeze the man tighter, sighing out. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe. 

You have been promised a fantastic dinner, and the food delivers to your expectations. Everything is tasting like gold, served on a silverplatter. Sitting in the first class dining hall has given you an excuse to dress up. Everyone around is wearing their best clothes, and it is a silent competition in who looks the best. You look around, discreetly admiring everyone else’s attention to detail. You wonder how many of them have spent the entire day in their cabin, doing everything to look their absolutely best. The first night is usually relaxed, but a first time impression will always be remembered. 

“What would you like to do after?” your husband asks and sips on his wine. 

“I think I need to take a walk”, you joke. 

“Oh, yes, the night sky must be so beautiful out on deck. I reckon that you’ll be able to see the stars much easier out here. No city pollution.”

You walk hand in hand down the promenade, looking up at the starry night sky, pointing at familiar shapes. 

The next morning, after breakfast, the two of you walk to the lounge, deciding to take a calm day. Well deserved after planning a wedding and executing it. The lounge is cozy, reminding you of a simple living room rather than a first class room on an oceanliner. Maybe to make the passengers feel more at home.

Your husband takes the opportunity to indulge in a newspaper, finally having the time to sit down and actually read it.

You let your eyes wander around the large lounge, enjoying to admire the small details that give the room it’s cozy feel. But the feeling is quickly switched once your eyes land on someone. A man sitting in an armchair on the other side of the lounge, dark eyes feasted onto you, a small smirk playing at his lips when he notices you noticing him. You can feel your body go numb, feel yourself sink through your armchair, through the floor and through the ship’s metal. Feel yourself sink down to the bottom of the pitch black ocean. You forget how to breathe, head going blank. 

He found you.

You glance towards your husband who’s still invested in today’s news. Silas raises his eyebrows testingly as you look back at him, as if to say “yes, I’ve noticed him, you think he compares to me?”. 

Suddenly the air in the lounge seem to lose all oxygen. You need air, or else you will faint. 

“I-I have to get some fresh air”, you hear yourself mumble. 

“Are you okay?” your husband asks and looks up from his newspaper, eyes full of worry. 

“Yes—”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“N-No, I’ll be fine, I’ll be back soon.”

You need to get away. 

You hurry out of the lounge and out onto the enclosed promenade. The fresh air hits your face harshly. You grab onto the wall to support yourself while trying to find a way to breathe that doesn’t feel like needles poking through your throat. 

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” 

You feel your heart stop. Quickly, you spin around, seeing his face way too close to yours. He tilts it, almost mockingly. You back away, stumbling over your feet and hitting your shoulder against the wall. Silas corners you, stopping you from escaping. 

“What do you want?” you breathe out shakingly. 

“Didn’t you get my letters?” he asks. “Or did you simply not read them?”

“Leave me alone. I-I’m married now.”

He smirks, tilting his head back and putting his hands into the back pockets of his suit pants.

“Indeed, you are”, he says and sighs out. “But do you really think that’s real?”

“What do you mean?” you almost stutter. 

Silas meets your eyes. He’s smiling. 

“Don’t you think I could have taken you whenever I wanted?” he asks. “The only reason you were able to marry that boring son of a bitch is because I let you. But, in the end, you belong to me. Isn’t that right?”

You don’t answer. You turn your head away, look out over the endless sea, and feel your eyes fill with tears. He wipes your tears with his thumb and you push his hand away. 

“I don’t”, you say, wondering where you have gotten the sudden bravery from. “I don’t belong to you. I belong to him.”

You show him the ring on your finger. Silas clenches his jaw and grabs a hold of that hand, forcing it closer. He pulls of the golden ring, scoffs at it and throws it overboard. You gasp and try to run forward, hoping to catch it before it falls too far, but he pushes you back against the wall. 

“Don’t ever say that again”, he warns you. “You don’t belong to him, how could you? I met you first. I claimed you first. He will have my seconds. Everything you do to him, you’ve done to me first. And he will never do anything as good as I did.”

“I left you because of this!” you hiss, reminding him. 

“No, you left me because you were scared. You don’t understand that you are in more danger if you aren’t with me. I’m the only one that can protect you. I didn’t want you to know about it because I know you’d be scared, but—”, he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “—but I won’t hurt you. You’re so special to me. I love you so much. You did read my letters, I can see it in your eyes. You know how much I love you.”

“Let me go”, you plead. 

“No. It’s you and I til the end, don’t you remember? I’m not letting you go again. I’ve been letting you have your fun for too long now. It’s about time I take you back. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt him either.”

You can see his eyes darken, his jaw clench. “You decide if it’s going to be violent or not.”

You freeze in his hold. 

“You can choose to come back to me, quietly and easy”, Silas starts and caresses your cheek. “We will be happy and your boy will be left alone.” He traces your jaw with his finger. “Or … you reject me and I take out my competition and take you with me once we reach Spain. No one will see you again.”

He seems to tell that you’ve stopped breathing, because he sits you down on one of the sun chairs and massage your throat. Your eyes are stuck onto nothing, empty. 

“I will give you until nine”, he whispers in your ear. “If you’re not outside my cabin at nine, A-30, knocking on my door, I will kill him.”

“You’re a liar”, you breathe out, voice barely audible. “You’ll kill him either way …”

Silas shrugs simply. “Maybe, but don’t you want to take your chances? You might save him.”

Silas stands up. You sit frozen. 

“Oh, and Y/N?” he says as if remembering something and looks down at you. “If I were you I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know, for obvious reasons.” 

He gives you a small, teasing smile before walking back inside. You sit still, not daring to move. Worried that if you move you’ll break down and realise what’s going on. You can feel your heart pound in your ears. No. No, this can’t be happening.

“What are you doing out here?” you hear a familiar voice ask. “You’re going to get sick!”

You feel your husband hang his blazer over your shoulders. The warmth, the familiar scent from him makes your heart hang heavy in your chest. You can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him, as if you’ve cheated your relationship, thanks to Silas’s threat. But if you cheat on it, you might save the love of your life. Can you cancel out a bad thing with a bad thing? Is it really a bad thing then? Can you be excused? 

You can’t tell him about it, but if you did, would he understand you?

“You don’t look well, actually”, he says and helps you stand. “You’ve probably already gotten sick. You should go lay down and rest.”

He helps you, slow and steady, to your suite. You lay down in bed and he tucks you in. 

“Should we ring for a steward?” he asks worriedly. “Ask for some tea and some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine”, you reassure him dimly. “I just need to be alone.”

“I’m worried about you. Something happened to you. I can help you.”

No, you can’t.

“Do you want to be left alone?” he asks. 

What if he gets killed?

“No, stay in here”, you wish. 

He nods. You hold his hand as you lay with your eyes closed, trying to think of what to do. He was clear; whatever you do, you’ll end up with Silas. The only thing you can choose—maybe—is to save the man holding your hand and whispering reassurance to you. The nicest you can do, in this situation, is to give in and beg Silas to leave him alone. You can’t be prideful and let him kill him. 

You find yourself outside cabin A-30 with your head spinning. You don’t want to do this, but what choice do you have? Your first is heavy when you lift it to knock, the sound of your knuckles hitting the polished wood seeming to echo throughout the entire ship. You can hear his footsteps on the other side and see him tower over you when he opens the door. His smirk sends a wave of nausea over you. 

“So, you came in the end”, he says cockily. “Good girl/boy.”

You lower your eyes to the floor. Silas steps aside and gestures for you to walk in. You do, on heavy, unresponsive legs. He closes the door behind you, locking it. You gulp. He lingers around you like a snake and you wait for him to put his fangs into your neck and shoot his venom into you. 

“You should rest”, Silas says softly and wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep.”

He leads you to the bed and lays you down, lying down behind you. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything that could scare you. You try to keep it in, but your body fails you. Sobs, quiet at first, leave your body. Tears run down your face. You hold your hand over your mouth, but Silas is close enough to hear you. He hugs you carefully and you can feel him rest his face into your shoulder. 

“There’s no need to worry”, he whispers. “You're back where you belong.”

It only makes you worry more.

“Your crying makes me so sad”, Silas whispers. “Everything will be okay, little thing. You're back now.”

You don't fall asleep that night, and you're sure Silas doesn't either. His grip on you remains tight and controlling, showing no sign of drowsiness.

The sun rises outside the porthole, and you're as wide awake as ever. Silas gets out of bed and starts to dress for the day. You remain in bed, feeling too empty to move. Your eyes fall onto the tattoos on his back and arms, wondering where he got them and what they represented. But something in you tells you that you don’t want to know.

“My darling”, Silas sighs and crouches down in front of the bed, caressing your face. “You don’t need to look so sad. You and me will have fun. We can do more than you ever could with that boy of yours could. My credit card never declines.”

“What are you talking about?” you ask, frowning. 

“Oh? You didn't know?” His cocky face is getting on your nerves. “My men did some digging into him, and it seems like he spent a fortune on this honeymoon of yours. Barely anything left in his bank account. Poor thing was really trying to impress you, but the illusion would be all gone once you came back home. I, on the other hand, have all the money in the world.”

“Your money’s dirty.”

“Money’s money. I could launder it, and it’d be clean, but you wouldn’t accept it anyway. Which is why you’ll never get money from me. You’ll get jewelry, food, clothes—anything you want—and all you need to do in return is submit yourself to me.”

You sigh and look away. 

“We don’t have to talk about this now”, Silas says and stands up. “But you will submit to me, I know you will. Get dressed now, my love, we’re going to eat breakfast.”

Food is the last thing you want right now. 

“I’m not hungry”, you say. 

“Do you want to stay in?” he asks. “I can go get you breakfast that you can eat later.”

You nod, whatever will make him leave you alone for a while. Silas gives you a comforting smile and pets your head before leaving the cabin. You take the time to cry, when you know that he can’t see you, planning to stop before he returns, but failing. 

“Crying when you think I won’t notice?” he asks and scoffs, just a little bit amused. “Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He sets down a tray on the table in the room and walks over to the bed, crouching down and wiping your tears. 

“You’re mine”, he says. “Crying about that boy won’t change that fact.”

You don’t answer.

“Will I have to stay in here the entire time?” you ask coldly.

“No”, he says. “Not all the time, but if you want to leave the cabin, you will be by my side. If I were you, I wouldn't try to run away from me or try to tell anyone, because the ship is filled with my men. You don’t know who they are, and they won’t bother you if you behave, but the second I tell them to keep an eye out for you, they will.”

You glare at him.

“But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Silas asks. 

“And then what?” you counter. “When we're in Spain?”

“Oh, we're not staying there. I'm not allowed there. My second in command is waiting for us there and will take us back to America as soon as we arrive.”

Oh …

“I don’t want to go back. Not with you.”

“Well, life's not fair, little thing. You should eat now. I got you all the things you told me that you liked.”

He takes you to the table in the cabin and starts to feed you the bread, the coffee and fruit. You eat, just you comply, too tired to fight with him. Fighting with a wall would be easier. A wall wouldn't talk back. A wall wouldn't threaten you.

“See how much easier it is when you obey?” Silas says.

You give him a quick gaze. He traces your cheek with his fingers. 

“I look so much forward to having you all to myself”, he mumbled. 

His words send icy shivers down your back. 

You stay in the cabin the coming day. You wonder what your real husband is thinking of your disappearance. Sure that Silas has already done something to make him stay away … or worse.

“You're so down, baby”, Silas says. “How about we do something, hm? We have a whole ship to our amusement. There is a game room, a pool, a library, and a squash court. How about that? Why don't we play some squash?”

You nod, just to get out of the cabin. Maybe you can figure something out. Maybe you can hide.

“That's my boy/girl”, Silas says and takes your hand. “Let's go.”

Walking out with him, hand in hand, made you feel horrible. He looked so proud, so cocky. 

He took you down to the squash court. He picked up a racquet and bounced a few balls. 

“I hope you know the rules”, Silas said with a chuckle. “Or else I will win.”

A man came into the squash court. Silas gave the man a quick, stern look before glancing towards you, and then back at him. This is one of his men, you figure. 

“Give me a second, darling”, he says and takes the man aside. 

They turn their backs to you, whispering. You glance towards the door. As they mumble about something incoherent, you sneak towards the door, opening it silently and sneaking out. You run, but only get a few meters before a hand rips you back. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Silas hisses in your ear.

He slams a hand over your mouth to prevent you from making any sounds and almost you back to the squash court. 

“I apologize”, he mutters to his man. “Seems like my baby here can't behave.”

He holds your back firmly against his chest, hand resting securely over your mouth. “They'll learn soon enough, once they learn the consequences.”

You fight against him, but he doesn't budge.

“Stop fighting”, Silas hisses and turns to his man. “I'm sure it won't happen again, ill make sure it won't, but can you tell the others to keep an eye out for this disobedient little shit? If you ever see them wander around alone, you get me immediately. Leave us now, I need to lecture them.”

The man nods, bows slightly and leaves the squash court. Silas lets you go and you back away from him, but he's quick to corner you.

“You don't get it, do you?” he asks, and sounds a tad bit amused. “You can't escape me. And, come on, trying to do that on a ship? I really thought you were smarter than that. Where would you go? The only place you could flee would be to jump overboard. But you're stupid, not suicidal. And now, all my men keep an eye out. Just accept that your place is here, with me.”

“I want my fucking husband!” you scream. “You aren't my husband, you're a low life criminal!”

Silas’s eyes darken.

“Okay then”, he says, slowly. “If you want him so badly, go look for him. Go find him. If you do, I'll let you go with him. If not, you're mine.”

“Your men will take me back to you.”

“I'll tell them to leave you as long as you don't talk to anyone. Search everywhere. Go to the lower classes, for all I care.”

“What have you done to him?”

He smiles slightly, but it's not one out of genuine happiness, but of mockery. “Do you really want to know?”

You turn around and leave. He follows you. You barely have time to walk down the corridor before a man takes a hold of your arm. A different man from before.

“You're not supposed to walk around”, he says.

“It's okay”, Silas says a few steps behind you.

He wears his chin high, a smirk on his face and his hands in his front pockets. You rip your arm from the strange man's hold.

“My baby is using their brain”, Silas says and reaches the two of you. “We'll see where that gets them. Keep an eye so that they don't talk to anyone. We don't want to encourage talking to strangers, now do we, little thing?”

You glare at him.

“Go, then”, Silas says. “What are you waiting for?”

You don't like how he's changed. Just five minutes earlier he was set on making sure you wouldn't wander … and now he encourages it. Something has happened to your husband and you want to find him as quickly as possible.

You walk away, leaving Silas and his man in the corridor outside the squash court. You're not sure where to start. As soon as you get out of their sight, you stop and sink down alongside the wall. Needing to just catch your breath.

But you don't linger too long. Before you change your mind, you stand up and start to walk. You end up walking back and forth for hours, sure that every eye that lands on you is a member of Silas’s organization, someone being paid to make sure you obey.

You search every little corner on the ship, but your husband is nowhere to be seen. Your suite is empty, but there are signs of struggle. A glass lying on the floor, more than one person's shoe marks on the carpet. You walk over to his suitcase and take out one of his shirts. Crying as you hold it.

“Any luck?” you suddenly hear him say.

Your blurry eyes dart to the open door, seeing him lean against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks so nonchalant, so careless. How can he?

“There are words for people like you”, you sniffle with a voice draped in hate. “Did you know that?”

“What word?”

“Inhuman.”

Silas scoffs out a small smile. “If only you were as smart with thinking as you were with words, you’d have figured it out by now.”

“What?”

“You haven’t found him anywhere on the ship, and you’ve been looking for hours.”

He doesn’t have to remind you. Your aching feet is enough to make you feel your loss.

“What did you do to him?” you ask weakly.

“I have already told you, if you listened to me, you’d figured it out earlier. I said that there is only one way to escape me.”

Your eyes widen as you dart your eyes to the round porthole. 

“Atta girl/boy”, Silas says, voice smooth as honey as he walks over to you.

“Y-You … y-you …”

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it.”

“You ordered it.”

“Are we back to the ‘dirty money’ thing again? Does it matter if I gave the instructions or not? It happened, and even if I said I gave the instructions, you wouldn’t take it.”

You hang your head heavy in your hands, crying. Silas hugs you and you try to fight back, but he doesn’t let you go. He holds you tightly, his rough hands keeping you against his body. 

“Now that he’s gone, you have no other choice than to accept me whole heartedly”, he whispers in your ear. “You have no one else. Only me. Until the end of time, til death do us part.”

You sob in his hold, wanting nothing more than to escape. You manage to glance towards the porthole. 

Silas holds your hand in a tight, painful grip as you walk off the ship, surrounded by a few of his men. People on the dock cheer and welcome their loved ones, but you’re pulled right through the crowd. You can’t hear any of them, your own sorrow drowning out all sounds of happiness. Silas takes you over to a car. A black haired man leans against it, but stands straight when he sees Silas. His second in command. 

“Boss, there you are”, he says with a small smile. “Did you have a good voyage?”

Silas lifts your tightly intertwined hands with a smirk on his face. “What do you think?”

The second in command looks at you up and down and smirks. “Congratulations.”

“I wish we could stay here but if the cops get me I’ll be in trouble”, Silas says and pulls you close. “Let’s go to the yacht before we’re noticed.”

He helps you into the automobile and you’re off, on the way to the ship that will take you back to America. Tears run down your face silently. You shut them, trying to imagine yourself in another place, somewhere far away from Silas and his evil entourage. Somewhere where you had never crossed paths with him. Somewhere where things had turned out different. A bump in the road forces your eyes open again and you’re pulled back into the car that will take you straight to your own personalized hell, with a man who is ready to kill for you. You wish you had never allowed him to carry your groceries. 

[beloveds-embrace]

will take quite anything you’ve got from the designationless au bc holy shit is it giving me brainworms in the best way possible

<333

The first few weeks with the 141 were… strange. Moreso for them, truthfully.

Not bad- just strange.

You could tell they weren’t sure what to make of you at first.

They were used to reading each other without words- the shift of a scent, the pull of an instinct, the push and pull of social cues as natural as breathing. But you were an anomaly. No scent to catch onto, no designation to categorize you, no instincts that guided your actions.

You could feel it in the way they watched you. Not with suspicion, but with an unspoken wariness, as if they were trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Honestly, it was still much better than the way a lot of other units treated you.

John was the first to adjust. He treated you no differently than any other soldier nor did he single you out, though there was a quiet sort of patience in the way he spoke to you, as if giving you space to find your place. You caught him watching you sometimes, thoughtful, assessing- but whatever thoughts he had, he never voiced them, and you didn’t feel like he was thinking badly of you.

Ghost… was harder to read. He was distant but you could feel the hesitance in the way he kept a careful distance at first, as if unsure how to act around you. He wasn’t standoffish, just… cautious. It took a while before his posture around you eased, before he stopped looking like he was waiting for something from you that would never come.

Soap tested it the first week by standing too close, brushing your arm as he leaned over to look at your tablet, waiting for any possible reaction.

Nothing.

No subconscious shift in posture, no inhaling of his scent, no reaction at all. You only glanced at him for a moment before turning back to your screen, as if you hadn’t even noticed he was trying to get a reaction out of you.

He blinked. “You always this quiet?”

You didn’t look up. “You always this chatty?”

Soap, again, was also the first to push past it. “Y’know, it’s a bit unfair,” he teased one evening, nudging you with his elbow as he sat down beside you. You knew the reet of the team could hear since they were also around. “Cannae scent when you’re in a mood. Gotta actually ask how you’re feelin’ like a proper conversation.”

You had huffed a laugh, tense shoulders relaxing. “Guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Guess so,” he agreed so easily you were left blinking at him in open surprise. “Gotta say, makes you good at poker. Cannae bluff with your scent.”

Gaz had been the one to struggle the most. Not because he didn’t like you, but because, as an omega, scent and instincts were so deeply ingrained in how he interacted with the world. He was tactile, expressive, used to weaving himself into the unit with ease. But with you-

With you, there was nothing to weave into.

You weren’t rejecting him, but you weren’t responding the way he expected either. No subtle scent shifts, no automatic lean into comfort, no instinctual give and take. Just… you.

Gaz made the mistake of offering his jacket one evening when the air grew cold. You accepted it with a nod, but when he sat beside you, waiting for that quiet inhale- the subtle, unconscious gesture of taking in a packmate’s scent- he realized it wasn’t coming.

“You don’t… smell people, do you?” he asked, half-joking.

You glanced at him, brow slightly furrowed, and shook your head. “Not really.”

The weight of it settled between them.

Another time, he tried to offer comfort- a hand on your shoulder, a scent meant to soothe- and got nothing in return, he had hesitated, clearly unsure of what to do.

You had seen the flash of confusion on his face, the way he had almost pulled back.

So you had done the only thing you could. You reached up and patted his hand, offering a small smile. “I don’t really… get it. But I don’t mind.”

Gaz had studied you for a moment, then exhaled a quiet laugh. “Alright,” he had murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze before letting go. “We’ll figure it out.”

And they did.

It took time, but eventually, they stopped hesitating.

John still gave orders with the same confidence, Ghost stopped treating you like an unknown variable, and Soap- well, he was always himself.

Gaz, despite everything, still fussed.

It wasn’t the same as what he did with the others- there was no instinctual scenting, no designation-motivated soothing. But he still checked in, still sat beside you during downtime, still pestered you when he thought you were overworking yourself.

You were different. They didn’t fully understand it, but it didn’t matter because by then?

You were one of them.

[lifeasadorkwithnolife]

Monster (Azriel X Reader)

Word Count: 4700

Summary: Everyone thinks that Y/N is a horrible person for what she did under the mountain, and she agrees, but Azriel realizes that things aren't what they seem.

I have not wrote any fanfiction in 5 years, which is absolutely crazy. I've been talking to my boyfriend a lot about story ideas and he asked me, why don't you just write it down? So here it is, it's not exactly what I used to write.

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

You had hoped you would die under the caldron-forsaken mountain. The 49 years have cost you everything: your family, your court and your humanity. Amarantha had chosen you to be her right hand, you had no one to lose and everything to gain. You became known as Amarantha’s bitch, arguably a worse title than Rhysand’s. Your job was to keep discipline under the mountain and frequently had to whip and grant Amarantha’s wishes of public torture sessions when the Attor was not around.

Your reputation had made it outside of the mountain and throughout the courts, you were known to be ruthless and would kill without hesitation. You were an absolute monster.

Before Feyre had come along and saved you all from the mountain, the only one who understood your pain was Rhysand. For the first few years of your position, Rhysand would look at you with hatred in his eyes. He tortured people too, but you knew he didn’t enjoy it in the same way you pretended to. Every time you tortured the poor soul who got on Amarantha’s nerves, you would go up to them after the fact and hold their hand and ask if they had learned their lesson.

You had a gift and a curse, your gift was the ability to absorb pain from someone else, but the curse was that pain demanded to be felt eventually. Every whipping, every burn, or every cut that you performed, you took it from them to feel later. You kept this secret to yourself originally, but it’s quite hard to hide things from Rhysand.

On one unfortunate night, he entered your chambers under the mountain and witnessed the blood beginning to pool on your back. “Someone give you a taste of your own medicine?” He smirked, leaning against the door frame.

“Get the fuck out, Rhysand.” You croaked, mouth dry as you felt another blow to your back from the whipping earlier. “If I wanted to sleep with someone, it wouldn’t be Amarantha’s seconds.” You could feel the walls you built to protect yourself from Rhysand crumbling, like they were nothing but paper, and his eyes grew in realization.

He walked over to you and placed your face in his hands, his eyes growing wide with understanding. “You don’t have to bear their pain alone, Y/N.” He whispered, but you shook your head.

“Please go away.” You whispered, tears filling your eyes. Nobody had ever seen you like this under the mountain, “I can handle it, really.”

You felt the next blow and cried out, Rhysand caught you in his arms and held you. You felt him in your mind, and then your physical pain was gone, and it was just you both in your head. He was right there, in front of you, and all you could do was sigh. “I can explain.”

“Are you…. Are you taking their pain?” He whispered, and you nodded. “Why?”

“We’re all trapped here.” You replied, your voice echoing across the black void. “Someone will hurt them either way, at least if I hurt them… I can take their pain away and they can pass peacefully.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Rhys asked, and you shrugged. “I could have helped you, we’re on the same side.”

“It’s my pain to bear, I wouldn’t have agreed to this job if I couldn’t take their pain away.” You whispered back, he nodded in understanding.

From then on, you had one friend under the mountain, and when Feyre became part of the picture, you had two.

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

               When Feyre won the trials and you were released from the mountain, you realized that you had nowhere to go. Your court has disowned you and your family was…gone. Rhysand invited you back to Velaris to the dismay of his inner circle, and he agreed that your gift would remain a secret until you were ready.

               You trained as hard as you could and tried your best time and time again to win over the inner circle. You promised yourself you would tell them about your gift eventually but couldn’t bring yourself to do it, feeling like you would be using it as an “excuse” to torture others and end all the lives you did, when it was really inexcusable.

               The member of the inner circle that hated you the most was Azriel, he would immediately leave any room you entered, refuse to go on missions with you and would even stop training as soon as you were in earshot. You could sense him staring at you from afar sometimes, and whenever you would look it would be anger, hatred and maybe a little confusion in his eyes.

               You tried your best to make friends with everyone, but it’s hard to be friends with a sadistic murderer who laughed as they were killing the weak and defenseless. The only people who gave you a chance were Cassian and Feyre, and you couldn’t be more appreciative.

               One night, during one of your nightmares, you awoke to large hands shaking you awake and came face to face with Cassian. He looked at you in concern and placed a hand around your head in a brotherly, comforting way. Tears flowed down your face. “You were shouting your own name, what were you dreaming about?”

               “Cassian, do you think I can be forgiven for what I’ve done?” You whispered, looking up at him. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I need to tell you the truth.”

               Cassian was the first person you willingly told your story to, and he looked absolutely horrified. You showed him the scars on your back and told him about the worst things you have ever done. He comforted you for hours, and in return told you his stories about how he’s killed and how guilty he feels about it sometimes.

               It was nice having Cassian after that point, you two would spar, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to throw a punch when he was open. His laughter was a wonderful sound, and he would often catch you staring at Azriel- longing for his forgiveness but knowing that would most likely never happen. You knew he didn’t trust you, and you don’t think he ever would.

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

                “I need you two to go on a mission together.” Rhys explains, looking between you and Azriel. “I don’t care about how much you don’t like each other; this needs to be done. The attor was sighted on our border, and I need him found.”

               You took a quick look at Azriel before turning away, his hands were clenched into fists, and his shadows were swarming around angrily. “I can go by myself just fine.” Azriel snapped, “She’ll just slow me down and you know it.”

               “I need you BOTH to go, which is why Y/N is here.” Rhysand clasped his hands together, looking at you expectantly. “I think she will be helpful in this mission, since the attor is involved.”

               “I am familiar with the attor.” You sighed, peeking over at Azriel. “I may be able to lure him out.”

               “I bet he’s very fond of you,” Azriel turned to look at you, “I bet you killed more people than he did, did you guys keep count like a competition?”

               You stepped back, you had barely spoken to Azriel, but these were his first words with you. Every reassurance that Cassian, Feyre and Rhys had ever provided seemed to disappear.

               “I just don’t understand Rhys, why is she here? The rest of us have killed, sure, but for good reason. She is a monster.” Azriel’s shadows circled the room, and you could feel the hatred coming off him in waves.

               ‘You’re not going to defend yourself?’ Rhys asked you, and you gave your head a slight shake.

               “This is the last I’m hearing of it, Azriel, you better bring her back here in one piece or so help me.”

               After 3 cold days of searching for the Attor, he was nowhere to be found, and Azriel’s snide comments were getting on your nerves. The flight back to Velaris was cold and silent.

               “Hey, I’m sorry that we came all this way and didn’t catch him.” You whispered, staring down at the darkening landscape.

               “I just hoped that you would be useful for something.” He replied, not even looking in your direction. You sighed, your heart plummeting to your stomach. You had hoped, on some deluded level, that this trip would allow you to talk to him and explain yourself and maybe- just maybe- he wouldn’t hate you so much anymore.

               “I just wanted to say sorry- not just for the attor but for everything.” He looked down at you, and you couldn’t tell what expression was on his face. “I’m just- I’m trying to be better than I was under the mountain, the person I was then is not me. I hope you can believe that.”

               He nodded, looking back up at the setting sun. “I believe that you want to be better.” He said solemnly, “But if what everyone is saying is true, then there is no hope for you. You will never change, even if Rhysand and Cassian don’t see it yet.”  

               You couldn’t even bring yourself to nod, you felt the cold tears sting your eyes but tried to blink them away before they could fall. Azriel saw you for who you really were, the murderer. At least he won’t lie to you like everyone else has.

               The silence ticked by when all the sudden, an arrow flew by your head and hit Azriels wing with a sharp crack. He grunted in pain and dropped a couple feet; another 2 arrows swished by and tore through his other wing. “Azriel- land!” You shouted, searching the darkened forest floor for any sign of the attackers.

               “No shit Y/N.” Azriel shouted, his wings pumping as the ground came in closer. You felt Azriel turn to the side as another arrow whizzed towards your head, but he took another arrow to the wing. Did he just…protect you? You two landed on the ground in a heap, but you stood up quickly, knife in hand as you searched the darkness for your attackers.

               You feel a presence behind you, and turn around, quickly taking the archer to the ground and holding your knife to his neck. He was older, with pointed ears and white hair. He barred his teeth angrily, but with your knees holding down his arms and knife against his neck, he was stuck.

               “Why are you attacking us?” You seethed, your knife getting dangerously close to his neck. He struggled.

               “They told us you would be passing through- you killed my whole family you bitch!” he shouted, you froze, “Just kill me! Like you did to all of them!” You stood there in silence, hesitating, trying to remember who it was that you killed. You couldn’t kill this man too, you promised you would never hurt anyone again.

               Suddenly you were under him, his knife starting to slide across your neck. You didn’t even raise your hands to defend yourself, you could see the pain of his loss clearly on his face. You nodded, closing your eyes as you waited for him to finish. You remembered Azriel’s words from earlier, he was right after all, there would be no redemption either way.

               You felt the weight lift from your throat and took a deep breath, opening your eyes and seeing Azriel’s angry from holding up the man. Azriel looked absolutely terrifying in that moment. “No, don’t hurt him- “You started, but Azriel had his knife out and slashed his neck, throwing his body to the ground. You cried out, crawling over to the males bloodied form. His eyes frantically looked around, and you grabbed his hand, but there was no usual tug, no usual surge of power as you took his pain, you looked up again and met with lifeless eyes. The male was already gone.

               “Did you…did you know him?” Azriel spat out, grabbing you angrily by your arm and pulling you up. “He shot me out of the sky and just had a knife to your neck, and now you’re crying over him?”

               “of course I didn’t know him!” You pushed back at Azriel, looking down at the male who was dead. “I just…. I just….” You felt a wave of nausea roll through you and turned so you could dry heave. Another death, because of you, again.

               “You just what Y/N?” Azriel barked, and you flinched from him. “Tell me what is going on.”

               “He’s dead!” You whispered. Azriel looked astounded, looking at the man then at you. He then laughed. “Why are you laughing?”

               “Give me a fucking break, Y/N. Lets go.” He grabbed your arm, pulling you with him.

               You two wandered until you found a cabin, the candles were still burning when you arrived and there was a fire going in the fireplace. You were becoming more worried about Azriel by the minute, his skin was losing it’s color and he was almost limping as he walked. As soon as you both entered the cabin, he sat down in a chair and started removing his leathers.

               “Azriel- are you alright?”

               “I’m fine, I just need to get this arrow out of my wing.” He muttered, looking at you.  You watched him as he reached behind him, failing to get a good grip on it. “Would you mind?”

               “I can help.” You whispered, coming up behind him and looking at his wing. His wings were beautiful, dark and somewhat translucent, you had never been this close to him before. You could see an oddish green color seeping from one of the wounds and your heart dropped, poison.

               You slowly touched the area around the protruding arrow, he tensed up. Your fingers lightly traced the area around it, trying to figure out if pulling it out was the best option or if keeping it in to stop the blood flow would be better. Removing it would probably be best, since it was poisoned.

               “Azriel, I’m going to remove it now, okay?” You said quietly, bracing your hands on the arrow. This would hurt like a bitch, but only for a second. You pulled, wincing as the wing membrane tore open a little more. Azriel grunted. “I’m so sorry, but it should start to feel better now, okay? Let me go outside so we can ice it.”

               “No- don’t go.” Azriel looked back at you, his expression a little less guarded. “There could be more of them out there- it’s unsafe.”

               “I’ll be okay, we really need to keep an eye on this for a little bit.” You reassured him and walked out of the warm cabin and into the harsh cold. You grabbed as much snow as you could fit in your sack and came back in just a few minutes later, as soon as you walked in Azriel seemed to slump in relief.

               “How are you feeling?” You asked him, noting that his complexion had looked possibly worse than before.

               “I’m feeling okay.” He looked at you, his eyebrows scrunching, then a small smile came to his lips. You stopped in your tracks, if Azriel was smiling at you, there definitely was something wrong. “I feel a little funny….I think there was something in those arrows.”

               You nodded, coming over and handing the cold pack to him. He nodded and placed it against his wing, wincing at the cold. “You really confuse me, Y/N.” He admitted, his shadows seemed as lethargic as him as they swirled around you. “I can’t figure out who you are- I just see so many different things and it’s not adding up.

               “Who do you see?” You whispered, and he shook his head, somewhat confused. “You can tell me.”

               “You act like you are kind, and at first I thought it was for show, but you seem to be kind even when nobody knows it’s you.” He explains, his voice somewhat slurring. “You pay attention, you leave out books you know Feyre will like, you leave out Mor’s favorite snacks when she doesn’t even like you.”

               “And I’ve watched you train with Cassian; you refuse to throw a punch even when he’s wide open. Even- even with that guy outside who was going to kill you- you refused to hurt him, and you cried when he died.” Azriel looked at you, without hatred, for the first time. “How can someone who killed so many people, who tortured others and laughed as their families mourn, cry over a stranger? There is something you’re not telling me. Rhys and Cassian can see it, what are you not telling me? I want so badly to be on your side, please, tell me, who are you? ”

               You felt tears fall down your face, because he’s only saying this because he was drugged. “Azriel, I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again.” You whispered, “I’m different than I was under the mountain.”

               Azriel nodded, head leaning back as he winced in pain. You grabbed his hand, not asking for permission, and pulled away his pain. You thought of your family, your last memories with them. Your mother, father and two brothers sitting at the table. Your brothers throwing food at each other whenever your parents weren’t looking, trying to get it into each other’s mouths, and trying to hide your laughter so your parents wouldn’t notice. You could feel him sigh in relief and fall unconscious. You sighed in relief, playing the memory again in your head, missing who you were 50 years ago.

               You woke up with a gasp, the pain from Azriel’s injuries tearing through your back. How did he deal with this much pain without even showing it? You snuck outside past Azriel’s sleeping form, and grabbed some snow into the pack that you had used for Azriel, hoping the cold would help your back.

               After shoveling some of the snow into the pack, you felt a presence behind you and looked up, seeing Azriel in the doorway. “Are you feeling bet-“

               “What did you do to me?” Azriel growled, walking down the three steps to confront you in the snow. “Who were those people? What did you do?”

               “You were poisoned Azriel, I just…I gave you some snow to cool you down and tried to get rid of the infection.” You looked up at him, trying to find the man who you had spoken to so truthfully a few hours before. “You were a little confused, which is expected.”

               He shook his head, “who was that family? Is that another family you killed?” he spat, and you froze in place. You didn’t realize that you had shown him that. “Forgot I asked. Don’t ever touch me again. Get back in here so I don’t have to protect your ass if someone else comes around to kill us.”

               You nodded, leaving the pack in the snow and making your way back up to the cabin. You could feel the chills start but could feel how physically hot your body felt. You laid down on the floor, where you were previously right next to the fire. Azriel stood next to the door, watching you intently like you might try to run away.  

               “Are you alright? You’re shaking.” Azriel stated, and you nodded. He walked over to you, hesitating then placing his hand on your forehead for a brief second. “Y/N, you’re burning up. We need to take off some of these layers.”

               You couldn’t find it in yourself to argue as Azriel ripped off your leathers, freezing at what he saw. He turned you over, but you were pale and nearly unconscious. You could hazily see a hint of worry on his face as you passed out.

The flight back was torturous, the pain had started shortly after you woke up, and with each pound of Azriel’s wings another wave of pain went through you. You noticed that for the first time, you were warm and Azriel kept you close to his chest. You could feel how slow your heart rate was, and the growing pain made your realize that maybe this trip would be the end for you.

“Hey Azzie” You whispered, looking up at him. He was truly so beautiful, especially with he early morning sunrise reflecting off his features and the small beads of sweat. “Are you hurting at all?”

“No Y/N, I’m fine.” He stated, looking down at you confused. “Azzie? Where is this coming from?”

“I think Azzie would be a fun nickname.” You laughed before groaning in pain. “I just wanted to tell you something really important.”

“And what is that?” He looked down at you, if you looked like how you felt, then you could understand the growing concern in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? We could have left last night.”

“I don’t want to argue, please.” You whispered, trying to get closer to him. You felt cold and hot at the same time. “Those people I showed you- I did kill them in a way.” His arms stiffened but you continued. “That was my last good memory before I…. became a murderer. I didn’t protect them, I left and they came and attacked and I was the only one brought under the mountain.” The pain in your chest matched the pain in your back. “I couldn’t take away their pain, I couldn’t hold them as they died, I will never forgive myself.”

“You can’t save everyone,” Azriel whispered, you sighed and closed your eyes again, listening to the thumping of his wings. “Why didn’t you just use the antidote on yourself too, I could have handled it.”

“I can’t use it on me.” You whispered, before falling back unconscious.    

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

               “I need help in here!” Azriel’s voice boomed, causing you to stir and groan from your position in his arms. “Rhysand!”

               You heard thumping and were placed on a soft surface; you felt a warm hand against your cheek and found yourself leaning into it. Then the pain started, and you felt yourself writhe as the poison worked its way through your back.

               “I’m not sure what happened, one minute she was fine.” You heard Azriel say in a panicked voice, “then she’s shaking from the cold, no matter how hot I turned up the fire. She has a fever, and her skin is cold to the touch. She has been delirious for the past two hours of the flight, talking about forgiveness and you and Cassian knowing the truth. What is going on Rhys?”

               You could feel a set of hands on your back and you screamed in pain as they tried to flip you over. “Don’t do that! You’re hurting her!” You heard a voice yell, and you tried to keep your mouth shut to prevent any more noises from escaping.             

               “High lord, I’m going to need to him out of here if he can’t control himself.” You heard the women say, you recognized her voice, was that the healer?

               “Azriel, what else happened?” Rhys voice asked, you realized that you couldn’t open your eyes, but you weren’t in as much pain, Rhys must be doing something to you.  

               “We were attacked on the way back; I took three arrows to the wing but she didn’t say anything. Hell, I didn’t even see an arrow go towards her.” You could hear, maybe it was worry, in his voice. “Then she healed me somehow, but she didn’t heal herself. She couldn’t tell me why.” You felt a hand grab yours, and from the ridges of skin there could tell it was Azriel.

               “Please, help her.” You heard him whisper.

               “Madja, Y/N an absorber healer, she’s been poisoned.” Rhys instructs; you hear a gasp from the healer.

               “By the cauldrons, I have never met one before, they are so rare.” You hear her say.

               Despite Rhys’s efforts, you feel another wave of pain shoot down your back, but you keep your mouth closed to avoid screaming. “Azriel- get out.” Rhys shouted, and you tried to shake your head in objection. You need Azriel, you gripped his hand tighter, or tried to in your half-conscious state.

               You felt your shirt rip open, and then your hand was released, and steps were taken away from you. “Rhys- what are those- why does she have all those scars on her back?”

               “She can explain when she wakes up.”

               You woke up with a start, a scream on your lips. “Y/N, you’re okay.” A voice said, and you felt two hands rest on your shoulders. You snapped your head to see, Azriel? You looked around, you were in your room, but a chair had been pulled up next to the bed.

               “How long…”

               “3 days.” Azriel stated, settling back down into the chair.

               You nodded, “and…why are you in my room?” You looked around, cautiously looking back at him. He looked…incredulous.

               “Oh I don’t know, maybe I’m just making sure you wake up.” Azriel cocked his head to the side, anger filling his eyes. “Why would you do that Y/N? I would have been perfectly fine, but you almost got yourself killed, you had no right to do that to yourself on my behalf!”

               “It’s not like I can help it!” Your voice was hoarse, and you winced at the scratchiness In your throat. He grabbed a cup of water for you on the nightstand, and you drank almost the whole thing. “Azriel- can I be honest?”

               “Please do, I need a good explanation.” He retorted, sarcasm lacing his tone. His shadows were surrounding you, but seemed almost- relieved.

               “I can’t watch people in pain.” You whispered, “Watching you in pain killed me inside, and even though you hate and can’t stand to be around me, I couldn’t just watch you go through that.”

               “I did hate you.” Azriel says, grabbing your hand. “How else was I supposed to feel? You had killed people I knew, people with families, tortured for fun and acted like you enjoyed it. Hell- I think the whole court hated you.”

               You looked down, nodding, tears in your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

               “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Y/n.” You looked up, locking eyes with Azriel, “I was such an idiot, the signs were there, and you’re a terrible liar. When I saw the scars on your back, I – I lost my shit. Literally. I don’t Madja is going to let me anywhere near the healing quarters anytime soon.”

               “I was just trying to help people the only way I knew how.” You whispered, a tear spilling. He nodded, reaching up and cupping your face.

               “I feel like a monster too, I’ve killed and tortured, but I’ve always done it in the name of our court.” He exhaled shakily, giving you a small smile. “But you are kind, and I have just been so frustrated over the past couple of months because I wanted to hate you so much- but couldn’t bring myself to. Watching you laugh with Cassian and Feyre, I felt so helpless like you could never open up to me like that. I literally couldn’t even be in the same room as you, because I felt so…jealous for no reason.”

               “Rhys- when he told me about us going together, I was angry. Angry that he would put you in danger just for the sake of getting us to get along.” You watched anger fill his eyes, “and he almost got you killed.”

               “I’m okay.” You reassured, smiling through the tears that were still falling.

               “just make me a promise, okay?” Azriel released the grip on your face and grabbed your hand, fiercely. “I never want you to take my pain again, or anyones for that matter, okay? My pain is mine to bear, alone.”

               You nodded, feeling some relief. “Thank you Azriel, I…this means a lot to me. I’ve been wanting to tell you everything for so long.”

               “I want to hear everything,” he squeezed your hand again, and you could feel your heart flutter. “I will never let you get hurt again, and honestly…Azriel is so formal. I’m okay with Azzie….as long as its between us.”

[jungwnies]

the dad who stepped up | carlos sainz (cs55)

୨ৎ : featuring : carlos sainz x fem!reader/singlemom!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : not the biological father, but rather the father who stepped up!

୨ৎ : genre : romance & fluff ୨ৎ : word count : 947

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was such a cute little story, i can only imagine the spanglish going crazy in this household <3 psa... intentionally all lowercase

carlos never thought about being a dad so soon. sure, he wanted kids someday, but he always figured it would come later, after racing, after settling down. what he didn’t expect was for you to walk into his life, a single mom with a baby boy who barely knew how to say papa yet.

he met you when your son, nico, was only eight months old. you had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring someone into your child’s life unless you were sure. but carlos? carlos was patient. he never rushed you, never forced his way in. he just showed up.

at first, it was small things; holding nico when your arms were full, rocking him to sleep when he got fussy, making faces at him across the dinner table just to see him giggle. then, before either of you knew it, nico wasn’t just some baby carlos happened to know. he was his boy.

now, four years later, carlos can’t imagine life any other way.

—

"okay, buddy, one more time, but this time big swings," carlos calls from the backyard, watching as nico grips his tiny golf club, determination all over his little face.

you stand nearby, sipping on a lemonade, watching your two favorite people as the warm breeze rustles through the trees.

nico, tongue sticking out in concentration, takes a swing, too hard, and the plastic ball rolls about a foot away.

"that was amazing!" carlos exclaims, throwing his hands up as if nico just hit a hole-in-one at augusta.

"it barely moved!" nico whines, stomping his foot.

carlos kneels beside him, adjusting his grip. "the trick isn’t power, campeón (champion), it’s control. even papá sainz had to learn that."

you smile, shaking your head as you watch them. “carlos, if you turn him into a golf snob before he even learns how to ride a bike, we’re gonna have a problem.”

carlos grins over his shoulder at you. “you say that now, but when he’s winning the masters, you’ll be thanking me.”

nico nods along, even though he has absolutely no idea what the masters is. “sí, mami! (yes, mommy!)”

your heart melts every time nico switches between english and spanish so naturally, something carlos had made sure to teach him from the moment he could talk.

—

later that evening, after dinner, you’re curled up on the couch together, nico snuggled in between you and carlos with his favorite book in hand.

“papá, can you read the book en español? (papa, can you read the book in spanish?)” nico asks, eyes wide with excitement.

carlos raises an eyebrow, clearly pleased. “sí, pero solo un poquito, eh? (yes, but just a little, okay?) i don’t want you getting confused.”

you smile, resting your head against carlos’s shoulder as he begins reading, seamlessly switching between english and spanish.

"the little dog ran through the…el bosque (the forest)…looking for his friend… pero no lo encontró (but he didn’t find him). so he kept running and running…hasta que… (until…)"

nico listens intently, repeating some of the words in his tiny voice.

“bosque!” he says proudly.

carlos grins, tapping his nose gently. “eso! muy bien, campeón. (that’s it! very good, champion.)”

you watch as carlos pauses and turns to nico. “and what’s a bosque?”

nico scrunches his little face, thinking hard before answering, “umm… a forest?”

carlos nods approvingly. “exacto! (exactly!)”

you laugh, shaking your head. “i swear, this kid is gonna be fluent before i am.”

carlos smirks, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “well, mamá, looks like you need some spanish lessons too.”

you playfully elbow him, making him chuckle.

just as you think nico is starting to doze off, his tiny voice pipes up.

“papá, i’m sleepy… pero i want uno más cuento. (papa, i’m sleepy… but i want one more story.)”

carlos lets out an exaggerated sigh, feigning exhaustion. “one more? vale, uno más. (okay, one more.)”

he flips the page, his voice soft as he continues reading. you feel nico’s breathing slow, his tiny body relaxing between the two of you.

you glance up at carlos, who is watching nico with that same gentle, loving look he always has. he catches you staring and gives you a small smile, his fingers reaching out to brush over your hand.

“you know,” you whisper, “you never had to do any of this.”

carlos furrows his brows. “what do you mean?”

you swallow the lump in your throat. “i mean… you didn’t have to be his dad. you could’ve just dated me and kept your distance. but instead, you’re his person. and i just… i don’t know. i hope you know how much i love you for that.”

carlos studies you for a moment before shaking his head, as if the thought of not stepping up for nico is ridiculous. he lifts your intertwined fingers, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

“i didn’t have to, amor,” he murmurs. “i wanted to. i chose this. i chose you. i chose him. and i’d do it again a thousand times over.”

tears prick your eyes, but before you can say anything, carlos leans down and places a gentle kiss on nico’s forehead.

“buenas noches, mi pequeño campeón. (good night, my little champion.)”

nico barely stirs, already deep in sleep.

carlos turns back to you, smiling softly. “now come on, mamá, let’s go watch bad reality tv and pretend we don’t have to wake up early tomorrow.”

you laugh, shaking your head as you follow him to the couch, where his arm instinctively wraps around you.

carlos sainz wasn’t the father by blood.

but he was the father who stepped up.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[helaintoloki]

Somethin’ Stupid

part two

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: angst, lots of pining, eventual fluff

notes: part two is here! ty guys for the support and hope you enjoy <3

summary: being forced to go on a mission together allows bucky and y/n to come to an understanding

*part one

You wake up with an awful hangover and a broken heart.

A part of you had hoped that the events that had transpired last night were merely figments of a dream, a peek into some alternate dimension where you had misjudged your tolerance for alcohol and completely humiliated yourself in front of the man you were hopelessly in love with. But the glass of water paired with a bottle of aspirin and a note from Natasha excusing you from training today proved otherwise.

All it took was a single drunken confession to completely obliterate one of the most dearest friendships you had. How could you ever possibly face him after this? Not only had you completely misread his intentions, but he had responded less than enthusiastically to your profession. You’d seen it in his face, the guilt that swam in his eyes and sympathetic smile that he wore so beautifully despite how badly it hurt you. Though Natasha had cut him off before he could offer a full response, you had enough sense to know what had been coming next.

“I’m sorry kid, but I don’t see you that way. You’re just not my type.”

The mere thought has you reeling all over again as you fight to keep your nausea at bay and clumsily reach for the glass of water. You’re grateful that you’ve been given the green light to essentially lock yourself away in your room and hide in your shame for the rest of the day, but you know that eventually you’ll be expected to go back out there and resume your daily routine. But Bucky was part of that routine, and you feel absolutely pathetic as you realize just how much you’d centered your life around him.

It’s obvious that logic is not your strong suit when it comes to these situations, so it made sense that you felt the only natural solution was to simply avoid Bucky for as long as humanly possible. You’d spar with someone else, maybe ask Natasha to join you for a movie instead, and chase away your own nightmares from now on. Surely this would help you get over him once and for all.

At least that’s what you hoped.

However, you were only successful in avoiding Bucky for a straight week until Steve decided you two were the perfect candidates for a recon mission.

You’d followed Steve around the compound pleading your case as soon as he’d handed you the mission file, but the man was adamant that you were the only one right for the job.

“You’re the only one who can see inside the building without actually having to step foot in it,” Steve had reminded you, his stance firm and his arms crossed over his broad chest as he spoke. “We need to know if these guys actually have any stolen Stark tech on their hands before we risk going in there. Your vision can give us the layout of the building and determine their inventory without them even knowing.”

“If my enhanced eyesight makes me the most qualified then why can’t I just go on my own?” You adamantly protested before handing the file back to him. “It clearly states in the report that I’m not expected to go inside or make contact with any hostiles, so why do I need a partner?”

“You’re going to be too busy scanning the building to watch your own back, so you’ll need someone else there to watch it for you,” Steve reminded you with authority, his tone indicative of the fact that as Captain he had the final say. With a softer tone, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder before giving it a comforting squeeze. “Besides, I think this will be good for you both. A team only works if everyone’s on the same page, so it’s important to me that you two figure things out. Understood?”

“You got it, Cap,” you finally relinquished with a discontented sigh before excusing yourself to prepare for the mission.

You end up in the car garage a few hours later anxiously waiting for Bucky’s arrival. A part of you had considered leaving without him and worrying about Steve’s wrath at a later point, but you knew better than to test your luck. He was right about needing someone to have your back, but you just wish that someone could have been anyone else on the team.

The sound of heavy boots making their way towards you prompts you to lift your despondent gaze towards their own. Despite only having been apart from him for a week, you still find your breath catching in your throat and heartbeat speeding its pace by tenfold as you lock eyes with his stormy gaze. You have no idea what he’s thinking, and you desperately wish your x-ray vision could allow you to look into his head and read his thoughts, but unfortunately that’s Wanda’s speciality, not yours.

“Hey,” he greets with a barely visible smile that makes your chest tighten with longing. You’d think that after being rejected you’d be over him by now, but it turns out it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

“Hi,” you murmur meekly, absently dragging the toe of your boot along the ground. The air is thick with tension as you both engage in an unwelcome staring contest and wait with baited breath for the other to address the obvious elephant in the room. After a minute, you finally speak, “Thanks for coming along.”

“No need to thank me,” he assures you in the softest tone he can muster, almost as if you’ll run off again if he doesn’t choose his words carefully. “You know I’ll always have your back.”

His reply has you swallowing harshly while your stomach twists itself in knots; this week had been miserable for you, and yet you’d never stopped to consider how Bucky was fairing in your absence. Even if he did only view you as a kid, you still had formed a close bond with the man, and it must have been jarring for him to spend his days unused to your absence. You’d essentially iced him out without worrying about the repercussions, and now here you were forced to face them head on.

“We should go,” you state suddenly in an attempt to avoid any further awkwardness. Bucky opens his mouth to protest but instead chooses to keep silent and grab the keys for his motorcycle. As much as he’s been dying to talk to you about what had occurred at Tony’s party, he knows you both need to be focused on the task at hand, so he instead chooses to offer you a helmet before starting up the bike.

The world almost feels whole again when you seat yourself behind him and wrap your arms around his torso in a tight hold as he begins to speed off to your destination. You’ve missed this closeness, his warmth, the scent of his cologne and the comfort it brings you to rest your cheek against his back as you watch the scenery pass you by. You’re not sure if your relationship with the super soldier will ever be the same, and a part of you wonders if it’s possible to borrow the time stone from Dr. Strange so you can go back and stop yourself from making such a horrid mistake. You’d feel better if you could at least know what Bucky was thinking.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky was thinking about a lot of things.

Though everyone around him could see how stupidly blind he was to your adoration for him, Bucky legitimately had no inkling of your romantic feelings for him. The shock on his face that night had been genuine, and your confession left him dumbfounded as he scrambled to come up with the right words, but Natasha had whisked you away before he had been given the chance.

Bucky laid awake for hours that night reminiscing on all the times you’d shared together- evenings spent talking for hours until the sun came out, playful teasing over your earpieces during missions, letting you crawl into his bed at odd hours because it helped your night terrors. He could say he was simply being a good friend, a good teammate even, but he knew he’d only be kidding himself. Bucky would do just about anything you asked of him, and he knew it was because deep inside he loved you too.

The word kid had slipped out, but it was meant to be viewed as a harmless pet name. If he knew just how upset it would have made you he never would have used it, and it haunted him every single day you ignored him. He wanted to make things right, but that would only be possible if you gave him the chance.

And right now, it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

~~~

Your eyes are laser focused on the building before you as you nestle into the high branches of a tree and ignore the biting cold from the snowfall. Bucky is perched beside you, gaze constantly shifting as he scans the area for any potential threats to your safety. You’ve been at this for about an hour as you meticulously scan each floor in search of any weapons as well as intel regarding how many people occupy the building. Your eyes are starting to burn from the amount of strain your powers put on them, something Bucky picks up on as he places a hand on your shoulder to get your attention.

“I think you should take a break,” he prompts with worry clear on his features. Though a part of you agrees, you’re too stubborn to relent to his suggestion. This mission is your chance to prove to him that you’re not just some kid he has to babysit; you are just as capable as anyone else, and you want him to see you not as a mentee but as an equal.

“I’m fine,” you insist indignantly before returning your gaze to the weapons base, “you’re breaking my concentration.”

“Y/n, if you put too much pressure on your eyes you’re going to have a crushing migraine for weeks and Steve will have no choice but to bench you from missions,” he reminds you, and though Bucky is only trying to be helpful you feel as if you’re being reprimanded like some child.

“Are you not listening to me? I’m fine,” you grit through clenched teeth. The pressure is getting to you, and this conversation certainly isn’t helping.

“Look, just stop to use the eyedrops Dr. Banner gave you and then-“

“Oh my god, would you stop?! You’re not my babysitter, Bucky!” You finally cry out in exasperation.

“Hey!” A third voice interjects before Bucky can respond, prompting both of you to turn your heads just in time to see a man below raising his gun in your direction. You’d both been so engrossed in your debacle to notice a guard had been sent to search the area, and your little outburst had just given away your hiding spot.

Your head is pounding from the overexertion of your powers, and you’re barely able to register Bucky yelling at you to duck. The man begins to shoot before Bucky can draw his gun, and you’re not quick enough to duck out of the way when a bullet comes in your direction. It shoots straight through your shoulder blade, the force strong enough to hinder your balance and throw you off of the tree branch.

“Y/n!” Bucky cries out, eyes wide as he shoots a hand out for you. He’s barely able to graze your fingertips before you go falling straight to the ground with a strangled cry. The last thing you see is his horrified face before you hit the floor with a defeaning thud.

Everything goes dark after that.

~~~

The lights of the infirmary are blinding as you will yourself to peel your eyes open with a groan. A dull throbbing fills your head as you lift your hand to shield your eyes and attempt to sit up only to be gently pushed back down onto the bed.

“Easy there, slugger,” a voice reprimands teasingly, “Bruce says you shouldn’t be making any sudden movements for the next few days. You didn’t break anything, but you’re bruised up pretty bad and need to be on a five day medication regimen to keep the migraines at bay, and that’s not even mentioning the bullet hole in your shoulder.”

“Natasha?” you murmur hoarsely, barely making out her figure through squinted eyes. Your mind is reeling as you try to recall the events of your mission, and your stomach drops as you recall that you hadn’t been alone when you’d been ambushed. “Where’s Bucky?!”

You try to sit up again only for her to push you back down with one hand while the other uses the control pad to dim the lights in the room. You’re grateful for the pressure it alleviates, but your racing heart does nothing to help your anxious state.

“Bucky is fine,” she reassures you, “he left to get you some water, but he’s been in this room all day since you both got back.”

“What happened? I-I remember arguing with him, getting caught, falling out of a tree…”

“You hit a couple branches on the way down which is why you’re all banged up, but luckily the snow helped break your fall and prevented any further damage. Barnes was able to get you both out of there unscathed, and thankfully Bruce was able to remove the bullet out of your shoulder with minimal scarring. But… I have to say, I’ve never seen Bucky look so worried before.”

“God,” you whine in embarrassment, palms pressing into your eyes as you hold your face in your hands. “It’s like I’m incapable of not making a fool of myself every time we’re alone together.”

“Look, just stop dragging your feet and face the issue head on. You two need to work this out,” Natasha reiterates, her eyes subtly shifting to the man that enters the infirmary with a bottle of water in his hands. “The sooner the better.”

Bucky looks like a dog caught with its tail between his legs as he approaches your bedside, swallowing nervously as Natasha moves past him with a “good luck” leaving her lips as she exits the room and allows you both some privacy. You take the bottle from him with trembling hands and a quiet thank you before finally willing yourself to look at him.

“I’m sorry… this whole mess is my fault,” you murmur remorsefully, fingers fidgeting with the paper label on the bottle, "if I had just kept my mouth shut that night-“

“I’m glad you said it.”

“What?” You breathe out in surprise, unsure if you heard him correctly or if it was just your migraine skewing your perception of reality. Bucky swallows nervously before seating himself beside your bed, a bashful smile playing at his lips as he meets your gaze.

“Look, I know I reacted horribly in the moment, but it was only because I thought you were too drunk to mean it,” he confesses almost shamefully, a flash of guilt present in his features. “It’s hard to believe a woman as wonderful as you would want a tired old man like me, and I assumed it was a spur of the moment thing. But I have cared for you the moment Steve introduced you to us as a new member of the team, and I don’t go out of my way to protect you because I think you’re some incapable kid who needs my help. It’s because… well, it’s because I love you too. And I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.”

Your lips are parted in shock as you process Bucky’s words, your mind racing to catch up as you realize the man you’ve pined for so long is now confessing his love for you. A part of you is scared that this is some sort of concussion dream and that you’ll wake up to find it wasn’t real. But the feel of his hand carefully cupping your cheek says otherwise, and you nearly melt into his touch at the feeling.

“You love me?” You repeat again in quiet astonishment. Bucky lets out a small chuckle in response.

“Of course I do, sweetheart,” he reassures you with an adoring smile, “it killed me to be away from you for so long, and I hate that it took us being shot at for me to finally tell you that.”

“I guess we just operate better on chaos,” you weakly joke, smiling when it earns you another laugh out of Bucky.

“It certainly is our specialty,” he agrees with wry grin. Then, tone more serious now as he moves to take one of your hands in his own, he says, “I love you, y/n, and I’d be honored if you would give me the chance to take you out somewhere nice to makeup for this whole mess I put us through.”

With a soft smile, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and answer, “I’d love nothing more.”

And then, in the privacy of the quiet infirmary, Bucky leans in and steals the first of many kisses from you.

| tags: @cjand10 @wamefou @g1g1l @yes-ilovetowrite @greatenthusiasttidalwave @shanksstrawhat @vicmc624 |

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: You tend to remember the smallest things and dates which are of you and Chan, so you decided to surprise him with a homemade dinner on the date of when you both met for the first time. Except for, you didn't expect Chan to forget it, let alone react the way he did.

Warnings: Couple arguments. Use of strong language, a bit of angst & tears, Smut🔞, unprotected (make-up) sex, intimate, oral (f.receiving), pet names, brief mention of a tummy bulge (so size kink if you squint I guess?). Use of Y/N (but only twice).

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: I think I'm going through a phase rn, somehow I am ADDICTED to writing angst and tears— LMFAOOO @mrs-hwangh what have you done to me???

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 5.6k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Your soft hums of your favourite song echoed quietly in the living room, smiling to yourself as you fiddled with a silver bow, wrapping a small box that contained a gift you bought for your boyfriend a few days ago.

Today was the day when you both met for the first time four years ago, in the same college, at the same coffee shop where he accidentally bumped into you and spilled his drink all over your notes and you never would have imagined that moment would lead to this.

To love. To Chan.

Your heart swelled at the memory, a fond chuckle escaping your lips. You had planned a simple evening, nothing too extravagant, just the two of you, sharing memories over a homemade dinner and the gift you picked out so lovingly. You knew how busy he was, but today mattered to you. It was the day everything began.

Once you had everything set, you waited for Chan to return home from work, your leg tapping on the floor and fingers playing with the hem of your dress.

Minutes passed to hours and you hadn't received any calls or texts from him, but you waited patiently. Maybe he was caught up at work. Maybe he forgot to check his phone. Still, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

The sound of the door unlocking cut through your thoughts, and you quickly stood up, smoothing down your dress. Relief and excitement flickered in your chest as Chan walked in, rubbing the back of his neck, looking utterly exhausted.

His bag slumped onto the floor as he kicked off his shoes, barely glancing up at you. Your heart sank ever so slightly but you tried not to let that disappointment settle in.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, stepping forward. “Long day?”

He nodded, letting out a tired sigh. “Yeah. I’m drained.”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous. “I… I made dinner. And I got you something,” you said, gesturing to the neatly wrapped gift on the coffee table.

Chan barely spared it a glance, his brows furrowing slightly. “What’s the occasion?”

Your heart dropped, but you put on a soft smile. You couldn't get mad at him if he forgot it, even though you wished he didn't. That he didn't forget the date or not acknowledge the effort, the way you had been looking forward to this all day.

"You don’t remember?” Your voice came out quieter, trying to mask in a playful tone.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead, looking as if he'd been asked questions in an interview. "Um no, why don't you tell me?"

The way his voice sounded made you feel like you got slashed with a blade, but you shoved that dramatic thought aside and walked closer to him, biting your lower lip in order to swallow the hard lump that had formed in your throat.

“It’s the day we met.” Your voice wavered slightly, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you but you continued smiling softly. “Four years ago today.”

Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his features. “Babe, I’ve been swamped with work. I barely know what time it is.”

You blinked, his words stinging more than you expected. “I get that you’re busy, Chan. I really do. But this was important to me.”

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Come on, don’t do this. It’s just a date. It’s not like an anniversary or anything.”

You took a small step back as if he had physically pushed you. You blinked up at him, trying not to let his words form the tears to gush up your eyes.

Your arms wrapped around yourself, hoping that would keep you steady. "I just thought this would mean something to you too."

His brows furrowed deeper, irritation creeping into his voice. "Of course it means something to me. But I don’t have the luxury of remembering every single date when I’m drowning in deadlines."

Your heart clenched, his words cutting deeper than you expected. "So, what, I'm just supposed to understand that I come second to everything else in your life? That it’s okay for you to forget something that mattered so much to me?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s just a date."

"Just a date?" Your voice cracked, a slight tone of anger and heartbreak mixing in your chest. "It’s the day we met, Chan. The day everything started. I planned this for us. I waited for you, and you didn’t even think to text me back? Or check your phone?"

"I was working! I don’t have time to be glued to my phone every second!" His voice was sharper now, making you flinch hard, his frustration spilling over. "I come home exhausted, hoping to relax, and now I have to deal with this?!"

The venom in his voice made you shiver and you hugged yourself tighter. "Chan, please don't shout..."

"No, I mean you always do this. I get it, that you remember small things, but I just want an evening of peace after a long day at work."

Chan had rarely raised his voice, your throat tightened at his words, a dull ache forming in your chest. You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even though his tone made you feel like you were drowning.

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me, Chan,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I just thought—” You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your dress. “I thought maybe today would matter to you too.”

His jaw clenched, and he ran a frustrated hand through his curls, exhaling sharply. “Sure you did,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You always do this, Y/N. You put so much weight on things that I—”

He stopped himself, hesitating, but you already knew where he was going with this.

“That you what?” You challenged, your voice barely above a whisper. “That you don’t care?”

Chan looked at you then, eyes dark with exhaustion and irritation. “That I don’t have the mental space to deal with every single date, every little detail, every expectation you set for me without telling me.”

His words cut deeper and deeper, the sting of them making your eyes well up. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall.

“I never asked you to be perfect, Chan,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I never expected you to remember every little thing. But this?” 

You gestured weakly toward the dinner table, the untouched meal, the small, neatly wrapped gift that now felt like a stupid afterthought.

“It's the day we met for the first time, so it just meant as much to me as our anniversary.”

Chan’s lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, but he said nothing. That silence, that hesitation, hurt more than his words.

Your fingers wrinkled your dress, feeling a chill despite the warmth of the apartment. “You know, I wasn’t even mad that you forgot. I just wanted to spend time with you.”

Chan let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You think that I don’t want to spend time with you? Do you know how exhausting it is to juggle everything, to be everywhere at once? And now, I come home and instead of just relaxing with you, I’m being guilt-tripped over a date I forgot?”

The sharp sting of his words left you breathless.

Guilt-tripping? That was what he thought this was? Your efforts, your love, your excitement, had all of it been reduced to you being an inconvenience to him?

Your lips parted, your throat constricting as a wave of emotions surged through you. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Chan,” you said, your voice wavering. “I just wanted you to remember. I wanted you to want this too.”

His expression flickered, something unreadable flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a heavy sigh. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so damn tired. I don’t have time to remember every little thing—”

“Every little thing?” you cut him off, your voice suddenly louder, cracking under the weight of your emotions.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t say it wasn’t important, I just—damn it, I forgot, okay? I’m human! I make mistakes!”

Your chest heaved as you stared at him, eyes stinging, heart breaking. “Forgetting is one thing,” you said, voice thick with unshed tears. “But the way you’re acting right now? Like I’m just another problem you have to deal with?”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands clenched at your sides. “That hurts more than you forgetting.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly, the anger in his expression flickering for a brief moment. But the damage was done. The silence between you was heavy, suffocating, the walls closing in around you.

You shook your head, backing away from him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Y/N…” he started, but you turned away from him.

“No. I get it. You’re tired. You need space. And I’m obviously asking for too much,” you said, your voice hollow. “So I’ll make it easy for you.”

With that, you turned on your heel, took your keys that were sitting on the coffee table and walked toward the door, grabbing your coat. Chan’s eyes darkened, his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

You untangled yourself off his grip and slipped in your coat, brushing away the tear that slipped down your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Somewhere that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for your attention.”

His face fell, and for the first time that evening, you saw a flicker of realization in his eyes—as if he finally understood just how much he had hurt you.

“No, wait, please,” he said, reaching for you, but you pulled away before he could touch you.

You turned away and closed the door behind you, walking away as fast as you could to your car, driving back to your apartment.

Behind the door Chan grabbed fistfuls of his hair, grunting and growling under his breath as he fell on the plush couch.

His eyes caught the small, neatly wrapped gift that was sitting on the coffee table, he hesitated for a second but then opened it, his heart sank like a stone thrown in the ocean when he was what was nestling inside.

His favourite bracelet he lost when we went on a business trip a few months ago. It was the exact same design and brand.

His fingers trembled as he picked up the bracelet, the silver catching the dim glow of the living room light. His throat tightened painfully as he turned it over in his hands, his vision blurring slightly.

And you… you had remembered. You had gone out of your way to find it, to replace something that meant so much to him, because that’s just the kind of person you were.

Chan exhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispered, the weight of his words from earlier slamming into him like a truck.

What had he done?

***

The next morning you woke up, exhausted, your vision blurry, nose stuffed and what felt like a dull headache creeping up your forehead. You groaned softly and walked into the bathroom, to find your state in a mess.

Disheveled hair, puffy cheeks with stained mascara, swollen eyes and lips. You had barely stepped inside your apartment before the dam broke, tears spilling freely as you sunk in your bed.

You didn't know at what time you reached home or when you had fallen asleep.

You hated arguing with Chan. 

Sure you had a few disagreements once in a while but they were different. But this kind of argument; where it wasn’t just a misunderstanding, but something way deeper, made you question if you were the only one holding onto the pieces of your relationship while he let them slip through his fingers so easily.

You fixed yourself into the shower, letting the water wash away the fresh set of tears that began to run down your face. After a while you stepped out and changed into a comfortable pair of sweats and grabbed your phone, only to see a dozen calls and texts from Chan.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, heart pounding as you scrolled through the missed calls. Channie <3 (12).

The unread messages blurred together, but you caught glimpses of them as your breath hitched.

Channie <3 [1:12 AM]: Please, baby, pick up. Channie <3 [1:13 AM]: I know you’re mad. I know I fucked up. But please, don’t shut me out. Channie <3 [2:03 AM]: Are you home? Are you safe? Just… let me know you’re okay. That’s all I need right now.

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled further, his messages growing more frantic, more desperate.

Channie <3 [2:45 AM]: I can’t sleep knowing I hurt you like this.

Channie <3 [3:20 AM]: I love you. I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but please tell me you’re okay.

Your chin wobbled as you closed your eyes and kept your phone face down on the nightstand, not knowing what to respond to him. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face him yet, if you could talk to him and not break all over again.

You walked out of your bedroom, to the kitchen to make yourself some coffee when the front door bell rang. You glanced at the clock hanging on your wall, wondering if you were expecting anyone in the morning, you sighed heavily and walked to the door, only to be greeted by someone that made you feel like you got pulled into the floor.

Outside stood Chan, his face masked with exhaustion and faint hints of dark circles under his eyes and messy hair as if he had been running his hand through it the entire night. He was holding a bag, what looked like it was from your favourite bakery and bouquet of flowers, his gaze locking in with yours, pleading you for a chance and forgiveness.

You attempted to close the door but Chan held it, interrupting you from shutting him out. “Sweetheart…” He started but before he could say anything, you left the door hanging and walked into the living room.

Chan hesitated at the doorway, gripping the bag and flowers tightly as he watched you walk away. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him.

The quiet of your apartment felt heavier than usual, like an invisible barrier had formed between the two of you. He placed the bag on the kitchen counter, setting the flowers beside it, before slowly following your retreating figure.

You kept your back to him, your arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the window, staring outside as if willing yourself to be anywhere but here.

“Baby…” Chan tried again, his voice softer this time. Apologetic.

You tensed but didn’t turn around.

He took a careful step forward. “Please, just—”

“Don’t,” you said, your voice a whisper, but it carried enough weight to stop him in his tracks.

Chan swallowed hard. He wanted to reach for you, to hold you, to tell you he was sorry in a way that would make up for last night. But the weight of the argument hung so heavily between you both, without sparing a glance at him, you went inside your bedroom.

The soft click of the door shutting behind you echoed louder than it should have, and Chan exhaled shakily, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

He had messed up. Badly.

His gaze flickered to the neatly wrapped pastries and the bouquet he had brought. He had stopped by your favorite bakery the moment they opened, hoping—praying—that it would mean something, that it would show you he was trying to make up for the way he reacted.

But he knew better. A box of pastries and a bouquet of flowers couldn’t, wouldn't erase the way he had hurt you.

With a tired sigh, he sank onto the couch, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. He didn’t know how much time had passed, only that the silence in the apartment was suffocating.

He glanced toward your closed bedroom door, debating if he should give you more time or if he should go to you now.

But his heart won over his hesitation.

Slowly, he pushed himself up and walked toward your door, his footsteps hesitant but determined. He paused just outside, lifting a hand to knock, but stopped himself at the last second.

Instead, he carefully turned the doorknob and stepped inside.

You were sitting on the bed, your back facing him, silent sobs filling the room. As much as you wanted to hate him for the way he behaved, you simply couldn’t. His presence alone was enough to pull you over, but the heaviness of your emotions made it hard to think. 

Chan’s heart ached at the sight and the sound of your sobs. You heard his footsteps, with a choked voice you said, “Chan, go away.”

He couldn’t go away like that. Not until he tells you how sorry he is and how much he regrets last night. 

“Honey…”

Your shoulders shook harder with each breath, Chan made his way towards you and sat next to you, hesitating for a fraction of a second before his arms wrapped around you and pulled you flush to his chest. You couldn’t react, just stayed frozen in his embrace.

“Baby, my love, I’m so sorry…” He exhaled deeply. “I hate myself for the way I was last night. I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t important to me because, God, baby, you are everything to me.”

“I messed up,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “I was stressed, and I let it make me forget what really matters. I forgot us. And that’s not okay.”

You swallowed thickly, your body still stiff in his hold, unsure if you should let yourself sink into his warmth or resist the comfort you so desperately craved. His arms tightened around you, his heartbeat pounding in a frantic rhythm under your ear.

“I should have come home and held you,” Chan murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I should have kissed you and told you how much I love you instead of making you feel like you were asking for too much.”

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, the weight of his words pressing against your fragile heart.

“You never ask for too much,” he whispered, his voice raw, filled with self-reproach. “You only ever ask for me,” his throat flexed, “and I failed you.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes, but this time, you weren’t alone in your grief. Chan pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, as if he was trying to kiss away the pain he had caused.

He gently turned you in his embrace, urging you to face him, his hands cupping your cheeks as he tilted your face up to his. Your vision was blurry, so you closed your eyes, unsure if you could look at him.

His thumbs brushed away the tears clinging to your skin, his touch featherlight, reverent. “Please look at me, sweetheart.”

And then you did. And what you saw made your breath hitch.

Pure, unfiltered love—wrapped in sorrow, wrapped in desperation. His dark eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, rimmed with exhaustion and regret. His lips were slightly chapped, parted as if he had a thousand apologies to spill but didn’t know where to start. He looked just as broken as you felt.

His mouth brushed on your forehead, lips trembling as he whispered, “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you, baby.”

Your chin trembled. “Then why did I feel like I was alone in this?”

Chan inhaled sharply, his expression crumbling. “You’re not,” he said instantly, his voice urgent. “I swear, you’re not. I just—” He exhaled heavily, his fingers trembling as they traced over the curve of your jaw. 

“I shouldn’t have taken out my stress from work on you, when you only wanted to spend time with me on a day that I should have remembered too. I’m really sorry baby. I can’t lose you over this.”

Your gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes, searching, wavering. His words poured out so thick with emotion, unfiltered and raw, it made your chest tighten so hard, it hurt.

“Tell me now,” his fingers brushed away the faint tear stains from your face, “Do you want me to go?”

Your breath and words were stuck in your throat. Part of you wanted to let your pain fester a little longer so he could understand just how much last night had hurt. But the way he was looking at you, so full of remorse, it broke through the wall you had tried to keep up.

Chan was here. And he was trying.

The sincerity of his voice and his presence thawed the ice that built around your heart overnight, you couldn't stay angry at him for another moment longer. Because you knew the love you had for him could overshadow any kind of pain.

Your fingers reached up, hesitant, before threading through his soft curls. He sucked in a breath at the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, his grip on you tightening.

Time was frozen, breaths were stolen and before you could stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. “Don't hurt me again…” You chokingly whispered.

“Never sweetheart. I won't ever do that again.” He let out a shaky breath against your neck, his hands running up your back, molding your body to his like he was terrified you’d disappear if he let go.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispered, his voice so low and vulnerable that it sent a shiver down your spine.

His lips brushed over your cheek first, barely there, as if he was asking for permission. Then he kissed the corner of your mouth, lingering and waiting. “Please.”

And when you didn’t pull away, he finally pressed his lips to yours.

Soft and hesitant.

Not demanding, not rushed, just a quiet plea wrapped in tenderness.

His lips molded against yours like a silent confession, staying there as if he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him.

His hands moved up your sides, thumbs tracing absent patterns over your skin. He wasn’t taking, he was giving, pouring all of his love into every press of his himself, every stroke of his fingertips.

Your body melted into his instinctively, your hands tightening in his hair as you deepened the kiss, letting yourself drown in the warmth of him. 

He made a quiet sound against you, almost like a sigh of relief, as if he had been waiting for this, for you to accept him, to let him back in as he laid you on your back and toyed with the waistband of your pants.

He had barely touched you and you were already on liquid fire. Blood coursed through your veins when he pulled them down, the chilly air making you shiver at the contact of your heated skin. 

“Chan…”  Your voice came out in a breathy whisper, half moan and half command, when his lips danced over the soft skin of your thighs. 

“Hmm?” when he pressed there, you couldn't help but sigh completely. “What is it honey?” He coaxed, the huskiness of his voice that made it hard to think. Did you want him to stop? Or did you want him to go on?

“I…,” He smirked against you as he made his way up, a path that he knew like the back of his hand. He spread your legs apart, the glistening sight before him reawoke a rush of possessiveness in him. 

“I hate fighting with you.” Chan whispered against your flesh, voice raw and aching. 

Your fingers found his hair, tugging him closer as if that alone could answer him. His breath fanned over your core, and his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into your thighs.

“You’re my world,” he admitted, looking up at you, eyes dark but filled with something deeper than lust. “And I want to give you everything. I'm sorry for ruining last night baby.”

The words sent a warmth spiraling through you, melting away the remnants of your argument.

He brushed a kitten kiss right on your swollen clit, and your body responded instantly, arching toward his touch. He took his time, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that left you breathless. 

His hands kept you steady, but the way he worshipped you made you feel as if you were floating. You couldn't help but squirm, soft moans spilled from your lips, and when you murmured his name.

This wasn’t about just sex. It was about him making up for every harsh word he said, erasing any distance that had carved its way between you both over the past 12 hours.

His mouth moved over you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction, every soft gasp that spilled from your throat. His hands, rough and calloused, held you with the gentleness of a man afraid to break something precious.

“Cha—nhg,” You whimpers didn't slow him down. It only made him go faster and faster, tongue flicking and licking with an agonizing pressure. 

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. You attempted to pull his head away from your pulsing core but he wouldn't budge. 

“I'm not done.” He looked up from your pussy, chin and lips swollen and glistening with your arousal. 

He dove back in with a renewed, hungry pace, his nose nudging against your clit, the warmth shooting up to every inch of your body. He couldn't get enough of how you tasted, how you moaned and screamed only for him. If he could, he would stay right were he was forever.

The band in your lower belly knotted tighter and tighter, had you writhing and bucking your hips, it was on the edge of snapping

And then you surrendered to him. Your orgasm left you gasping, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and only his name escaping your lips, Chan held you firmly as he helped you ride it out. 

He didn't let you go for a second as he sucked and licked your pussy splurting with arousal like he was on the verge of starvation, until he left you boneless but content beneath him.

Slowly, he made his way up your body, removing your top and his mouth hovering your hips, across the plane of your stomach, up the valley between your breasts. Each of it was an apology, a whispered promise against your skin.

“Baby,”—smooch—“fuck you're so sweet when you,”—smooch—“come on my face.” He said between kisses and gentle nipping on your sensitive, peaking buds that rebuilt the anticipation.

Soon enough every piece of clothing was discarded until it was only the fiery sparkles of your sweat misted bodies flying between you both. He shifted, positioning himself between your legs.

The tip of his cock nudged your nub softly before entered you slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for every reaction. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Chan let out a shuddering breath, his forehead pressed to yours.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close as he started to move. His pace was slow, deliberate, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, but it was more than that. 

It was a silent conversation, an absolution, a way of reminding each other that no fight, no disagreement, could ever take this away from you.

You pulled him in deeper and deeper, his cock twitched hard inside of you, the rhythmic slapping of skin against skin, sweat and groans soaked the air. 

His eyes fell down to where you both joined, what he saw drove him out of his mind. A soft but visible movement in your tummy. 

“Shi— fuck.”

Your eyes fluttered open when he held your hand and brought it over your tummy where you felt the bulge that was moving in and out of you.

“Feel that?” He pounded into you that made you arch your back, digging your nails into his skin. “D’you feel that baby?” 

You nodded, out of breath, mouth falling open until the cries of pleasure consumed you whole, the feel of the bulge just spurring you on more. 

His hands roamed your body, mapping familiar paths, his lips never straying far from yours. He whispered sweet nothings against your skin, words of love and devotion, apologies and reassurances.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled softly for the first time after the long hours, tilting your head to kiss him once more. “I love you too.”

And just like that, the fight was forgotten. Not because it didn’t matter, but because what you had together was always stronger.

“You're squeezing me baby,” his orgasm rushed fast and threatened to take over him, climbing up his spine and snapping his restraints. 

“Chan I'm… I'm going to come,” 

And your release finally crashed over you again, it wasn’t just pleasure—it was catharsis. 

A loud cry tore off your throat as you flooded around his cock, shaking and moaning, Chan followed seconds after slamming into you in one last thrust, burying himself deep with a breathless groan, his body caging over yours.

The post sex high lingered but he didn’t move or pull out. He stayed wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your temple, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach. His fingers traced slow patterns on your skin, grounding you both in the quiet aftermath.

“Do you forgive me?” He asked softly, his fingers brushing away a few strands of hair. 

You smiled cheekily, fingers running through his damp sweat hair, “No,” you said lowly that made his eyes widen in disbelief.

His reaction made a laugh bubble up your throat, you pulled him down onto your mouth letting your tongue slip past his lips and had him melt all over again.

“Yes, I forgive you Chan.” You said pulling back, chest heaving and content. 

He chuckled deeply, hugging you tightly, the lingering amusement from your playful teasing was still evident in the crinkle of his nose. 

Then, with a slow, deliberate exhale, he shifted, reluctantly pulling away from your warmth.

You watched him as he retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom, wiped you clean before he reached for his pants, discarded somewhere on the floor, and retrieved something small from the pocket. 

When he turned back to you, he held a tiny velvet box in his hands.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Chan hesitated, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of the box as if gathering the courage to speak. Then, with a slow inhale, he flicked it open.

Inside, nestled against the velvet lining, were two delicate rings, a simple silver band with a tiny, shimmering stone embedded at its center. It wasn’t flashy, nor extravagant, but it was beautiful in a way that felt so intimate and personal.

Your eyes flickered from the ring to his face, your heart hammering against your ribcage. “Chan…?”

He let out a quiet chuckle, but you could tell he was nervous. His free hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he held you close.

“I’ve been carrying this around for weeks, waiting for the right moment. And I—” He sighed laughing, shaking his head. “I guess last night was the moment but…”

Chan took a steadying breath, his fingers tracing the edge of the velvet box. “I know I can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” he admitted, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “I push too hard, tease too much. And when we fight, I say things I don’t mean.”

You shook your head, reaching out to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief second before continuing.

“It’s not… a proposal,” he clarified quickly, though his lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk. “Not yet, at least. But it’s a promise.” He squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours with a raw kind of vulnerability. 

“A promise that no matter how much we fight, no matter how many times I mess up… I’ll always choose you. I’ll always come back to you. If you’ll have me.”

Your throat felt tight, emotions swelling so intensely in your chest that you could barely breathe. “Oh Channie,”

His smirk faltered, concern flashing across his face. “Is it too much?” he asked hesitantly. “I know we just—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off. “No,” a shaky laugh escaped you . “It’s perfect.”

Relief flooded his features, and for the first time, you saw the nervous tension completely drain from his shoulders.

“Then… will you wear it?” he asked softly, lifting the ring from the box.

“Of course, I will.” You nodded, biting your bottom lip and holding out your hand, he slipped the cool metal onto your finger, the fit perfect, like it was meant to be there all along.

You took the other one from the box and slid it onto his finger with the same reverence, looking up at him through damp lashes.

“This is my promise to you,” you echoed, voice soft but sure. “That even when you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ll still choose you. Every time.”

Chan let out a breathless chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he gazed at you like you hung the stars.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t get the chance to respond before his mouth collided with yours again, slow, deep, and filled with a devotion that made your heart flutter in the best way possible.

And as you fell back on the mattress, tangled in each other yet again, the silver bands glinting under the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window, you knew; there was no one else for you but him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

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xx,

Ivyy

[scoupsakakitty]

LOOOOOVE YOUR BLOG i'm literally obsessed with idol!scoups fics and u r soooo good in writing them <333

not sure if you are open to requests but in case that you are, i'd love to see an angsty one with idol!scoups, maybe one where they fight ??? and cheol has to go on tour or work or something so they're not okay for quite a while and make up once he gets home :(((

Silent Apologies | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

The argument had started over something small—something stupid, really—but it had escalated far beyond what either of them expected.

"You always do this, Seungcheol!" Y/N's voice wavered with frustration as she stood in the middle of their living room, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You shut me out, and then you expect me to just be okay with it!"

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair, his patience already frayed. "Because I don’t want to fight with you, Y/N! I’m exhausted, I have so much on my plate, and the last thing I need is another argument!"

"So what? You think I don’t get tired too? That I don’t have feelings?" Her voice cracked slightly, but she refused to let it show any weakness. "You act like you're the only one who has problems, but you're never here anymore!"

His jaw clenched. "You knew what you were getting into when we started this! My schedule isn’t something I can just change!"

"I'm not asking you to change it, Seungcheol! I'm asking you to at least talk to me about it instead of pushing me away!"

He exhaled sharply, looking away. "I can't do this right now."

Y/N scoffed, hurt flashing across her face. "Of course you can’t. You always run away the second things get hard."

That was the last straw. His temper snapped. "You think I run away? I do everything I can to keep this together! I'm trying my best, Y/N! But maybe my best isn't enough for you!"

Silence followed his outburst, thick and suffocating. The words hung between them like a wound neither could take back. Y/N swallowed, blinking away the sting in her eyes. "Maybe it’s not."

The finality in her voice made Seungcheol’s stomach drop, but he was too proud—too angry—to reach for her. Instead, he turned on his heel, grabbing his jacket. "I have a flight to catch."

Y/N watched as he walked to the door. "Fine. Go."

The door slammed behind him.

The flight to Indonesia felt longer than it should have. Seungcheol sat in his seat, staring blankly at the screen in front of him, but all he could think about was her. The look in her eyes before he left. The way her voice had cracked. The way he had let his anger win instead of fixing things.

His chest ached with regret.

By the time the concert rolled around, he was running on autopilot. His members noticed. His energy was off. His mind wasn’t there. Even as he stood in front of thousands of fans, singing and dancing like he’d done a hundred times before, his heart wasn’t in it. Because his heart was somewhere else.

With her.

When the final song ended and the cheers filled the venue, Seungcheol barely let the sound settle before he rushed backstage. He ignored the cameras, the staff, the lingering adrenaline. He needed to get home.

Y/N had spent the last two days drowning in her own guilt. She hated the way they had left things, hated the last words they had exchanged.

What if something happened to him while he was away? What if those words were the last thing they ever said to each other?

The thought alone had made her sick to her stomach. So, instead of wallowing in regret, she did what she could to make things right. She cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, made sure everything was perfect. And then, she cooked. She made all of Seungcheol’s favorite dishes, the ones he always craved after long flights. Because she knew that he would come back to her.

And then, as if her heart had called out to him, the front door swung open.

Seungcheol stood there, exhausted and breathless, his suitcase slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud. But Y/N didn’t care about that.

She ran to him.

His arms were around her in seconds, crushing her against his chest as if he was afraid she might disappear if he let go. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have left like that. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she buried her face in his shoulder. "I was so worried about you. I hated the way we ended things."

"Me too," he admitted, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his gaze soft but filled with remorse. "I never want to fight like that again."

She nodded, leaning into his touch. "Me neither."

A small smile tugged at her lips as she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the kitchen. "Come on, I made your favorite."

Seungcheol's eyes softened even more when he saw the food on the table. "You really made all this?"

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. "I just… I wanted to do something for you."

His heart swelled with affection. "You didn’t have to, but thank you."

They sat down together, the tension of the past few days melting away as they ate. Seungcheol kept reaching for her hand between bites, as if he needed to remind himself that she was still there, that they were okay.

And they were.

Because no matter how bad the fights got, no matter how far apart they were, they always found their way back to each other.

[blxxmingrose]

“have a little faith in our little arthur,” hans said encouragingly, the little patch of soil that their son had tried tending to set aside for now, but hans knew he’d be back later to give it a little more inspection. “you know he gets excited by learning something new, but scooter is always a tempting playmate.” 

scooter had been wonderful when arthur arrived, his watchful eyes always looking on as the little infant grew to become a curious one. he had even played around with arthur’s antics, just as he was playing along with julia’s now. 

jinx was a more laid-back companion for the kids, but she was there too, nuzzling beside them when they napped. and when there were tears, all of them were quick to do whatever they did best to turn frowns into smiles. hans was especially grateful for those moments that made june’s calming presence shine through. he always held hans’ hand securely, but he held their children even more, assuring them that they were loved and cherished. 

hans reached out to june but was met with a smaller hand whose fingers wrapped around his finger so tightly, a gummy smile melting his heart as he looked at her fondly. “are you enjoying your time watching your brother make a mess, julia?” he asked gently before his eyes shifted to june, hearing his words about how this kind of happiness was so surreal, and now they had it. they’re living it. 

he looked at the front door and the simple shoe rack beside it where there used to be two pairs of boots. now there were four. there were colorful umbrellas on a stand, and toys that had escaped this morning’s roundup. hans chuckled at the fact that now, there was always undeniable evidence that their life had grown. their love had grown. it had grown into two tiny humans they would lay their life for if it was ever needed. 

two tiny humans whose smiles served as a soothing salve for the roughest days. “i don’t think i would have believed it either, but now here we are.” hans scanned the garden for the giggles of their son running after scooter, who has grown even bigger now too. “i did not know this kind of happiness existed. i'm glad we get to experience it.” 

as their son’s laughter echoed around them, hans couldn’t help but say a silent prayer of thanks for everything they now had with them. it was not an extravagant life, but it had everything they could ever need to be happy. “the sun is about to set,” hans noted as he looked up at the sky, the colors changing into golden hues. “shall we go take a walk on the beach before dinner?”

it was another habit they had started as a family, showing the children that there was joy to be had in something free—in being free. and as hans called on arthur to wait up, he stood up slowly and motioned to take julia in his arms. “let me carry her, you need a break,” he said fondly, pressing a quick kiss to june’s cheek. they had always been good at teamwork, at taking care of each other, and supporting each other. it was what their vows spoke of, and they were living it every day.

june hadn’t known what came after a love like theirs, either.

he had spent so much of his life believing in temporary things, in fleeting moments that would never last. even after meeting hans, even after falling into the kind of love he never thought was meant for him, there had always been that quiet fear lingering in the back of his mind — what happens when the dream ends?

but it hadn’t ended. it had only ever grown.

june shifted slightly, adjusting the weight of their daughter in his arms as she babbled softly, her toy gripped tightly in one hand as her other rested against his chest. she was warm, safe, small fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt as he rocked her gently, watching the scene unfold before them.

hans and their son in the garden, a sight so tender and so full of love that it made june’s breath catch. hans had always been gentle, always careful, and the way he guided their son’s hands over the soil, the way he had dressed him in a tiny apron and sunhat to protect him, made june’s heart ache with something deep and immeasurable.

this was their happily ever after. and it wasn’t an ending. it was the start of something endless.

june returned hans’s wave with a small smile, tilting his head as their daughter let out a delighted squeal at the sight of her father. she adored hans — both of their children did. how could they not, when hans had the kindest hands, the warmest voice, a love so vast and unwavering that it wrapped around them all like a shield?

scooter came bounding in with a stick, and just like that, their son’s attention shifted, his little hands grasping for it as he threw it with all his strength. june chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to their daughter’s head as hans made his way toward him, his expression full of pride as he took his seat beside him.

june huffed a quiet laugh, his free hand finding hans’s without a second thought, fingers sliding together as naturally as breathing. “that’s longer than i expected,” he murmured, eyes flicking to their son, who was now fully immersed in a game of fetch with scooter. “i’d call that a win.”

jinx wasted no time curling up in hans’s lap, and for a moment, june just sat there, taking it all in. the warm weight of their daughter against his chest, the feeling of hans’s hand in his own, the soft afternoon breeze rustling through the trees. this was their home, their life, their family.

he had never imagined this for himself. never thought he’d have something this whole, this complete. and yet, here it was.

june let out a slow breath, his grip on hans’s hand tightening slightly. “if someone had told me years ago that this was what happiness looked like,” he admitted, his voice quiet, thoughtful, “i don’t think i would’ve believed them.”

his gaze drifted over their home, he thought about the garden hans had cultivated with such care, the patio they had built together, the little hands that had reached for them in the middle of the night, needing comfort, needing love. “but it’s ours,” he said, tilting his head to look at hans, at the man he had chosen to spend forever with. “and i wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

the sun had started to dip lower in the sky, painting the world in soft gold, and june knew — he knew — that no matter what came next, no matter how many new chapters were written, their love would be woven into all of it.

[wearysparrows]

My Heart Goes with the Birds

ao3/masterlist

Summary: Caleb invites you to the fair in Skyhaven. Your heart condition prevents you from taking suppressants, and you go into heat at the wrong time. Caleb takes care of you in the only ways he knows how.

cw(18+): female reader, reader is MC, Pseudo-Incest, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dacryphilia, Cunnilingus, PNV Sex, Creampie, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pet Names, Improper Use of Evol, Not Beta Read 12.2K

Up in the capsule of a ferris wheel you sat, Caleb across from you, on the small bench opposite. It was the kind that was fully enclosed – with a little door with side windows, so you could look out freely across the city. When the fair had come to Skyhaven, Caleb had asked you with such sincerity over the phone if you would like to go that you couldn’t deny him. The new shape your relationship had taken on was still finding its face, fitting all of its past amalgamations into this new mold. There wasn’t any awkwardness in it, just things that were concealed, unresolved. Questions Caleb couldn’t answer. Things you were too afraid to ask.

On the floor of the capsule, Caleb’s boot touched your shoe. He nudged your foot with his own. It made a soft scraping sound.

“What’s goin’ through that little noggin’ of yours, pip? Your body's here with me, but your mind is a bajillion miles away. Don’t go where I can’t follow.” 

You looked down to where your bodies touched. Caleb’s big, black boot. Laced up tight, all the way to his ankle. It had red dirt on it, from somewhere you couldn’t recognize. It reminded you of the red dirt near your childhood home, the kind filled with quartz and iron. You and Caleb would dig through it, and he would find you the prettiest, biggest pieces of milk quartz, his nails stained red with the iron dirt, a triumphant, radiant smile on his face. It went into your waiting palms, big and heavy, warm from being cradled in the earth and his big hands. He was always putting something into yours.

It’s real pretty, huh? Not nearly as pretty as you though, pips.

 You had tramped around the house in his shoes as a child, and he had caught you when you inevitably tripped over yourself and fell. Sometimes you fell on purpose, because it felt good to be caught in the warm embrace of your brother. He always caught you in his arms, and not with his evol. The tan of his arms just having newly grown hair, his scent becoming that of a man’s. The muscles of his chest became big, pronounced. Strong. They rose and fell when you planted your face in them, his heart quick like a bird’s. You wanted to be just like him. But you would never be able to fill his shoes. 

Your heart is just like a tiny sparrow’s, Caleb.

My heart’s a bird, pip. It always flies straight to you.

You glanced back out the little window of the pod. It was just newly midday, and the sky was nearly clear, save for a few painterly streaks of clouds interrupting that otherwise serene blue. Though you searched, not a single bird burdened the sky. For a time, after Caleb had died, you could no longer look to it. That uninterrupted blue. It was too much. You knew you would never again see him pass over you in his jet plane, the great beast cracking open the heavens as it broke through the sound barrier. That plane was just as alive as he was, then. You thought if you snuck onto the airfield at night, and touched the metal curves of its body, the rivets that bound it together, you’d feel how it really was. Soft and pliant, alive. You would be able to feel its sweet and sturdy breath underneath your legs, like the back of the horses Caleb would lift you onto, when he snuck you into a nearby field to ride bareback, slotting himself behind you, sure and strong. That plane could be something that bleeds. Now, when you looked at the sky, you felt like you were the soldier that had rolled open the stone to his grave, only to find it empty of him. 

You found your voice.

“I was thinking about how you used to fly – wondering if you miss it, I mean. I know you fly with the fleet, but…it’s different, right? Flying was your dream. And now…” 

You felt yourself wince. You tore your eyes from the sky, and looked at Caleb. Maybe instead of the place where he was free, the sky was like his prison, now. The Colonel’s prison. But it was so hard to say, because the Caleb in front of you now seemed so much like both the bird and the cage. You didn’t know if he longed for the freedom of flight, or the security of the bars. His smile and eyes were soft, and he leaned closer to you. He took your hand in both of his, and stroked his thumbs over the top of your palm. It was a warm day, and your blood vessels were dilated. His thumb dipped and lifted over their peaks and valleys. Were it not for the chill of his right hand, you wouldn’t be able to tell any difference between them at all. You flexed your fingers in his grip, watched as your blood flowed backwards into your wrist.

“Flying wasn’t my only dream.”

Caleb stroked his thumbs over each of your fingernails, one by one. The light pressure was pleasant, a touch in a place that you didn’t even know you had been absent of him. You wished he would touch every part of you. You wished you could be that red, iron dirt under his fingernails.

“What was your other dream?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Somehow, it felt like you were asking him to tell you a secret. Caleb’s hands drifted upwards until he had fully enclosed yours in two of his own, like he was holding it captive.

“I’m looking at her.”

The resulting beat of your heart caused your ears to heat up, your face to burn, your mind to momentarily empty. Caleb’s forwardness, the way he stepped with love first – it was something you were still attempting to acclimate to. You had no title for your relationship, nor had he tried to give it one. You didn’t know the color of the coat his love wore. He denied the space of your brother, of your lover, your father. What did he fill? Everything, nothing. Dead and alive. Maybe it was your own fault for believing your brother could only be the sun all of the time. He was so bright that it blinded you from reality. His rays broke up though prisms. He was multifaceted. Colors you had yet to see. He had a pilot’s eyes. Maybe he saw things you couldn’t. He saw in the darkness. He was the darkness, too.

 You looked down to where your hands met. Caleb had nice hands – long, strong fingers. Tanned, with oval nails that were neatly trimmed. He had kicked the habit of biting them as a kid after you had told him it grossed you out. After that day, you had never seen him bite them again. Guilt settled low in your stomach. He had stopped the biting, but moved on to other things. You wondered if he knew that you had seen him hit his head against the wall of his room, when you got home early from school one day. Over and over and over, like he was trying to cast some evil out of himself. He covered the bruise with his bangs, but you saw it anyway. Angry and purple, like his eyes. You wished he would hit you instead of himself. You had hit him, when you were angry. Why couldn’t he use you for the same purpose? Was it not anger, but something else?

In highschool, he ran and ran and ran around the track, early in the morning, long before anyone else arrived. You followed him, and he let you, teasing you that he was shocked you had gotten out of bed. You sat in the bleachers, with his coat around your shoulders, protecting you from the wet morning chill that preceded the sun. You could practically see the softness of boyhood sluff off him as he ran on that track, until his muscles were plainly visible underneath it. Still, he ran. The tendons in the back of his knees were so visible that it looked like it hurt. You know it must have hurt to be so strong, so fast. To be first among men. Being an alpha came with its own burdens. It was like he couldn’t live without the pain. If he lost one outlet, he just directed it somewhere else. You tried to chase away these thoughts of the past, but your body abruptly decided to do that work for you, without warning. 

Your face throbbed with heat, your pulse feeling like it was dancing atop your skin. You were too hot in your clothes, sweat pooling between your breasts, wetting your palms. Your breathing picked up. Your tongue was too heavy, swollen in a peculiar way. Your mouth felt empty, your body felt empty.

Fuck. 

It had been easy, for most of your life, to keep your status as an omega under wraps. It wasn’t wholly necessary, in this day and age – most people were progressive, and cared not about secondary gender. Especially in Linkon. Still, as a Hunter, it had seemed best practice. As far as most people around you were concerned, you were a capable, competent beta. Developments in suppressants had come far within the last decade of research, and you had been taking them for nearly as long. After your first few heats, Gran had helped you get the appropriate medication to suppress them. It was best practice, especially with Caleb, a fresh alpha, in the house at the same time. But something had changed, after Caleb’s death. It was like there was a change in your cells, in the time you waited in vain for a call from the morgue, the need to be with his body, to conduct a death ritual for your alpha and being unable to – it had done a number on your heart. You had wanted to build him a funeral pyre, to wash his handsome face, to close his soft eyelids with your fingers. To hold his hand, to make sure he was really gone from this flesh, and not just in the deepest of sleeps. 

How do you mourn the death of the sun when it goes out?

Doctor Zayne had told you the truth of it, as well as he could. The medication was negatively affecting the protocore in your heart, causing palpitations, among other concerning symptoms. The clenching in your chest and shortness of breath could have told you as much. You had chalked up the feeling to Caleb’s death, your body keeping track of your loss, even when your mind denied his absence. You needed to take some time off of it – let your hormones realign, come back to your body’s natural center. Easier said than done, of course, for an omega. You could hardly take a leisurely stroll while your hormones affected everyone else in the area with or without your permission. But you hadn’t quite gotten a handle on your heats, yet. Sometimes, it was once a month, like clockwork. Other times, it skipped – and then lasted no more than two days. Impossible to predict, even with a tracker. You had at least three different apps on your phone, and a physical journal at home. There was no way you could have anticipated it happening now, though, of all times. You looked up into Caleb’s face. He was peering at you curiously, leaning his face down to look at you.

“You okay, kiddo? You’re reaaal quiet over there. A little red, too. Need some water?”

Caleb’s voice was so lovely. A warm, boyish caress. You wanted to wrap yourself up in it. To go inside of his mouth, where his vocal cords lived, and sleep there, lulled by his vibrations. And he smelled so, so good. Like safe. Like warm. Like home. You needed to be closer to him. Now.

“Wanna sit with you, Caleb.”

You drifted across the pod to where he was sitting as you spoke, and deposited yourself next to him. The car rocked gently as you sat, the bars outside creaking. Caleb’s arm was around your shoulders instantly, squeezing. You could smell him as he opened his arm, like his scent had suddenly become more concentrated. You heard the surprise color his voice as he spoke. 

“Well, I could never say no to that,” his fingers rubbed up and down your arm. Warm, firm, and strong. You leaned against his chest and looked up at him. He was more handsome than ever. You watched, curiously, as a pink blush bloomed across his face and ears. It made his freckles stand out. They always got darker in the summertime.  He hardly ever got a sunburn. Just more tan, more freckles. 

Caleb, the sun always kisses you more than it kisses me. Look, another new freckle!

I’ll give you all the kisses the sun doesn’t, okay? And even more. One for each ray.

Caleb put his free hand over his nose and mouth for a moment, and his face scrunched up in a funny way, eyebrows knitted together.

“Are you still taking that suppressant, baby? You are, right?” 

His grip on your shoulder tightened. Suddenly, the scent of him in the car was much stronger. The scent of an alpha. The scent of Caleb. Your mind, which had felt like it had been draped in the lovely yellow haze of his presence, came back to you. You tried to lift yourself off of him, but his arm kept you close with a soft iron strength. You tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt instead, trying to occupy your hands with anything other than what they wanted to do, which was to slide up his abdomen and – you shook your head, trying to force the thoughts away. Back to reality. You were in public. With your brother. An alpha. Your heat was here. And you were in a fucking ferris wheel pod. You took a deep breath.

“ ‘m not. I had to go off of them. Doctor Zayne–”

A low growl from Caleb interrupted your sentence, one you hadn’t heard the likes of since you were kids, and Caleb would put others in their place when they tried to take advantage of your secondary gender.  He put a hand over his mouth again, and looked away from you. His body was tense underneath your touch, his breaths quick. You shrunk away, wondering if you had done something to anger him. He exhaled, and pressed you to him again, reassuringly. His scent comforted you. Not angry. Enticing.

“Sorry, pip. Sorry. Keep going. Tell me.”

You nodded. Right now, taking orders from Caleb was as easy as breathing.

“He said I need to go off of the suppressants for a while. It was messing with my heart – you know, that problem I have. I don’t have a new prescription just yet. They’re working on a new formulation that won’t cause the same issues. So I’ve just been having to make do. Sorry. I didn’t know–”

Caleb put a finger to your lips, interrupting your sentence. He looked down at you, finally. His pupils were blown wide. His finger against your mouth felt good. You opened your lips, and mouthed it along his skin. Just dragging your lips up, up. The sensation was pleasant. You put the tip in your mouth, and sucked. The familiar mineral taste of his skin comforted you. Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose, and adjusted the posture of his legs, widening the spread of them. You opened your mouth for him. It just felt right. Caleb’s fingertip stroked from the back of your to the front of your tongue, his gaze solely trained on the action. Normally, you would have gagged. But not now. Then, just as you were going to close your lips around  his fingertip again, he retracted it quickly from your mouth. You watched with curiosity as he brought it to his own, and tasted your saliva. His dark lashes fluttered. Then, as if second guessing himself, he shook his head back and forth, like the shaking of a dog. He let out a labored breath, as if he had been holding it.

“Jesus Christ, pip. Alright. We need to go home. I need you to do as I tell you, okay?”

Caleb lifted your chin up with his fingers, and looked down into your eyes. His pretty purple irises brimmed with a barely constrained heat. You wanted him to put his mouth on yours. To give you his spit, his sweat, his cum. Anything. You nodded. His touch made heat trickle down your neck, into your collarbone, down into your stomach. You leaned into his touch, into him. In response, his hand changed tactics. It was around your neck, instead. Not squeezing, just holding. A point of contact and a barrier between you. His voice carried the command of an alpha when he spoke.

“I’m going to pick you up when we get out. I’m going to carry you back to the airfield. You’re not going to pay attention to anything but me. Only me. Is that clear?”

You nodded. Caleb’s grip around your neck tightened, just a fraction. His eyes were trained on the place where his hand wrapped around your neck. Every nerve in your body wanted you to ask him to press harder. To own you. You hung onto your vestiges of critical thought, instead. This was Caleb. Your brother. Only just recently back from the dead. He wasn’t your alpha. It was just your pheromones. Without them, this wouldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t actually act on anything, otherwise. He had always kept a tight leash on himself, even during your first heats.

It had been frightening, then. Those first few times, feeling a change in your body. Feelings you didn’t have a name for, couldn’t act on. But Caleb was there. He comforted you with his presence, his scent. You would crawl into his bed, press your face into his neck. Inhale the scent of an alpha. He’d stroke your hair, whisper sweet words to you. You could smell the arousal rolling off of him. More than anything, you had wished he’d marked you, taken you, let you rut out your frustration with his body. But he’d gently guide you away, stroking your skin soothingly. It was different when he went through ruts. When you were kids, he’d lock himself in his room, put distance between the two of you. It hurt, but you understood. He told you the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. It was his responsibility to keep you safe.

Things had escalated in a strange way, after you had both become adults. Sometimes, his ruts coincided with the days you were visiting. You told him you would cancel – you’d rather he be comfortable, it was a risk – but he quickly denied the notion. He had impeccable self control. His words. Of course, it wasn’t easy for you, either. But you desperately wanted to see him, so you learned impeccable self control, too. Sort of. Being around an alpha – being around Caleb – the smell of the want coming off of him was nearly impossible to ignore. You wanted to submit to him. He only wanted one thing from you, during those times, though. It was one of the few times in your life he had actually asked something from you. He would have you stand very, very still. He wanted to smell you. Your neck. Your armpits. Your breasts. Between your legs. He’d squat down, and press his face there, underneath your skirt, nose against you. His eyes would roll and flutter, and he’d inhale, involuntary sounds slipping from his lips. He would drink your scent in through his open mouth, breath hot against your sex. He made no effort to hide the way his dick strained in his cargos.

Your scent makes me fucking crazy, pip. I’m the only one who’s ever smelled you like this, right? 

You would have let him go further. You wanted desperately for him to use his tongue, his fingers, his cock. But he didn’t, and you never talked about it. It just was. The very last time you saw him, you watched as he swiped a used pair of your underwear from your bag and shoved it into his pocket. You said nothing. Even if he didn’t want you as a lover, it pleased you to think he could get some kind of relief from your scent. The voice of the Caleb of the present broke you out of the memory.

“That’s my good girl,”

As the pod came to a stop at the bottom of the Ferris Wheel, Caleb’s evol opened up the door. He was a big man, so he had to let himself out first. He held a hand out to you from outside of the car, and swept you into his arms as you took it, as he had so many times before in your life.

“Hup. There she is.”

His words made your heart flutter as you clung to him. Being good for him was what you wanted. He was nothing if not assured, strong. His long legs carried you across the faire track, past prying eyes. You could feel them on you, concerned passerby catching wind of your scent. Maybe Caleb’s. Even in your daze, you could tell he was putting it out in full force. Either to mask your own, or because of your own. It was clear in its intention.

This is mine.

You could see the sweat beading just below his sharply clipped sideburns, the red heat of his face. The sun was hitting him directly, so the melted lilac-orange of his eyes was brilliantly illuminated in its light. Your body was repeatedly rocked into him as he jogged with you in his arms. He was perfect, in that moment. In every moment. An alpha, the only one you had ever wanted. The first scent you had imprinted on your mind. Even the sound of his boots, crunching the earth, little rocks underneath them, sounded so good.

God, you wanted him to mark you. The back of your neck buzzed with it.

You fisted your fingers in his soft shirt, nuzzling into him. You inhaled, deeply. It calmed you, and ignited your arousal further. Caleb’s hands squeezed you tighter in response, and you heard him make a pained sound.

“Almost there, angel.”

He sounded strained, his voice rougher than usual. The sound of it curled up in your spine, and you squeezed your legs together. You wanted to hear more of it, for him to tell you you were doing well, that you were bad, for him to command you, to tell you to get on your knees and do anything for him. But worry crept into your mind, too. You didn’t want to make Caleb uncomfortable, to make him do something he didn’t want to do. Just to help you because you had miscalculated. You had felt signs that something was wrong, but ignored them. Cramps, strange heat in your body, early that morning. You bit at the inside of your cheek, tried to rein whatever was coming out of you in. You were being selfish, just like you had when you were kids. But you weren’t kids, anymore. You tried to push away from Caleb’s chest, and kicked your legs out, trying to get him to put you down.

“I can walk, Caleb. You don’t have to carry me–”

Caleb paused his jog. You had made it to the airfield. He looked down into your face, eyes dark, despite the high sun. It was like any light that could reach them was swallowed up by something you couldn’t name. Saliva gathered in your mouth, too much of it. You tried to swallow. 

“Didn’t you tell me you were gonna be good and do as I say? I know you want to be a good girl for me. I can smell it.”

Somehow, Caleb verbally acknowledging your heat was more embarrassing than any moment that had come before. His voice, his stern command, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You covered your face with your hands and merely nodded. You did want to be good. You wanted to be Caleb’s. You wanted to be good for him. You dreaded the moment he would leave you alone in his apartment to wait out your heat. You nuzzled into his chest apologetically, a whine you didn’t recognize coming from your parted lips. He laughed, and spoke so quietly you almost didn’t catch his words.

“You’re so perfect like this. I missed it.”

Before you could come up with a response, you were being shifted into Caleb’s private aircraft. It was a two seater. He had insisted you take it instead of the train, in the name of the perfect weather (and avoiding other people). He buckled and shut you in, and came around the other side. You couldn’t help but reach for him. Not touching his skin felt painful, wrong. He needed to envelop you. 

“Just hold on a little longer, princess.”

Caleb was an excellent pilot. 

Actually, Caleb was better than excellent. He was the best of the best. It wasn’t just the air he commanded – he was good at virtually everything else, too. He had to be. How else could he be your reliable pillar of strength, the perfect man for you to lean on? He had cultivated himself to be the ideal – and had genetics on his side, to top it off. Caleb knew it, too. He leveraged his natural gifts, turned them into things that could be useful for you. Now, then, and in the future. His body was always strong. He was always the top of his class. School, college, the DAA, the Fleet. There wasn’t any question you had that he couldn’t answer, a request you had that he couldn’t fulfill. There wasn’t a man walking the earth that could replace him, and he knew it. Hell, what other man could make you fly with his mind? He was your brother, after all. Anyone who came close could be easily crushed away under the weight of his evol. 

But this was different. Caleb had flown virtually every kind of aircraft – personal, private, military, experimental wings that would never see the light of day, weapons that the Fleet denied the existence of. There wasn’t a situation he hadn’t encountered, not the weather, nor the loss of equipment, nor dog fights in the dead of Deepspace – none of this fazed him. He had nearly died in the Deepspace Tunnel. More than once. It was nothing. Flying was as natural as breathing, as familiar as his own left hand. 

Now, there was one caveat. You.

You, releasing a scent that was imprinted so deeply into his memories – one he never thought he’d smell again. The smell of your need, of your desire, of your readiness. For him. It invited him. Every fiber of his being, on a primal level, screamed at him to take you then and there, inside of the little aircraft. You were clutching his arm like a lifeline, looking at him with fuck-me eyes. He could smell the wetness between your legs. It was only more palpable in the tiny space. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so painfully hard, nor the last time he had almost lost control. He wanted to breed you. He could, right now. He knew you would readily let him. 

It had been a long time since he had to exercise his self restraint like this. Caleb would have rather slit his wrists and bled out on the tarmac than harm you, to do something to make you hate him. Right now, you needed your brother, Caleb. Not the alpha Caleb that dreamed of rearranging your guts every night for the rest of your life. So instead he put on his headset, and slipped one on you, carefully avoiding your perfect, wandering fingers that tried to grip at his arms. He shushed you softly. Seeing you so delicate and vulnerable like this was a privilege he wanted to keep all to himself. No one else could ever, ever see you like this. Have you like this. It was his, and his alone.

Caleb went through the checklist in his mind. Instruments, flight controls, fuel gauges, flaps, doors, windows – no matter how badly he wanted you, he had to keep you safe. He spoke quietly, letting the controller know he was entering airspace. He guided the plane into the air with the confirmation from the other side. 

He knew you were doing your very best to hold yourself back. He could parse your scent, he knew it better than even his own. In the undercurrent of your desperation was your ever-present self restraint, for even as you clung to him, your other hand clung to the edge of your seat, like you were trying to keep yourself from leaning on him entirely. Literally, figuratively. Caleb gripped the yoke tighter, knuckles blanching white with the effort. It rocked back and forth with his feather light touches. His animal mind wanted to guide your hands to his dick, to wrap them around it, to let you do what he’d wanted you to do since forever. But Caleb had many minds, many compartments. Most of them were for you. Caleb released more of his scent into the small space, hoping it would calm your fretting. Little whines were coming out of your throat instead of words. The weather was blessedly, blessedly clear. Caleb’s ears strained,  trying to stay focused on the comms, and not the sounds of your mewling. He thought that if another aircraft came close, he might crush it flat with his evol for daring to come within your proximity. His omega. Not his. But you were. He grappled with his inner conquest of you while your soft fingers slipped up the sleeve of his shirt, making skin to skin contact. His whole body bristled in response. 

“Caleb,”

Your desperate, quiet voice.

“I want you so much. Please.”

He nearly lurched the little craft.

“I know, baby. Almost there. Then you can have me all you want.”

Caleb was lying, of course. He was an excellent liar. He couldn’t give you what you wanted. Because it wasn’t what you wanted. Not yet, anyway. He could wait. You had been through so much already. You were still going through so much, and would continue to. He wasn’t about to compromise everything he had fostered with you over all this time because of one little hiccup. He loved you too much for that. He was angry you hadn’t told him about your heart, about the medication. Not at you, no. At himself. Because you couldn’t trust him anymore. He remembered a time where you told him everything. But it was different, now. He deserved it. It was part of your punishment for him, he knew. He would take it. Just like everything else you were willing to give him.

Images of putting you into a mating press passed over Caleb’s mind’s eye as he expertly guided the machine to his personal landing pad. As he killed the engine, he looked over to you, ready to offer you more soothing words, to assure you that you would be cared for soon, to feel the burning touch of your precious hands. But you had fallen into a fitful sort of half-sleep, your cute mouth set in a little frown. Caleb thought about all of the places he wanted your mouth. All of the places he wanted his mouth. Instead of acting on these urges, he fished around in one of the many pockets of his pants. Since you had come back into his life, he had started carrying all sorts of things you might need with him, again. Since he had everything, you wouldn’t ever have to ask anything of anyone else besides him. But there was one other thing he had started carrying for himself again, too. Caleb pulled the little box of white pills from his pocket, and tossed two into his mouth, swallowing them dry. He never needed suppressants for anyone else – yours was the only scent that drove him fucking crazy. He had held back for this long. He could get through this, too. The pills burned his throat with a nostalgic familiarity as they went down.

The side effects didn’t matter. All that mattered was you.

Your mind came trickling back to you, back from where it had gone while Caleb had taken your body into the air. Your first sensation was that of falling, of emptiness. 

Caleb wasn’t here. He had left you. 

You were back in his apartment. In Caleb’s bed, but no Caleb. The sunlight poured in from the big, wide window, and you winced. Where was your sun? Your brother? Your alpha? Your body was empty, so empty. So hot. The sound of your own panting was loud to your ears. Even now, you knew you had to overcome this. What was one heat in comparison to everything else you had been through? You knew Caleb wouldn’t stay to help you through it, so why did your body mourn his absence so? Tears welled in your eyes, and you tried to blink them away to no avail. His scent was everywhere, in his room. It permeated everything. 

“Caleb,” you called, to no one in particular. He wasn’t here. You just wanted to say his name.

Your brother’s name seemed to oxidize in the air, like fruit that had been left out for too long. It hung there. White flesh turned red. Red flesh. Red iron. Red dirt. Heat between your legs. Empty. Your stomach lurched. More hot tears. Your body seemed to move of its own accord, then. You needed this space to be as close as having Caleb’s presence in it as possible without actually having him here. You darted around his room fervently. First, his clothes hamper. You plucked a few articles from it. A pair of his cargos. Heavy, solid. So many pockets! A compression tank, the kind he always wore to the gym. A t-shirt with a suspicious number of holes. A pair of his boxers. It was fine, because he had left you here to wait it out. He wouldn’t know. You put the tank against your face. The smell of his sweat calmed the race of your heart. You put these items on the bed, neatly, in a position that made sense. Next came his closet. You stood in front of it, scrutinizing. These clothes didn’t smell quite as much like your brother. But some of them did. In particular, the jackets he had hanging up here, the ones he only washed every so often. You took these off of the hangers, pressed them to your face. This scent was a little newer. The safe smell of your big brother. These had to come to bed with you, too.

You tucked the jackets neatly around the bed, one by one. Now, everything was a little more comfortable. One jacket in particular, you held close to yourself as you crawled back into bed. It was one you didn’t know he still had – his jacket from the DAA. Black, blue and orange. You clutched it to yourself. Holding it caused an overwhelming wave of nostalgia to wash over you.

It was what he was wearing when he died. You buried your face in it, as if you could find the last traces of his living warmth, there. 

But then, the sound of footsteps reached your ears. You thought you were imagining them at first, because they sounded like the footsteps of your brother. Footsteps you’d know anywhere. You’d followed after them so many times, you knew the steady sound like the beat of your own heart. You stepped behind Caleb’s big strides in the snow. He dragged his feet, so that you didn’t have to sink down in it behind him. His cargo pants got all wet from the effort. Big, dark marks up to his knees. But he didn’t complain. Only teased you.

Caleb, your pants are gonna be all wet at school.

You’re right. Should I try borrowin’ a pair of your little ones? Think they’d work for me?

The sound of the door to Caleb’s room opening sent you skittering to one side of the bed, pressing yourself up against one of the pillows, like a cat with all of its hair standing on end. But as you looked, your body immediately softened. It was Caleb in the doorway, holding a glass of water in one hand, and a plate in the other. His scent immediately enveloped you, stronger and more new than the jacket you were holding. More stupid tears welled in your eyes. You wiped at them hurriedly with the backs of your hands.

“Caleb,” you breathed.

“You came back.”

Caleb titled his head at you, smiling, as he padded into the room. He set the plate and water on the nightstand next to you, and squatted down next to the bed. He seemed incredibly far away, as you looked. His face was a lovely shade of red, and his pupils were blown so that you couldn’t see the lilac bruises of his irises, anymore. His eyes roved over the work you had done on the bed, a little smile on his face.

“I never left, baby. You just fell asleep for a while. Your lil’ head went kaput,”

He chuckled weakly, like something was funny. He ran a hand through his hair. You wanted that hand in your hair, instead.

“I like what you’ve done with my clothes. They look good with you.”

Before you could get a word in edgewise, Caleb was scooting closer, the glass or water in his hand. You instinctively moved closer to him, too. 

“C’mere. Drink,” he commanded, lifting the glass to your lips. You drank obediently, without a second thought. Your body was so warm that you could feel it slide all the way down your throat into your stomach. He supported the back of your head as if you were a child.

“Atta girl.”

Caleb set the empty glass aside, and you caught his hand as he was retracting it. 

You pressed his big palm against your face, nuzzling it. Caleb’s fingers twitched in your grip. For a moment, you were home. You directed his hand down, over your neck, your sternum, until he was warmly cupping your breast. Caleb’s hand squeezed, feeling the soft compliance of your flesh. You whined, leaning into him. This was exactly what you needed from him.

But then his touch was gone, in a flash. You looked to him, into his handsome face. Your body mourned his touch, and you whined. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, the strain palpable in his voice.

“What little girls need is to eat. Not me.” Caleb gestured to the plate. You followed his fingers with your eyes. It was lovingly arranged. Meats, cheeses, fruits, in pretty patterns.

You frowned. The food did look good, but it wasn’t what you wanted. You told Caleb as much.

“I don’t want to eat. I want my big brother. I want you, Caleb.” 

Caleb, still kneeling by the bed, lowered his head so you couldn’t see his expression. His voice sounded funny. A little wry. A little resigned. Quiet.

“What do you want from your big brother, baby?”

You stared at him. Your body was achingly empty. The only alpha you had ever wanted was right in front of you. Wasn’t it obvious? 

You reached for him, and held his face in your hands. He looked up at you, surprise evident in his features. You felt the muscles in his jaw tense, and relax. The fresh shave of his stubble. You knew he shaved every morning, without fail. It was his routine. His scent was so close, so strong. He needed to be closer. You leaned your face down to his, over the edge of the bed, until you could feel his breath mix with your own. The air was coming past his lips in quick, short breaths. Before you could connect your lips to his, Caleb delicately removed your hands from his face, and stood. He sat on the edge of the bed, instead. Far away. 

“It’s just the heat talkin,’ I promise. It’s not me you want. I’m just the alpha that happened to be around you, at the time.  I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret when it passes.”

Your heart sank into the bed at his words, and the shape of anger bubbled up to replace its valves. They brought you back to some semblance of reality. This was Caleb, your brother. 

Your biggest mistake was believing I’d be willing to play your kind older brother forever. I’m tired of playing house.

Your brother who didn’t feel the same way. Caleb who hadn’t tried anything, even when you were kids, and he held you close through your first heats. You begged him, and didn’t even know what you were begging for. You felt like the animal that paws at the too-ripe fruit on the ground, fallen from the tree. Getting drunk on its fermentation. Caleb’s intoxicating scent. You wanted him in your mouth. He gave you his fingers to suck on, back then. His hands shook, and he watched you use his body as a pacifier with an expression on his face that was almost anger. 

Only come to me. Don’t ever go to anyone else for this, understand?

Now, he was in front of you acting like he never said those words. You slunk closer to him on the bed on all fours, then slipped from it, onto the floor. You crawled in between his legs, looking up at him as he sat on the bed. You nuzzled his thigh. His scent was stronger, here. You could feel how taut his muscles were, under his cargos. His hard dick was right in front of your face. You pressed your nose to it. Inhaled. It twitched in response. You spoke against him. 

“Let me make you feel good. I wanna make you feel good. Can I use my mouth? You’d feel good, I think.”

You mouthed Caleb over his pants. His thighs jerked, and then his hand was fisted in your hair, dragging you away from what you wanted to do. It hurt, and the pain was so good. Caleb’s grip forced you to look up into his flushed face. His violet eyes were wild, tightly wrapped, dark storms. You saw yourself reflected in them.

“No, pips.” he said. His voice was desperately stern.

“Not while you’re like this. Heat’s got your mind all kinds of messed up. Any other time and I would have...” he swallowed, thickly. He shook his head.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ me for. Who you’re askin’ it from.”

As he spoke, a realization clapped into you like the sound of too-close thunder. Even with the strength of the pheromones, Caleb still didn’t want this. His body denied yours, his mind. What alpha could deny an omega in heat in such close proximity for so long, otherwise? Your body told you that he was wholly compatible with you, the very best option – but his didn’t tell him the same. You had been acting selfishly. You gently slithered from Caleb’s grasp, removing the hand he had on your head.

“I should go home.”

Caleb’s head snapped back down to you, eyes wide. His brow was knitted up. 

“What?”

You stood from between his legs, though it pained you greatly to leave Caleb and the nest you had made from his clothes, the one he was carefully avoiding disturbing. You steadied yourself. Sweat soaked through your shirt. The trains in Skyhaven must still be running. You couldn’t be here anymore. Burdening Caleb was the last thing you wanted. Leaning on him was natural when you were children. But you were an adult, now. 

“I – I didn’t even consider how you felt, Caleb. I’m sorry. I’ll take the train.”

You felt empty. Of an alpha, of Caleb. Of feelings, like you were leaving your soul behind in that nest. You’d get back, somehow. Even in heat, you were a capable hunter. You’d just beat the shit out of anyone who tried anything. Or take a suppressant, fuck up your heart for just a bit. Or something. Anything but being quietly rejected like this. You headed for the door – or tried. The prismatic shimmer of Caleb’s evol stopped you in your tracks, lifted you into the air, twirled you around to face him. What you saw made your stomach flip with instinctual excitement, despite yourself. Caleb was sitting centered  in the nest you had made of his bed, his back against the headboard. His evol drifted you to him, as if it were the wind, and settled you down between his open thighs, your back against his broad chest. Caleb pressed his lips against your neck. His voice vibrated against your skin.

“Did you honestly think I’d just let you leave,”

His arms wrapped around your torso. His sleeves were rolled up. You looked down at them. His arms were covered in soft, brown hair. Bruised, scarred. Freckled.

“Just like that? That I’d let you expose yourself to every random fucking loser alpha on the street while you’re givin’ off a scent that would drive anyone insane? No. I’ll take care of you, just like I always have, until this is over. Don’t try to leave again.”

The last words came as a growl. It was hard to disobey his command when your body was like this. You wanted to melt into him pliantly, to meld your bodies and become one. You would be Caleb, and he would be you. But he didn’t want that. But he was still keeping you here. He was selfish, selfless. If he knew the truth, he should let you go.

You scowled, though he couldn’t see your expression. His touch burned brilliantly. You ignored it, ignored his hard dick pressing against your back. Ignored his scent that made you want to present yourself to him on your hands and knees. Instead, you issued him a command.

“Hand me my phone.”

Caleb obediently flicked his wrist, and used his evol to deposit your phone into your hands. You unlocked it, and scrolled through your camera roll until you found what you were looking for. You knew the exact date, too. It was just after Caleb had died. The last of his effects had been sent to you in a small box. It wasn’t much. Mostly clothing, his old uniform. A stray model kit. It was so absurd to see such a big man reduced to nothing but such a little box that you had taken a photo. You thought maybe Caleb, had he been alive, would have laughed at its absurdity. But now he was alive, enveloping you from behind. You held the picture of the box in his face. Caleb cocked his head, leaning into your neck.

“What is that, princess?” he asked. His voice was a mere whisper.

“All that was left of you after you died. That little box. You want to know what I did with the contents?”

You didn’t give Caleb a chance to answer with no.

“I put all of your clothes into ziploc bags. Even your underwear. Your gym clothes. So they’d keep hold of your scent for as long as possible. I missed you so much. And you were fucking dead. When I really couldn’t stand it, I’d take something out of a bag. Try to imprint your scent back onto my mind. And you know what else I did with your things?”

You heard his clothing rustle as he shook his head behind you, like he was afraid to speak. You could feel his heartbeat underneath your back. The heart song of a bird in his chest, quicker than you had ever felt it before.

“I used them to get off. My dead brother's clothes. Because it has to be you. Even when you were dead, it could only be you. It’s not just the heat, Caleb. Even when we were kids. I always wanted it to be you. Do you get it? So just let me go.”

There, you had done it. Said your fucked-up piece, even through the mist that clouded your mind. Even with how your body screamed at you to beg Caleb to fill up all of your warm places. Every second you didn’t put your mouth on him, you conquered your nature. Your restraint was even better than Caleb’s now. You finally bested him in something. 

Behind you, Caleb was surprisingly quiet. You had expected him to say something in response – anything. Anything except silence. To remove his arms from around you, and let you disappear. Instead, Caleb fished his phone from his pocket. His arms came back around from behind, around your torso, so that he could show you the screen. His chin was nestled on your shoulder. His dick was still hard against your back. You watched in confusion as he unlocked his phone. His wallpaper was an old photo of the two of you, smiling brightly. In his camera roll, there was a hidden folder. It was labeled simply: Pip-squeak. He opened it. Clicked on a photo. He swiped, and swiped, and swiped. Photos passed by. Some recent. Some you recognized – pictures you had sent him over text, innocent things about your day. Some were recent but you didn’t recognize them. You, asleep in Caleb’s bed. Asleep in your apartment. The back of your head at a natural history museum you had attended in Skyhaven together. A picture of your shoes in his entryway. Was that you at work? His thumb began to swipe so fast that you could hardly tell what the photos were, like he was looking for one in particular. After a time, he paused on one. Another you didn’t recognize. It was older – the bed looked like the one in Caleb’s old dorm. You were asleep on his arm, a smile on your resting face. You were wearing one of his old DAA shirts. You remembered that day – you had been in such a hurry to see him that you had forgotten to bring anything to sleep in, and he had ever so helpfully offered one of his shirts as tribute. You stared at it, dumbstruck by the photo. The sheer quantity of photos. Caleb’s scent had grown stronger. You felt his dick twitch against your back.

“This one is my favorite,” 

His voice sounded wound tight. 

“I’ve jerked off to this so many times. Too many to count. I get hard from just seein’ your face, pip.” 

Caleb nosed into your hair. Inhaled.

“I kept your underwear, too. They don’t even smell like you anymore. I wasn’t smart enough, like you with your brilliant little noggin,’ to put ‘em in baggies. But I still use them all the time. Even if I can’t smell you, I can imagine…” he trailed off, and cleared his throat.

You were so wet hearing this that it was bordering on uncomfortable. You knew Caleb must be able to smell it. You had only ever seen him take the one pair from your luggage – it explained the pairs that had mysteriously gone missing over the years. You had chalked it up to them being eaten by the dryer.

“So don’t act like you’re alone in this. It’s the same for me – just like always. Two of everything, huh? Even the fucked up stuff.”

Your mind was still trying to grasp what you had just seen, what Caleb had said. The sheer quantity of photos, taken without your permission. And you had hardly seen a glimpse of that folder. 

I held myself back and endured, day after day after day. It was suffocating.

It should probably bother you. It should definitely bother you. But it was Caleb. You had only ever wanted his attention. So it didn’t bother you. Instead, you basked in the glow of the small glimpse of your brother’s appetite for you. You tapped the top of his hand with your fingertips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Caleb snorted. 

“Why didn’t I tell you I jerk off to pictures of my little sister’s sleeping face? That I stole her used panties?”

He sounded incredulous, a little sullen.

You swatted at his arm that was around you. He squeezed you harder. It crushed some of the air from your lungs, and your voice came out funny. You wanted him to crush you more, until you could sit comfortably in the deep cavern of his chest, forever, so he wouldn’t think he was empty anymore.

“No, you big dummy. That you wanted the same thing.”

Caleb exhaled as he spoke.

“Cause that’s not all I want. I couldn’t just take advantage of you. Even when you were askin’ me to so sweetly. I want to be your mate for real. Not just someone you came to when you needed help with your heats.”

You leaned back into him harder. His body was all hard planes, achingly warm. Tense.

“You never did, though. When we were kids, you took care of me like it was easy for you.”

Caleb laughed softly. 

“I made it look easy on purpose. So you wouldn’t see my weakness. In reality, the pocket money that I wasn’t spendin’ on you was going towards suppressants for me, so I could take care of you when you needed it. I was poppin’ ‘em like candy just to be around you, pips.” 

You turned towards him in his arms as he continued, staring into his face, aghast. He mimed the motion of popping pills into his mouth, making a silly face as he swallowed the imaginary medicine. The kind of suppressants he was taking were meant as a last resort – not for long term use. It was hard on the organs, especially the liver. He didn’t even bother to look sheepish. Just smiled the bright, forlorn smile of your big brother.

“Caleb! That’s so bad for you!”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. The sun filtering in from his window reflected off of his soft hair.

“Yeah. I’m real bad. Small price to pay to be around my baby, though.” His hand ruffled your hair as he spoke. You leaned into his touch. It felt so good to be petted by him. You never wanted him to stop. You wanted him to pet you all over, forever. It felt good to be a little petulant with him, too. Your big brother always adhered to your whims, after all.

“I’m not a baby.”

He nodded sagely, pretending to be serious.

“You’re right. You’re all grown up now. But you’ll always be my baby, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, despite the glowing in your chest. You connected the dots he had tried to conceal. Caleb’s calmness in the situation. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“You took some today, didn’t you? When I was sleeping?”

Caleb looked squarely into your face, clearly unabashed.

“Yeah, duh. How else could I possibly stop myself from fuckin’ you into next tuesday? If you could hear my thoughts about you – however bad of a guy you already think I am, whatever you can imagine – I’m much worse.”

You splayed your hand on Caleb’s chest. Felt the honest patter of his heart. Even through the rage of your hormones, the desire for an alpha, you knew the only one you wanted was him. It brought you tender clarity.

“I don’t care if you’re good or bad, Caleb. You’re still my Caleb. I’ve seen Good Big Brother Caleb, and I’ve seen Bad Big Brother Caleb. I like them both, because they’re both you. I don’t want you to stop yourself. So don’t.”

Caleb’s calloused hands gently cradled your face. His eyes searched yours, rapidly flicking, like he was processing what you had just told him as totally new information.

“You just said somethin’ really dangerous, pip. Do you know what you’re askin’ me?”

You nuzzled into Caleb’s palm, took his thumb in your mouth. The thumb of his right hand, the one that had been taken from him. You sucked on it, curling your tongue around it. Caleb was very, very still. His dark eyes were trained on your mouth. You took his thumb from your mouth with a little pop. It glistened with your saliva. He stared at it, and then your lips. You looked up into his face. 

“I want you to fuck me, Caleb. I want you to make me yours. Are you going to make me beg?”

Caleb’s mouth opened and shut, like he was trying to find the words. He removed his eyes from your mouth with what seemed like great effort, and met your gaze again. 

“No, baby. I’ll do anythin’ you ask. I’m yours to command. I’ve been waitin’ to hear you say that my whole life.”

Caleb put the thumb that had been in your mouth into his own, and licked it clean of your spit. With the same hand, he made a gesture, and you were lifted into the air again. Caleb switched your positions, so that you were leaning against the headboard, and he was hovering over you, big body between your thighs. His face came close, and you felt his breath on your face, inhaled the ever-sweet smell of it through your mouth. He stayed like that, for a time. Breathing the air in from your open mouth. Your body burned, ached. 

“Caleb,” you said, asking for something. Anything.

That was all it took. His mouth was on yours before you had hardly finished speaking. He only managed gentleness for a moment, before he was licking into your mouth like an animal. He gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open with his tongue. He licked your teeth, sucked your tongue. Licked your lips. Tears had been coming out of your eyes since he started, you realized. It felt so good to be consumed by him. He licked the tears off of your face, too, both cheeks. He groaned, pulling away, giving you a second to breathe.

“All of you tastes so good,”

Caleb looked at you with tempestuous eyes. His scent was everywhere. Sweet, like the ripest of apples.

“Can I tear off your clothes? I’ll buy you new ones, promise. I want to tear off your clothes.”

The speed with which he spoke almost made you laugh through the desperation of your heat. What the hell did your clothes matter, now? All you wanted was for your alpha to be inside of you, to consume you, to be one with him. Your body throbbed with it. You nodded fervently at him. He could have asked anything of you, and you would have said yes. His hands were on you instantly. He gripped the collar of your shirt and yanked. It came apart with a loud riiip, and Caleb slid the ruined article from your arms, discarding it across the room like it had deeply offended him by touching you. Your skirt fared no better under his touch, falling limply by your sides as he tore it in half. You watched, pleasure curling up your spine at your alphas display of strength. You were left only in your underwear. Caleb didn’t give you much time to marvel at your own nakedness, though, because his hands were on you. He sat up with his legs crossed, and turned you upside down, so that your pussy was directly in his face. Your shoulders were braced against the bed and his lap, and he gripped you by the waist with his big hands, holding you up so that you wouldn’t hurt your neck. You could feel the cold metal of his dog tags against your naked lower back. You hardly had the mind to protest the treatment. Everything he did felt good. Being manhandled by him felt good. He pressed his nose against your pussy through your underwear and inhaled, deeply. Once, twice. His eyes fluttered. You whined, lifted your hips. He wasn’t giving you what you so desperately wanted. 

“I know baby, I know. Caleb’s gonna take care of you. Sweet girl. You’ve been so patient for me, haven’t you? Fuck, you smell so fuckin’ good.”

Caleb’s evol slid your underwear from your legs, and he wasted no time putting his face between them. His big tongue lapped at you, licking up all of the wetness that had gone neglected for so long. Long, flat licks. Your body was so sensitive from the heat, from his newfound touch, that you already felt like you were going to cum. Which was ridiculous, because it always took you time. But not now. Not with Caleb. Not with the whole lower half of his face between your legs, breaths coming loud and labored as he buried his tongue inside you, fucked you with it. The muscles in your thighs twitched, and you gripped at his knees for purchase, your nails slipping over the material of his cargos. 

“Caleb–” you warned. 

Caleb nodded into you, not moving his face an inch. He made a successive string of mhm sounds, voice vibrating between your legs, nodding his head, encouraging you. His voice guided you over the edge, and he held the writhing of your body still, eagerly lapping up your slick until you tried desperately to push him away, overstimulated. He let you down gently onto the bed, into the center of your nest made from his clothes. You took great breaths, peering at him as you came down. His hair and face were positively a mess, mussed and standing this way and that, cheeks and nose shining with wetness. He licked his lips, smacking them loudly, clearly satisfied. Your eyes drifted down his body. He was still fully clothed. He was wearing that shirt, the one that looked like it had leather shackles attached to the sleeves and chest. It was caging him in, keeping him from you. 

“Your clothes,” you breathed.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Tears welled in your eyes again, inexplicably. Caleb’s eyes widened, big purple saucers. He stood, moving swiftly.

“Sorry, baby. Sorry. I’m takin’ em off right now, okay?”

He shed his clothes quickly as he spoke, leaving them in a pile on the floor. You watched as he revealed his bare skin to you, the strong muscles of his arms, his big pecs and abs. The soft trail of hair that disappeared into his underwear. He shucked his pants off, and they made a loud sound as they fell, like the pockets were full of all kinds of things. His big dick was proudly visible in his boxers. He shed those, too, and his dick slapped against his stomach in his hurriedness to be rid of them. It dripped with his precum. Your mouth watered at the sight. His comforting scent filled the room, tinged with his obvious need for you, his body’s natural reaction to your heat. A keen erupted from your chest. Your alpha had been too far from you for too long. Even just a few moments seemed an age. Caleb hurried back into his bed, the nest you had made from it, and crawled on top of you, slotting himself back between your legs, hands on either side of your head. His necklace dangled in your face, and he tossed it behind his back. He peppered kisses over your brow, your jaw, whispering sweetly.

“I’m here. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you. Big brother’s got you.”

His words, the contact with his body, they instantly eased your rising anxieties. Your big, strong Caleb was so close, everywhere around you. Your eyes drifted between your bodies. He was so hard. Your hand instinctively reached for him, and you wrapped it around his cock. His hips jerked into your touch, gasping. He kissed you again, letting himself rut into your hand. But then he lifted himself off of you, sitting up in a kneeling position. He gripped you by the back of your knees, and dragged your hips towards him, bracing your lower body on his big thighs.

“I’m gonna come if you keep that up. But I wanna do that inside you.”

You watched as Caleb lined himself up. You were slick and ready for him, but Caleb was still big. He took it agonizingly slow, despite your increasing insistence, trying to push yourself further down onto him. Sweat pinned his hair to his brow, and his chest heaved with the effort of holding himself back. He looked down, pressed his hand onto your lower abdomen, where his dick was bulging. 

“My good girl. Taking me so well.”

He leaned back down over you, and the movement caused him to bottom out. Your body was orgasming without your permission, now. Just being fully connected with him, your alpha, sent it wracking through you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Caleb cursed softly. He supported himself around you with his forearms, hands laced atop your head. 

“There you go. There you go. Shit,”

His hips stuttered into you as you came around him. But he still wasn’t fucking you. It was like he was letting you use him, first. 

“Caleb, please–”

You pulled away from him, for just an agonizing moment. You rolled over, putting your face and hands on the mattress, ass in the air. You heard Caleb snarl. He was sliding back inside you just as soon as you had positioned yourself for him, big hands gripping you roughly by your waist. 

“Perfect. Perfect girl. I’m gonna breed you just like this. You – you want that? Want me to breed you? Tell me.” 

Caleb didn’t wait for you to answer before he started fucking you in earnest. Rough snaps of his hips, cock hitting you in just the right place to make you feel good, like he already knew the insides of your body as intimately as you did. He was practically lifting you up off the bed into his thrusts with the force he was exerting on your hips. You nodded into the mattress, trying to produce an answer that would please him, that wouldn’t make him stop whatever he was doing. You could only manage words between the breaks in his punishing pace.

“Yes – please –”

It was enough for Caleb. His hand on your lower back forced you down onto your stomach, lying prone. His whole body covered yours, and his arm came to wrap around your neck from behind, cutting off your air just enough that it only added to your impending climax. You made soft sounds at him in hopes that he would understand, unable to find any appropriate words anymore.

Of course, because Caleb knew you best of anyone in the world, he did. 

“I know, baby. I know. You gonna come for me? Go – on.”  

You finished around him again, your body feeling limp and weak, nothing else in your mind but Caleb. He let go of your neck, letting you breathe, instead using his arms to support himself so that he could fuck you with more precision, more force. You tried to lift your hips to meet him. By how big he had gotten inside you, his feral sounds, it was clear he was nearly gone.

“Gonna fill you up now, okay? Be a good girl and–” he fucked into you,

“Take – it.”

You nodded into the sheets, desperately. There wasn’t anything you wanted more in the world, in that moment, than for Caleb to breed you. He came with a frenzied snarl, pressing his cock as deeply into you as was possible. He fucked his cum into you through it, twitching with his climax inside of you. Your connection ran so deeply that you could hardly tell where your body ended and his began. You didn’t want to know, either. It was as it should be. You were one.

Caleb wasn’t done with you, after that. He carried you to where it pleased him around the room, around his apartment, finishing inside of you so many times that you lost count. His fingers ensured that it stayed inside you, and if it wasn’t his fingers, it was his evol keeping his cum in. There was nothing but Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, until your consciousness left you again.

When you next woke, a number of bizarre sensations came to your awareness. Firstly, you were naked. That wouldn’t have been so strange, except you were wet, everywhere. And warm. The mental haze of your heat seemed to have subsided some – for now. You could hardly move. In between your legs ached, like someone had fucked you senseless.

Actually, someone had. You cracked your eyes open. Above you, that someone hummed a tune that made your heart ache for reasons you couldn’t grasp. You were partially submerged in Caleb’s bathtub, full of big bubbles, supported by the gentle hold of his evol. It reflected little rainbow prisms off of the bubbles. You looked up at him, and saw him peer down at you. His face, full of warmth and goodness. He gave you a genuine smile.

“There’s my girl. Hi, pips.”

You blinked at him. Your brother was gently running a wet, soapy washcloth underneath your arms, your tits. He was in nothing but his boxers, his dog tags dangling brightly around his neck. Your gaze drifted between his legs. He was hard. His dark, pretty hair was a little damp, like he had washed himself, too. 

“Hi,” you croaked. Your throat hurt, raw. Had Caleb been in your throat? The thought sent a jolt through you, and your body threatened you with arousal all over again. You heard Caleb inhale, slowly, like he could smell it. Still, he smiled down at you. The washcloth was between your legs, cleaning you delicately. His hands were so big, tan. You watched, curious. You had little bite marks and bruises everywhere across your nakedness. It felt so good to be cleaned by Caleb, to be touched.

“It’s been a looong time since I’ve given you a bath, huh?” he mused. He was scrubbing the bottom of your bare foot with his hand, bending your knee. It tickled a little. You suppressed a smile.

You thought back, trying to cling to wisps of memories. It had been a long time. You had hated the bathroom as a kid – the strange sterile whiteness of it made your heart turn to sharp edges of glass. Gran couldn’t get you to bathe, but Caleb could. He carried you as you kicked and thrashed and bit, pinned you with his evol while he made bubbles for you. Eventually, you always relented. He would sit on the toilet seat as you scrubbed your skin, watching you. Bite marks littered his arms.

Since you’ve decided to be a good girl, I’ll make you your favorite tonight. How does that sound?

Your trust in Caleb was so implicit that there was never anything strange about it. Eventually, you were able to calmly bathe on your own, though you secretly missed his attention. Your mind drifted back to the Caleb before you, who was rinsing your legs. You wondered at him.

“Caleb,” you asked. He looked up at you from his work, head tilted. 

“Did you mark me?”

Caleb’s dark eyebrows raised, and his ears turned a cute pink, as if he wasn’t bathing your naked body right now.

“No, princess. You asked me to – I wanted to, trust me, more than anythin,’” his hand drifted up your thigh, close to in between your legs. 

“ – but I wanted to make sure it was what you really wanted while you were in your right mind, you know?” 

He sounded unsure, voice drifting into quiet stillness. He wasn’t the Colonel, or Good Caleb, or Bad Caleb. He was still just your brother who gave you baths as a child, who folded you paper planes and flew them, who gave you pretty rocks from the red dirt, who made tracks for you in the snow, who lifted you into the air with his evol as punishment, whose heart was like a bird’s. 

Your own heart adored him. Even after fucking you senseless, he was still worried about your feelings, putting you first. You took his wet hand from your thigh and pressed it against your cheek, nuzzling into it. 

“Dummy Caleb,” you licked his palm. Soap taste. Caleb taste. The taste of home. You looked into his eyes, which were brilliant, like so many dying stars, as they watched you with unrelenting love, intensity. 

“Of course you’re what I really want.”

[weneeya]

do you think you could write the “jacked and kind” prompt with suna or tsukishima, it’s so cute ahhh

jacked and kind pt.1 / pt.2

m.list | rules

pairing. haikyuu x reader

characters. suna, tsukishima, atsumu, aone

note. ofc i can! i decided to use your request as an excuse to make a part 2 so i put both suna and tsukki lmao, hope you'll love it as much as the first one <3

⎯ Suna Rintarou

Of course he saw the trend multiple times himself, you were well aware of it. He was the one to ask you if you wanted to do it with him, which made you laugh a bit. 

“Kind? Since when?” You asked him, and it made him roll his eyes with an amused grin. You might be right on this point, but no one needed to know that he was, in fact, a real menace. “Come on, don’t be like that,” he told you and you raised your hands in the air to claim your innocence. After all, you weren’t the one who needed to make any effort for this. 

Suna might not seem so jacked, but he was still a volleyball player after all. All the training wasn’t just to know how to play. You were nothing more than a feather with someone like him, but you didn’t expect to be lifted up so easily. It made you gasp in surprise, you had to admit it. 

When he put you down and you walked to turn down the video, he waited beside you with his arms crossed and his stupidly annoying grin. “Didn’t think I could do it, uh?” You glanced at him before rolling your eyes, which made his grin go wider. 

Yes, you knew he could do it, but you hated when he was right and so full of himself. Well, not really. It made him hot, even if you would never tell him that.

⎯ Tsukishima Kei

“I’m not doing this.” 

You knew he would say this the moment you would ask him to do the trend with you. Tsukishima wasn’t a show off, so he didn’t see why he should be doing as stupid as showing anyone he could carry you on his shoulder. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, he just thought it was stupid. 

But you kept on begging him, day after day, until he finally accepted. He had nothing to prove, he was just tired of hearing you asking him this anytime you could. So he let you install your phone, putting everything as you wanted. 

“Ready?” He asked, and you nodded. The moment after, you felt his hands grabbing you to carry you on his shoulder. You knew your boyfriend was tall of course, but you never realized how much until you were up there. He put you down not much longer after, and you quickly got to grab your phone. 

You had a bright smile on your face that made him sigh before looking away, putting his glasses back up on his nose. Perhaps it was stupid, but if it made you so happy, it was clearly worth it.

⎯ Miya Atsumu

“I could do it too,” he said with a pouty face while looking at your phone from above your shoulder. 

It wasn’t the first time he saw you looking at this trend, all kicking your feet and all. It wasn’t so impressive, you had a boy who could do it too. Why didn’t you ask him to do it? He didn’t want to be the one asking, but he tried to leave you messages so you would ask him. 

“Wanna redo it?” You asked with a little smile, clearly understanding that he wanted to show off what he could do too. He nodded and moved away from you to stand up straight. It made you chuckle, how eager he was to prove things to you. 

He remained cool the whole video, wanting to be your handsome and cool boyfriend for anyone who would see this. He held you like nothing on his shoulder, putting you down after flexing his other arm to show that you weighed nothing for him.

He was clearly too proud of himself for a stupid trend, but you would never be the one to break down his joy, so you let him proudly show off while watching the video, an amused smile on your lips. 

⎯ Takanobu Aone

The boy was the definition itself of being jacked and kind. He was probably the sweetest person you had ever met, even if he might have scared you a bit at first, like anyone else. He was huge and impressive, never really speaking a lot. But you quickly learned to discover the cute boy Aone was really, the boy you loved so much. 

He did not quite understand what you were asking him to do to begin with. Well, putting you up on his shoulder didn’t seem so difficult, but why did you want him to do this? Yet, he could never refuse you anything so he simply accepted without more questions. 

Aone let you put everything in place before you walked closer to him. He waited silently the whole time, his hands resting on your hips and his eyes locked on you while waiting for you to tell him he could go. 

In no time, you were already on his shoulder, his arm around your legs to keep you there safely. His eyes were never leaving you, and you didn’t know if it was because he didn’t know what to do or simply because he loved looking at you ; because yes, Aone was the type to stare. 

You gently patted his arm with a smile, and he simply put you down on the floor as easily as he carried you. You couldn’t help but to chuckle a bit while looking at the video. He really was looking at you like a lost puppy ; a big puppy, yes, but an adorable one. If one thing was sure, it was that Aone only had eyes for you.

thank you for reading!

[gojopill]

a/n. i wanna eat gojo’s ass so bad guys

Inside the confines of four bedroom walls, Gojo lets himself feel. He cries. He cowers. He aches. He lets you dismantle him with steady, capable hands, surrendering the weight of power that’s been pressed upon his shoulders since birth. You take care of him, and Gojo thinks he likes it that way. To be soothed instead of soothing—what a rare comfort. A fucking treat.

“You want some tonight?” You ask him. You always ask. 

And he most definitely responds, “yeah.” 

Infinity gets turned off and set aside. Bony knees sink into the memory foam topper, followed by his hands — thin fingers splayed wide and ready to clutch the sheets. Gojo blushes in that boyish way he does when he’s bare like this, on all fours. A touch traces up the back of his thigh, slow and deliberate, smoothing over flesh until it meets the curve of his ass—slap.

Gojo feels. He lurches minutely, ripping a sharp inhale. “Ouch,” he says with a dry chuckle. 

“Too much?” You massage the afflicted area, smacking a peck over his ass cheek. Gojo shudders. 

“No way.”

It took trust and patience to ease the man into such a vulnerable position. Countless post-mission lazing, reminiscing about the good old days of high school. You let him ramble about his woes, never once calling him annoying. No, you just rub his back and offer better wisdom than any quack shrink he’s had the displeasure of seeing. The memories are hazy; Gojo can’t quite pinpoint when this beautiful friendship soured into sex—when hugs turned to humping—but he knows one thing: whatever this is, it cannot end.

“Did you have a difficult day?” you ask softly. He feels about four years old, answering with a quiet, whiny hum. You’re knelt close behind him, coarse pubic hair brushing the sensitive flesh of his rear, fingertips tracing lazy circles along the dips of his tailbone. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A flicker of irritation edges Gojo’s voice. “Right now?” Shimmering, diamond-cut eyes glance back over his shoulder, casting a half-hearted glare through translucent lashes.

“You can if you want. I don’t mind.”

Gojo heaves a dramatic groan, letting his head hang heavy between his shoulders. The jagged ends of his mussed, snow-white hair tickle the bed beneath him. “You got me too worked up to even think about the shit day I’ve had.” Though, now that he’s said it aloud, Gojo thinks that's been your goal all along. His head drops further, voice thick and low, dipping several octaves. “I just wanna cum.”

“After, then?”

“Sure. Sure, fine whatever.”

That seems to satisfy you, so you begin to satisfy him. Two hands pry him wide open before a warm, wet tongue presses into him from behind. This wasn’t the first time you’d done this—eaten him with such ravenous vigor it made his eyelids twitch and his toes curl—but despite that, it always felt so foreign to Gojo. Like this level of intimacy wasn’t meant for hulking, six-foot-three grown men like him. It was the kind of juxtaposition Gojo would mock, he thinks.

“Oh,” he gasps airily. Your mouth has reduced him to a collapsed, weeping thing. By now, Gojo’s chest is pressed into the bed, his flushed cheek squished against his drool-sodden pillow. The soles of his feet have turned white from the pressure, digging deep into the mattress, connected to a trembling pair of legs that work overtime to keep his ass raised for you. His arm, uncomfortably wedged beneath his stomach, bulges with bluish veins that throb from overuse as he desperately tugs himself off, matching the rhythm of your relentless tongue. A bead of sweat rolls down his inner thigh… or maybe it’s your spit. Both, perhaps? All the same, Gojo reaches down to gather the wetness on his fingers, using it as lubricant. “Oh… my God.”

He moans until he can’t anymore. Something in his voice box goes to malfunction, and Gojo is left choking on stuttered pants of pleasure as his hips writhe up and down, up and down— “You’re... g-gonna make me fucking... cum...” he warns, his words breaking between frantic breaths. You hardly falter, sending another sharp spank to the meat of his ass cheek before sinking five fingernails into his skin. Gojo tastes like everything and nothing all at once; like wet skin and comfortable memories. Like masculine musk and spring break. His unintelligent mumbles fuel you—you eat him out until he’s tugging at your hair, tossing your head back and complaining about it being ‘too damn much.’

He lies there on his tummy, breathing heavily into a puddle of his own fluids, offering you a gorgeous view of his toned back. Ripped, heaving, scarred to the nines. Your eyes wander lower, to Gojo’s most private places. Between his legs, glistening, sticky, and damp. Despite his state of disarray, Gojo has never felt so cleansed. You wipe away the remnants of his orgasm, fetch him a glass of water, and help him redress into a pair of sweatpants. He won’t ever give this up. Knowing that every day, week, month, year leads back to your warm embrace, stroking him like he’s just another guy. Like the fate of the world doesn’t rest in his shaky hands. Knowing this, having this, is what gives Gojo strength.

“You still owe me.”

“I know. M’sorry.” He’s curled up like an overgrown kitten, nuzzling his head against your chest. “I’ll get you off in the morning, I promise. Too sleepy right now”

“What? I didn’t mean…” You pause, shrugging as you think. “Well, okay, that sounds nice. But I was talking about your day. You said you’d tell me about it.”

And so he does, albeit with a playful eye roll.

[puck-luck]

trevor would overhear you call him your friend and then when fucking you hed make you say he’s just your friend

warnings: part two of this blurb from my 1k celly (CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE!!), fwb relationship, hockey player x employee of the team, former grudges from boston university mentioned, banter (flirting by bullying), oral m!receiving, talk about porn and references to filming, talk about fem!masturbation and using toys, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, squirting, creampie, lack of aftercare bc… well. it’s TZ. love him, but that boy isn’t an aftercare machine.

pairing: trevor zegras x fem!reader

wc: 4,150

Trevor is going home for the second week of the break in February, but you’re not. You have some work to do for the Ducks during the break, since you’re not one of the players. You still have to do your job instead of getting two weeks off, which Trevor didn’t seem to realize at first. 

You’ve been hooking up for weeks now, always in secret, and that’s how you like it. Trevor likes how your relationship is too, but he’d asked you to come over to his apartment and stay with him before he left for break. He’d incentivized you by saying “It’ll be like a fuckfest, we’ll have sex, eat, sleep, have sex some more… doesn’t that sound fun?”

Trevor wasn’t wrong; his statement had sounded fun. Regrettably, you could not accept his invitation. When you’d explained that it was because of work, Trevor had pouted but accepted it. You’d instead made plans to meet up on Friday night to hook up before he left on Saturday.

It’s not a surprise, then, when Trevor lets himself into your apartment after you unlock it for him. You’re on the phone with a friend right now, so you give him little more than a wave when he crosses the threshold. You’re just catching up with the girl on the other end of the call, so it’s nothing pressing. You wait for a break in the conversation, then bid her goodbye. 

“I gotta go, my friend just got here,” you tell her. “We’ll talk soon. Mhm. G’bye.” You hang up and set the phone down.

Trevor has a coy smile on his face when you turn to say hello to him. “You think we’re friends now?”

“I like that friend, but not enough to tell her that I’m hanging up on her because my fuckbuddy is here,” you sass him. “That’s strictly a conversation for my bestie.”

Trevor’s smile widens. “Aww, your best friend knows about us?”

You scoff. “What, yours doesn’t?”

Trevor’s silence strikes a chord within you.

“Really? You haven’t told anyone about this,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest and tapping your foot impatiently. Trevor doesn’t seem like the type to keep a secret, not when it comes to his conquests. He’s very confident with his ability in bed, bordering on bragging whenever you two talk about the past. He’s got no shame when he talks to you about how he once make a girl come on his fingers in less than two minutes, then swore he could do the same to you. 

Trevor guffaws. “Do you think I want people knowing that I’m fucking you?”

Your jaw drops. Was that really necessary?

“I mean, you work for the team,” Trevor continues. “I don’t think it would be great if that got out. Do you?”

So he’s not being a complete dick. He’s still not being nice, though. He’s rather condescending, actually. You’re more than willing to tell him so.

“We don’t have to talk if you’re going to be an ass, Trevor,” you tell him. “Why don’t you just do what you’re here to do, and then you can leave?”

“You don’t want to hang out with your friend?” Trevor goads. He’s already pulling at the neckline of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. “Are you using me for my body?”

You make a face at him. “Yes. You know that.”

Trevor laughs breathily and tosses his shirt at you, bringing his arms up and flexing, showing off his biceps and his muscular torso. He turns his head to the side so you can see his profile. 

You roll your eyes, throwing his shirt back at his chest. “Don’t get cocky. You’re using me for my body too, after all.”

Trevor presses a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded that you would say that. Do you think so little of me?”

“You wanted this week to be a sexathon,” you deadpan. You are not deluded enough to think that Trevor’s heart lives in his penis.

“I believe I said fuckfest,” Trevor corrects. 

Another eye roll from you. “Trevor, it’s okay that you’re using me for my body,” you try to convince him, nodding in an exaggerated way. You make your eyes look big and innocent, pouting your bottom lip out. “I have no interest in doing more with you.”

Trevor returns your pout. “So you lied when you said we were friends?”

He’s clearly not going to let this go anytime soon. “Drop it,” you admonish anyway. You step towards him, getting your hand on the rolled waistband of his sweats.  “Let’s fuck.”

He smiles. Trevor ducks his head to plant a kiss on your mouth. “I want to watch you touch yourself,” he says. “I was thinking about that the other day.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask him. You start to walk backwards, taking careful step after careful step towards your bedroom. You’re bringing Trevor with you– when you step back with your left, he steps forward with his right, and vice versa. It’s a fun little dance and Trevor’s looking down at you with that smug light in his eyes. “When? The other night when I wouldn’t come over because I had that 9 A.M. meeting?”

“Nah, I was watching porn that night,” Trevor drawls, his smile growing crooked. 

“Gross,” you reply. “I bet if you weren’t in hockey, you’d tear that industry up.”

“You think I’d be good on camera?” he teases. “Are you trying to tell me something?” Trevor reaches behind you and opens the door to your bedroom, swinging it open so you can continue your trek backwards.

“No way,” you say. Your knees hit the back of your bed and you fall backwards, pulling Trevor down on top of you. “You don’t want this getting out and neither do I.”

Without giving Trevor a chance to reply, you find his lips and kiss him. Trevor lets out a soft moan as his crotch comes into contact with the dip between your legs and you take advantage of the way his mouth has opened, licking over his lips and into his mouth.

“You gonna put on a show for me?” Trevor mumbles against your lips between kisses. “What if you fucked yourself with that vibrator I got you?”

“It’s dead,” you tell him.

Trevor pushes your shirt up and pulls it over your head. “Doesn’t mean you can’t fuck yourself with it, ‘nd touch your clit with those pretty fingers at the same time.” He fits his face between your breasts and leaves soft kisses over the swell of one boob, then the other. Trevor is digging his hands beneath your back to tug at the clasp of your bra, determined to undress you quickly.

“What are you going to do? Sit and stare? I don’t think so,” you say, shaking your head. You scratch down his back with the tips of your fingernails, tapping your fingers pointedly between the dimples on Trevor’s lower back. “I can fuck myself with that vibrator anytime, Z. I won’t get your cock for a whole week.”

He unclasps your bra and whips it off, tossing it across the room. Trevor starts to leave bite marks over your tits, his teeth digging into your flesh. “You’ll miss your friend, huh?”

“I’ll miss your dick,” you concede. “You have a very high sex drive and it’s spoiling me.” You say it so Trevor can’t tell if you mean that he’s spoiling you like lavishing you in gifts… or if he’s spoiling you like your sex drive is deteriorating into something akin to his.

“New plan, then.” Trevor smirks. He pushes up from the bed and drops his sweatpants, then shucks his underwear to the corner of the room where your bra lays. “If you’re going to miss my cock so much, then you’ve gotta suck him before I fuck you.”

“Him?” you repeat, laughing. You prop yourself up on your elbows and raise an eyebrow at Trevor. “Are you one of those people that has a name for your penis?”

Trevor shrugs, just to annoy you. It’s pretty clear that he does from his reaction, but he doesn’t tell you yes or no. 

“You don’t even want to get me naked first?” you ask. You’re still wearing your jeans and panties, while Trevor is fully unclothed and completely unabashed about it. 

“Do you need to be naked to use your mouth?” Trevor always has a comeback like this. When you started working for the Ducks, you thought it was because he didn’t like you and that he was still holding his grudge against you after that meaningless incident at Boston University. Now, you realize it’s just because he’s a talker. He loves to say the things that come to mind, no matter what they are.

This time, you don’t deign him with a reply. You glare up at him through your eyelashes and slink off the bed, coming to your knees on the carpet. You sit back on your heels and keep your back straight– 2025 is the year of good posture, according to your New Year’s Resolution– then wrap your hand around his base. You straighten your index finger and brush the smattering of curls that grow on his pelvis. “You need a trim,” you inform him, just to get the last word, before you fit your lips around his tip.

Trevor, always the charmer and never content to let you win, cups your cheek and runs the pad of his thumb above your upper lip. “So do you.”

You narrow your eyes and scrape your bottom teeth along the underside of his cock, purposefully dragging them against his sensitive skin. 

Trevor hisses and grimaces, but the smirk remains on his lips and the light never leaves his eyes. He watches your every movement and, if you didn’t know Trevor so well, you might mistake his gaze for admiration.

You swallow him down, taking inch after inch of Trevor’s cock and allowing your spit to slide from your mouth and wet his shaft. The saliva allows your hand an easier glide as you pump the remainder of his length. You could fit it into your mouth, but you just don’t want to choke and gag and get dizzy on his cock today. It’s a sexathon, not a sprint.

Regardless, you give Trevor’s cock plenty of attention. You enjoy sucking him off. You like stroking the skin on Trevor’s length with your hand, feeling it move underneath your palm. You like the noises Trevor makes as you slurp and bob your head and look up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. You love when he twitches in your mouth and flexes his abdomen because he’s feeling so good.

He pets through your hair and nudges your head down. “You know you can take more,” Trevor tells you softly, relatively subdued compared to his earlier banter. He’s not forcing or pushing you, just stating it.

You hum and nod, patting his hip. You pull off. “Can,” you repeat, emphasizing the key word. “I’m pacing myself.”

“Mm, you’re savoring it,” Trevor says, putting the words in your mouth. That’s absolutely not what you said, but whatever helps him sleep at night. 

You exhale a laugh from your nose, kissing the side of his base and continuing up his shaft, all the way until you reach his tip. You smile at Trevor sweetly before you swirl your tongue around his slit, then stretch your lips over your teeth and take him down. 

“That’s it,” Trevor murmurs. His eyes are hooded when you look up at him, the green there diluted by lust. “You look so pretty like this. We should do it more often.”

You nuzzle the tip of your nose against the hair you’d pointed out to him before. Upon drawing back, you start to strip his cock with your hand. “But don’t you like it more when you get my wet, tight pussy against the closet door before games?”

“Oh, love it,” Trevor chirps. “But I’d love to mess up your pretty gameday lipstick once in a while.”

You shake your head at him, pumping him even faster. You twist your hand around his tip and thumb over his slit, spreading the precum over the blushing skin. “I think the wrinkles in my work clothes are enough of a trophy for you, Z.”

Trevor shrugs, but his chest is moving deeply, showing that he’s actually pretty darn affected by your touch. 

You continue to speak. “You know what I like?” you ask.

Trevor hums and rolls his hips into your clutch.

“I like when we’re at our apartments,” you muse. You let his tip drag over your bottom lip, then to your chin so that he can see how your lip pops back into place, into a pout. “Because then, you don’t have to use a condom.”

Trevor groans, long and wanting. “That’s it, get on the bed,” he decides.

You break into a smile and relinquish your hold on his cock immediately, letting it bob in front of your face freely as you dig your nails into Trevor’s thighs and pull yourself up to a standing position. You wrap your arms around Trevor’s neck and brush your nose against his. “You have to take my pants off before you get inside me, you know.” You peck his lips and chuckle when his fingertips fly to the button of your jeans and make quick work of the zipper. 

“You’re so–” Trevor cuts himself off with a ‘hmph’ as he pushes your jeans and panties down. He pulls you close by your waist, blanketing your body with his when you fall back onto the mattress. Trevor grinds against your hip, bringing his hand to your core.

You pull back. “Don’t need that,” you tell him. “Fingered myself before you got here.”

“On the phone?” Trevor asks, drawing his eyebrows together.

You laugh. “No. Before that. Gross, Trevor.”

“Can you blame me for asking?” Trevor teases as he shifts between your legs, standing right at the edge of the bed. His thighs press into the mattress, but he’s still right above you. He hooks his hands under your knees and lifts, removing your clothing from where it had collected in a pile at your ankles. He circles his fingers around your ankles after tossing your jeans and panties to the side and spreads your legs, playing around to decide what position he wants today. He decides on pushing your right leg to your chest and hooking your left calf over his shoulder. Trevor leans down far enough that you’re stretching but not straining and plants a kiss on your lips. “You’re quite the exhibitionist.”

His acknowledgement of your gameday activities brings a smirk to your face. He’s just as bad as you are, even if he’s trying to shift the blame onto you.

Any retort evaporates from your tongue when Trevor starts to tap his cockhead against your entrance. It makes a hollow sound when he hits it in the perfect place the first time, so he does it a few extra times to see if he can emulate the sound again.

“Get in me,” you command, very serious and bossy now that he’s so close. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Trevor touts sarcastically, shifting to grip your hips with his strong hands. 

If you turn your ankle just right, you might be able to kick him in the head. You’re just about to test your luck when Trevor thrusts into you, hard, and your body goes boneless. He knocks a sigh from your lungs as he buries into you.

“So tight,” he grunts through his teeth. The corners of his lips turn up into a smirk. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

The way you’re clenching down on him and trying to adjust to his length should be a sign that you weren’t expecting him to start fucking into you right away. 

Trevor doesn’t slow down at all, snapping his hips forward and relishing in your reaction. He leans forward, cementing a hand next to your head. His chest pushes your folded leg further into your body and stretches the hamstring of the leg over his shoulder. His cock reaches a deeper point inside of you.

Your stomach jumps when Trevor’s tip contacts your sweet spot. The gasp that leaves your mouth earns you a smile and a peck, before Trevor hovers an inch above your face and directs a wad of his spit into your open mouth. You swallow it down and moan, a hand digging into Trevor’s chest to keep yourself grounded.

“I know what else you like,” Trevor murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear and leaning down to kiss the side of your face.

You choke out a “What?”, hoping that you sound like you’re challenging him and holding onto your sanity instead of easily falling apart on his length like a cockdrunk slut.

“You like it when I use you.” Trevor’s whisper is sultry and much more of a statement than a question. His lips align with your ear and he nibbles on the lobe. “That’s why you talk about it all the time. You like it when I fold your knees up to your chest so you’ll suck my cock in like my little toy. You like it when I leave you sore and your joints lock up because I’ve fucked you like this for too long.” He kisses a line down your neck, ignoring the blithering babbles that come from your lips. “You like it when I take care of you after, too, rubbing your hips and smoothing out the knots in your back. You like it when I treat you like nothing more than a body for me to use, baby, because you know I always take care of my things, hm? Is that it?”

You keen in the back of your throat, eyes prickling and stinging with spirals of pleasure.

“Go on and make a mess over my cock, babe,” Trevor encourages in a syrupy sweet tone that seeps into your mind like a weed growing between sidewalk cracks. “Prove me right.”

Still whining, you rock your hips up without a consistent rhythm. You’re trying to catch him in the exact right way, but you’re too impatient to think about your movements and how they might be hindering you instead of helping you.

Trevor smiles down at you, his expression condescending. His tattooed arm leaves your waist and comes up to your face, spindly digits wrapping around your throat and fingertips pressing into the soft skin on the sides of your neck. He steals the breath from your lungs again with a harsh thrust, a loud clap of skin against skin, and prevents you from bringing a new breath in with his heavy hand. 

Your vision dances with black spots and your chest shudders. Trevor’s grin is one of the only things you can see beyond the spots– they shroud his face and give you tunnel vision. Then, with a final jab of Trevor’s tip to the depths of your inner walls, you shudder all over and feel your body release its hold on your orgasm.

“Oh, beautiful,” Trevor praises smugly. He fucks you while you come, loving how your bedsheets grow damp beneath you after such a strong climax. “Knew you could do it. Squirting all over my cock and I didn’t even have to touch your clit.” He drops to his elbow, beside your head, and kisses your lips. He loosens his grip on your throat, but still rests his hand along the column of your neck. “I’ll make you even messier if you ask me to, baby. That’s what you want, right? For me to come inside of you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, lacing your fingers through the hair at the nape of Trevor’s neck and tugging him back to your lips. “Fuck, Trevor, come inside me.”

“Yeah?” Trevor asks again, pumping his hips. His pace has slowed, enough that the overstimulation is setting in for you. Trevor can probably feel your pussy quivering around him, trying to muster up that same pleasure from before. “You want it?”

“Please.” You arch your back, feeling your tits press against his chest. You’re sure Trevor can feel it too, and enjoys it.

Trevor slides his hand from your neck to behind your lower back, keeping your hips lifted. To counterbalance, your shoulders sink into the mattress. Trevor’s lips are hard against yours, moving clumsily as his thrusts become choppy. The sounds between your bodies are loud and wet. “Oh,” he groans. His forehead meets yours and his breath washes over your lips. You know this noise well– he makes an exaggerated version of it whenever he eats something in front of you, moaning out loud to see if he can make you glare and cross your legs, clenching your thighs together like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’

And even though you know his game, you return his moan with a breathy sigh. You make a soft noise in your throat, almost inquisitive, tipping your chin up to capture his lips again. You catch the corner of his mouth, pursing your lips just right of where you want. 

Trevor turns his head and rectifies that, sliding his tongue into your mouth and groaning. The noise reverberates through your body. You move in tandem until you feel it– the subtle throb and twitch of Trevor’s cock inside of you as he reaches the brink of orgasm. 

You clench down on Trevor, reveling in the way he seems to falter in the middle of a kiss. He pauses for a split second, then spills into you and resumes his pace. There wasn’t a visible hesitation in his movements, but you know it was there. You could feel it in the tie between your bodies. 

Trevor floods your cunt with his cum, letting a long-drawn out moan fill your mouth similarly. “Fuck,” he drawls under his breath. His kisses grow shorter and shallower as his cock softens inside of you. “God, you feel good.” Trevor moves his mouth down your neck, through the valley of your breasts, and as far south as your stomach. His hands gently lower your legs to the bed and he squeezes your hips, but you shake your head. They don’t hurt this time– probably because you were on a bed rather than in a closet.

You can feel him starting to leak out of you onto the bedsheets. His cum, milky and white, joins the clear stain of your own. “You have to throw my laundry in the wash before you leave,” you tell Trevor. Now that you’ve been fucked into a state of pure bliss, you’re able to sink back into the dynamic that you and Trevor normally have– the biting banter that you both enjoy so much.

“Baby, I barely do my own laundry, why do you think I’m going to do yours?” Trevor replies. He pulls his cock from your entrance and reaches for the tissues on your bedside table, cleaning himself before going to find his pants.

He never does real aftercare with you, not even when you’re at your respective homes. That’s what this relationship is about– you’re not friends, really, even though it’s convenient to explain Trevor in that way to your actual friends. You fuck, always fast and to satisfy the urge, and then he leaves. You’re remarkably good at taking care of yourself after the fact.

Trevor bounces a little bit on his heels once he gets his boxers and sweats on, sticking his hand down the front to adjust his soft cock. He bites his bottom lip and flashes a shit-eating grin at you. 

You throw your arms above your head and stretch, humming as you feel your lower back pop. Your body becomes a fluid line, curves rippling and folding over or elongating with your movements. One of your hands comes to your ribcage after you stretch and you brush your underboob with your thumb.

Trevor crosses the room and plants a kiss on your lips, a quick one. He pinches your cheek and scrunches his nose when he pulls away. “I’ll be back the 20th,” Trevor tells you. “See you then?”

“That’s a Thursday,” you reply. “I have to be up early on Friday.”

“I won’t keep you up too late,” Trevor vows with a wink. “Why don’t you come over after work? I’ll fuck you on the kitchen counter and then I’ll send you off with a doggie bag.”

You snort out a laugh. “It better be something good.”

Trevor swats your hip and goes to the bedroom door. “You’ll have to wait and see. I’ll text you. Or, if I forget, you’ll text me.” He waves his fingers. “Toodles, babe. Have fun with your laundry.”

notes: hope y'all enjoyed! beaquinn baby name reveals are coming next, in four separate parts. after that, we will have the nicojack threesome. after that... maybe stg12. i haven't planned that far ahead yet. ttyl!

[bbittersuite]

But We Dont - Matt Rempe

For my Matt Girls!!! Never posted my writing or anything but thought WHY TF NOT. So fuck it. Here you go sexy ;)

Word Count: 3380

Y/N and Matt. Its causal between them. A situationship I guess. But Matt asks the question—Is there something between us?

Warnings: Angst. Making out. Mention of sex and hooking up. Matt being SEXY. Reader being confusing (girl get ur act together) I think thats it???

Kinda editied

“What were you up to last night,” Y/N asked as she finished placing the last of her groceries into the fridge. Matt sat on her sofa like it was his sofa. Back slouched and long legs propped on the coffee table. Finger swiping up on his phone.

“Just went out with some of the guys.”

She nodded disappointingly. He didn't want to hang out with her on Valentines afterall. She couldn't be upset though. She was the one who said she didn't want a relationship. A relationship with Matt specifically. “Oh. On Valentines?”

His eyes squint under the bright white light of his phone screen before he places it face down next to him on the sofa and looks over to the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” he questions, eyes watching Y/N as she crosses her arms over her chest. Something she does when she's trying to not seem upset. Like her own shield. “I didn't think you’d want to do anything after your long shift.”

“I didn't work last night.”

“You didn't tell me.”

Y/N shrugs, feigning indifference. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

Matt watches her for a second too long, like he’s debating what to say. “You usually tell me what nights you work.”

“So?” she challenges, hating that her voice wavers. “Not like you needed to know. You had plans, right?”

Matt leans back, studying her. “Would you have wanted to do something?”

She scoffs. “Of course not”

A moment passes. “I wasn’t doing anything last night,” she admits, quieter.

His smile fades just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

For a second, neither of them says anything. Then Matt picks up his phone and unlocks it. “I mean, I could take you out now. There’s gotta be some half-off Valentine’s Day chocolate left at CVS. Pick up some pizza?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. A smile formed despite the jealousy looming through her. It wasn't that he was with his friends last night or that he didn't ask her to do something on Valentines Day. 

Though that did sting a little.

It was because he was out at the bars on Valentines where only singles looking to forget their lying cheating ex or to score lucky. Either way the night would end with strangers in one of their overly priced New york apartments. 

Matt watched her, phone still in his hand but attention fully on her now. His gaze lingered, like he was waiting for her to say something else. Call him out. Ask him the question she was biting back.

She wouldn’t.

“I mean,” he continued, voice lighter now, like he was testing the waters, “If you wanted to go out so bad, you could’ve just said something. You know I would’ve taken you somewhere.”

“I didn't want to go anywhere,” she added, grabbing a glass from the cabinet to occupy her hands, despite the freshly poured water glass on the counter already. 

Matt let out a short laugh, and she heard the creak of the couch as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Right.”

That one word made her freeze for half a second. It was the kind of right that meant he knew she was full of shit. The kind that sat between them like an open secret neither of them wanted to admit.

She turned, glass in hand, and shot him a look. “What?”

He smirked, slow and knowing. “Nothing.”

“Then stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Like—fuck, I don’t know. Just don’t.”

Matt’s smirk widened like he’d just won something. “Touchy.” He leaned back against the couch, arms stretching over the backrest, making himself comfortable—too comfortable, like he belonged there. Like this was his place, not hers. “It’s cute, though.”

Y/N scoffed, filling the glass under the tap. “Nothing about this is cute.” 

Matt hummed like he disagreed, his gaze dragging over her slowly before settling back on her face. “You sure? Because, I don’t know, you getting all worked up about where I was last night feels kinda…” He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Like a girlfriend thing.”

Y/N’s head snapped toward him. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

He grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He tapped his fingers on the couch cushion beside him. “But you sound like one.”

She wanted to move on from this conversation. Matt was already seeing her as some jealous freak when she had no reason to be jealous.

She should let it go. Change the subject. Pretend it didn’t matter.

But the image of him at some shitty bar, surrounded by girls looking for something, still clung to her like cigarette smoke.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she walked over and plopped down next to him on the couch, turning her body toward him. Her water glass was forgotten in the kitchen. “You really expect me to believe you just hung out with the guys?”

Matt raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the sudden shift. He tilted toward her, closing the small space between them. “I don’t expect you to believe anything, sweetheart. You already made up your mind.”

God, she hated when he called her that. Hated even more that it made her stomach flip.

She rolled her eyes. “You were at a bar on Valentine’s Day, Matt.”

“So?”

“So…” she hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase it without sounding as jealous as she felt. “You weren’t exactly playing poker in someone’s basement. The only reason to be at a bar on that night is—”

“—to get laid?” Matt finished for her, lips twitching upward.

Y/N swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of how close they were sitting. On the way his arm still stretched along the back of the couch, his fingers barely brushing her shoulder.

Matt clicked his tongue, leaning in just enough that she could feel his breath against her cheek. “You really think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know.” The words came out quieter than she meant them to.

Matt exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “That’s cute,” he murmured. “If I was looking to get laid, I wouldn’t have been at some bar.”

Y/N swallowed, pulse kicking up.

He smirked, eyes dragging over her face, slow and deliberate. “I would’ve just showed up here.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

And Matt must have noticed, because his grin turned downright dangerous. “You know,” he mused, fingers brushing against her shoulder now, light and deliberate. “If you wanted me to spend the night with you, all you had to do was ask.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck. “That’s not what this is about.”

“No?” He tilted his head, eyes flicking down to her lips. “Then what is it about?”

Y/N stared at him, pulse drumming in her ears.

Say it. Say it, and this whole thing changes. 

he pulled back first, standing abruptly. “I’m taking you up on that pizza.”

Matt let out a low chuckle, watching her. Not pushing. Not calling her out. He knew she didn't want to be with him like that. Anything more than what they were right now. At least that's what she told him and with each day he believed it a little less. 

He stood up, stretching lazily before grabbing his keys. “Cool,” he said, voice light again. “But just so you know—” He leaned in one last time, voice dropping to something just above a whisper. “You are cute when you’re jealous.”

And before she could try and shove his 6’7, pure musclar body. He was already heading for the door, grinning.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

After the Rangers game and the boys taking home the win Y/n was getting into Matt’s SUV back to his apartment. 

Matt threw his hockey bag in the closet as they entered his apartment and flicked on the lights as he vanished down the hall to his room to change out of his tailored suit that made Y/N mind go crazy. 

Y/n sank down into the black sofa and turned on the tv, scrolling through netflix to find something for the two of them to watch. 

When he returned his hair was still damp from his post game shower. His black hoodie was loose around his shoulders, and his sweats hung low on his hips. He looked comfortable—too comfortable, like he hadn’t just spent the last two hours throwing himself into other people for sport.

What are we watching?” he asked, dropping onto the couch beside her, way closer than necessary. His thigh brushed against hers, the heat from his skin seeping through her tight denim.

“Dunno,” she muttered, still flipping through options. “Nothing good.”

Matt hummed, peering over her shoulder. “I say we put on something terrible, then. More fun to make fun of.”

“Like what?”

“Some shitty rom-com where the guy messes up, but the girl takes him back anyway.” He smirked, tapping a finger against her knee. “You seem like the type to eat that shit up.”

Y/N shot him a look. “Are you saying I have bad taste?”

“I’m saying you like a good redemption arc.” His voice was teasing, but something flickered in his expression—something unreadable. “Just look at me.”

She rolled her eyes and clicked on the first movie that looked decent, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at his words. Matt shifted, draping an arm over the back of the couch behind her. His fingers barely grazed the back of her shoulder, and she could feel the warmth of his touch even through the fabric of her sweatshirt.

They settled into the movie, but Y/N could barely focus. Matt was too close, and he was making no effort to keep his hands to himself. Y/N tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the screen, but then he shifted again—this time turning his head toward her, his lips just inches from her temple. “You smell good.”

She exhaled sharply. “Matt.”

“What?” He grinned, eyes dark with amusement. “Can’t give you a compliment?”

His knuckles brushed against her thigh.

Matt grinned, tilting his head slightly. “You always get this quiet when we’re sitting this close?”

Y/N scoffed. “No.”

He hummed again, fingers lightly trailing up the back of her arm. “You sure?”

She swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how little space there was between them. “Positive.”

Matt leaned in, his nose barely brushing against her temple. “Then why do you look nervous?”

“I’m not—” Her breath hitched as he shifted again, his arm pressing more firmly against her back.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because we’ve done this plenty of times before.”

Y/N barely had time to process his words before his hand slid to her jaw, tilting her face toward him. His lips were on hers a second later—slow at first, testing, teasing, before he deepened the kiss.

It wasn't new but it burned through her each time like it was.

Matt’s hands found her waist, pulling her onto his lap without hesitation. Y/N let out a quiet gasp against his lips, her hands bracing against his shoulders. His fingers curled into her sweatshirt, bunching the fabric slightly as his grip tightened.

“Been waiting for you to do that all night,” Matt murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough.

Y/N let out a breathy laugh, fingers sliding into his damp hair. “You could’ve done it sooner.”

Matt smirked, his hands tracing slow, deliberate circles over her hips. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

His lips brushed against hers again, lingering, before trailing down her jaw, then lower, grazing against the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. A slow, satisfied hum vibrated from his chest when she exhaled a little too sharply.

Y/N’s hands gripped the front of his hoodie, tugging him back up to face her. “You’re in a mood tonight,” she muttered, amusement laced in her voice.

Matt leaned back against the couch, pulling her closer, forcing her to settle against him. “Can you blame me?” he murmured. “Big win tonight. Feeling good.”

“Mm,” she mused, fingertips tracing absentmindedly along the side of his neck. “So you just want a victory hookup?”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Nah, I just want you.”

Y/N felt her stomach flip—an involuntary, stupid reaction she immediately pushed down. This wasn’t anything new. This wasn’t different.

But the way Matt was looking at her…

She ignored the thought, pulling him into another kiss before she could think about it too much.

His hands roamed her back, dragging slow and deliberate, fingers teasing under the hem of her sweatshirt. The movie played on, long forgotten, the distant sound of some rom-com couple arguing barely registering as Matt kissed her deeper, pressing her against him like he wasn’t planning on letting her go anytime soon.

Her hands slid under his hoodie, palms grazing over the hard ridges of his stomach, still warm from his post-game shower. Matt let out a quiet groan against her lips, one of his hands tangling in her hair as he tilted her head to kiss her harder.

Y/N barely noticed when he shifted, pressing her back against the couch cushions, hovering over her now. Matt’s fingers traced slow patterns along her back. His other hand lifted, thumb brushing against her bottom lip, pressing down just slightly.

Y/N’s breath hitched. Her lips parted instinctively, and Matt’s gaze flickered down, eyes dark. Hungry. 

“You’re staring,” she muttered, trying to sound unaffected, but the way her voice wavered completely betrayed her.

Matt smirked. “Yeah?”

With that Y/n leaded back in. The moment her lips met his again, Matt groaned softly, his grip tightening at her waist like he needed her closer. His fingers stayed under her sweatshirt, tracing over the bare skin of her lower back, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to take his time, like he was enjoying the way she melted into him.

Y/N’s hands slid into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and Matt’s response was immediate. His body pressing into hers in a way that made it impossible to ignore just how much he wanted this.

She gasped against his lips, and Matt chuckled, low and satisfied. “You always get this needy when I touch you?”

Y/N scowled, shoving at his chest—not enough to push him off, just enough to prove a point. “You always talk this much when we’re making out?”

His lips moved to her jaw, down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against her skin. She could feel him smirking against her when she tipped her head back slightly, giving him more access.

Y/N exhaled sharply, nails digging into his shoulders. The warmth of his hands, the weight of him against her—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

“Matt.” Her voice came out breathless, almost desperate, and when she met his gaze again, the cocky glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing to her.

He raised a brow, fingers tracing down her side, slow and teasing. “Yeah?”

“Take me to your room.”

Then, in one fluid motion, he scooped her up from the couch, making her squeal as he carried her down the hall, his lips already on hers before they even reached the door.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Come over. I’ll make dinner.

When she gets to his place, Matt’s already in the kitchen, moving around like he actually knows what he’s doing. There’s a pan sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and butter filling the air.

She leans against the counter, watching him. “Since when do you cook?”

He glances over his shoulder, smirking. “I can make, like, three things. You’re getting one of them.”

They eat at the small kitchen table. Like friends. It's normal. Its always been easy for Matt and Y/n.

After, They curl up on the couch, a blanket draped over them, his arm resting around her shoulders. The movie is something they’ve both seen a hundred times, but neither of them is really watching. They've never made it through a movie without getting tangled up in one another. 

His fingers trace lazy circles on her shoulder, absentminded, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

She does.

Her head rests against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, steady and slow. She could fall asleep like this.

“Can I ask you something?” he says breaking the sound in the room.

Y/n shifts away from his chest, sitting up to be at eye height with him. 

His hand slides from her shoulder, falling to her waist, his fingers dragging against the fabric of her shirt.

The air between them stretches, thick and weighted.

Neither of them speak.

They just look at each other.

His gaze flickers between her eyes and her lips, something hesitant, something aching.

Her fingers twitch against the couch, resisting the urge to reach for him. To pull him back in. To press her mouth against his.

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn't tease. Just watches her, the weight of his hand still resting against her hip. “Is there something between us?”

Her eyes grow. “What do you mean Matt?” Asking like she didn't know what he meant. Y/N didn't need more clarification.

Matt exhales through his nose, his jaw tightening. “You know what I mean.”

His fingers press slightly into her waist, grounding himself, waiting. His eyes search hers, looking for something—anything—that tells him he’s not crazy for feeling the way he does.

She can feel her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in every place he’s touching her.

But she doesn’t answer.

Matt’s hand twitches against her hip, his patience thinning. “Y/N/N.” His voice is softer this time, but no less certain. “Just tell me the truth.”

The truth.

She knows it. She feels it.

But the weight of admitting it—of owning it—lodges in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

So she lies.

“There’s nothing.”

His expression flickers, something breaking just beneath the surface.

His hand slips from her waist, resting on his lap as he nods slowly. Like he’s letting the words settle, like he’s accepting them.

Like he’s letting her go.

Y/N swallows against the tightness in her throat. “Matt, I—”

But he doesn’t let her finish. Instead, he leans in, capturing her mouth in his.

It’s not gentle. It’s not slow. It’s desperate, almost punishing, his hands finding her waist again, gripping harder this time.

She lets herself fall into it. Forgets the words that just left her mouth. Forgets why she said them at all. Because she didn't mean them. Not even deep down. She knew she was lying to Matt. Lying to herself. 

His hands slide up her sides, his lips moving against hers with a kind of urgency she’s never felt from him before.

She should stop.

She should fix this.

But she doesn’t. Because this is easier.

It’s easier to let him kiss her like this, to let him touch her, to let him pull her back into the only version of them that’s ever made sense. It’s easier than telling the truth.

But then—Matt pulls away.

Y/N blinks, dazed, breathing uneven. “What—”

His hands drop from her waist, running through his hair. He exhales sharply, his chest rising and falling.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Her stomach twists. “Matt—”

He shakes his head. “I mean it, Y/N/N. I can’t.”

She stares at him, waiting for him to take it back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he stands, running a hand down his face before nodding toward the door. “You should go.”

It’s a command, but his voice is quiet. Worn.

Y/N swallows, waiting for him to stop her, to say anything that would make this feel less final. But he doesn’t.

So she grabs her bag, moving toward the door, fingers trembling as she wraps them around the handle.

She hesitates. Turning back, just once.

Matt is still sitting there, eyes drilling holes into his hands as they stay in his lap. He doesn't stop her. He doesn't take back what he said. She doesn't tell him how she really feels. That there is something between them. That she loves him. But she doesn't.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Thanks for Reading!!!!!

[neocrias]

hey guys,can you do a post on how svt would ask you out?

Heyyy!! Thank you for the request, that's a really great idea! Especially in the spirit of Valentine's days :)

Seventeen asking you out

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert; you might find it a little kinky at some point;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive;

S.Coups

When S.Coups asks you out, he already has everything planned. Head down, no distractions. He knows what you like and don’t like, your favorites, and he makes sure to plan a date that’s absolutely irresistible to you. I feel like he’d choose something fun and playful, like an amusement park - where he can show off his perfect aim at the shooting booths (of course he won’t stop until he wins you a plushie) and just how fearless he is when it comes to holding you at the top of a roller coaster or inside the haunted house. He’ll also be ready for a romantic moment at the top of the Ferris wheel. And, of course, he’s picking you up and dropping you off - no way he’s taking no for an answer.

Jeonghan

He’s going to make a mystery out of it. Where are we going? What should I wear? What are we doing? He won’t give you a single detail besides, "Dress casually, and I’ll pick you up at seven. And how will the date unfold? Well, Jeonghan ends up taking you to a Seventeen game night. Chaos might not be your ideal version of romance, but he has his reasons: this way, he gets to show you all the ways he cheats and pulls tricks to win everything - which he believes is his best flex. It also gives him the perfect opportunity to tease and be playful with you, which is totally his love language.

Joshua

Okay, this might sound a little unusual, but hear me out: a beach date. I mean, have you seen his surfing photos?!?!! Shua is another one who has everything planned out, but he’ll obviously give you all the details - and he’ll probably invite you out well in advance, just to make sure your plans are made for him and no one else. He’ll hype up the date a lot, casually mentioning little details or new things he’s planning to make your day amazing. (He might even joke like, "Can you send me a picture of the bikini you're planning to wear? Just to make sure my outfit matches haha.") And when the day finally comes, he WILL pick you up and drop you off, obviously. He’ll also have snacks and drinks all prepared, along with beach games, towels, sunscreen, sunglasses, hats, his surfboard, and anything else you might need. It’ll be playful and romantic - just like him.

Jun

I feel like Jun is more the type to agree on meeting you at the date spot. He will probably be a little flustered to ask you out in person, but if it’s through text it’ll be a lot easier and flowy, with even some rizz going on. He will choose something playful yet cute, like an ice skating rink! Has he ever gone ice skating before? Nope, but he thinks it “can’t be that hard, right?”. If you’ve never done it either, he will try and tease you before the date, saying you can cling onto him if you need to and all that romantic stuff. At the actual date, he might realize that no, it’s not as easy as he thought it was, and no, it’s not easy at all to flex about something you’ve never done before lol. But don’t worry, he’ll own it (after becoming a blushing mess, of course) and you both will have a date full of funny falls and clumsy hugs, trying to find balance together and enjoying yourselves a lot. At the end of the evening, Jun scored lots of points with you without even realizing. Cute.

Hoshi

The total opposite of Joshua. Soonyoung will not ask you with any advance, probably won’t prepare anything too neatly and, heck, he might not even ask you out in fact. I just feel like he would be laid back enough to call you up in the middle of a regular day and ask you to put on some clothes, because he will be passing through your house and he will be picking you up. That's it, bye. He will be simply taking Latte for a walk and think “hm, why not?”, and the next second you’re getting a call from him saying he’s already at your front door. If you disagree or complain, it’ll make it funnier for him, and he’ll probably come up with some threatening such as “well, my car is already entering your street and I can’t park in here or I’ll get fined, so… you better be there when I arrive” and just turn off the call. Yeah, he is a menace, but you’ll enjoy the date nevertheless, even if it’s something as simple as just taking a walk through the park with his annoying ass.

Wonwoo

A little bit shy, Wonwoo might ask you out to some type of event (like a comic con sorta thing, or any type of “cons” really, maybe related to books or games/technology or something he finds that you both have in common) with the excuse that “he already had an extra ticket”, because he probably won’t admit that he already bought them with you in mind, knowing that he would ask another friend and he would say no, which would make the perfect opportunity to take you with him. I think he might meet you at the spot, but drive you home at the end of the evening. The date will be pretty smooth, he will charm you with some nerdy jokes and might even buy some goods you’ve been eyeing behind your back, just to give you at the end of the outing as a small surprise and souvenir from your first date.

Woozi

Jihoon wants to take you to where he knows he is his most confident self. So when you’re granted free-pass tickets to a Seventeen concert, to stay at a private box with a friend, you don’t feel that surprised - even if it’s a big BIG flex. He might send a car to pick you up before the show, since he’ll be busy practicing. Woozi will do his best, taking even more effort knowing that you’re watching him, and he might even suggest something that relates to you during one of his ments, eyeing the box you’re at with a grin that’ll make your heart flutter. At the end of the concert, you will obviously see him backstage, and he will ask you honestly what did you think of specific parts of the concert - just to make sure you were actually paying attention to him all the time - at this point, your friend will get certainly get distracted with the other twelve great-looking guys, which will provide you both some alone time, and even if he’s tired, you and Woozi’s night will surely not end just there. 

DK

As for Seokmin, he’s also one of those who prepares in advance - although he will probably ask you out just a few days from the date, not because he is careless, but because he was a little nervous, and kept procrastinating it. You obviously could never refuse those cute eyes of his, and he feels like he might explode. He will try to play it cool, but will keep on texting you just to make sure you actually know what you’re getting yourself into, and that it’s okay to cancel if you can’t make it, or if you’d like this or that for the date. On d-day, DK will text you with the address info, and as soon as you get there, you’ll see this beautiful picnic set he made only for you. He’s waiting for you with a bouquet of flowers and a wide smile. He shows you all the food he cooked himself and makes sure you’re comfortable on the blanket, giving you cushions and plushies, super proud of his work. It goes without saying that Seokmin will make you laugh during the entire afternoon, and at the end of the date, he’ll open up the door of his car for you like a gentleman and drive you back, feeling all mushy inside.

Mingyu

Three words: late night drive. What better way to get you to stare at his big muscles than driving right by your side? Plus, he’ll get to show off his driving abilities and his nice car. Since it’s a very casual outing, Gyu might warn you about this without much advance (even if he definitely thought of it for some time) and try not to make a big deal out of it (even if he does, in fact, make a big deal of it). It will be funnier than what you expect a late night drive to be, with Mingyu stopping somewhere to buy you food and then parking close to a nice spot so that you can walk a while, hand in hand.

Minghao

He’s really all about balancing and stuff, so he will be something between Hoshi and Joshua: he will ask you out properly, but as soon as you say “yes”, you’ll only be hearing from him when he finally texts you his location at the nearby art gallery. Well, at least he explained to you the setting somewhat previously, because he also understands that dressing up might be important for you. At the date, Minghao will act casually, and effortlessly compliment your outfit or your looks in general. He will enjoy the afternoon to explain to you how he feels about the different arts, and will be definitely eager to hear your impressions too. At the end of the exhibition, he might take you to a café or an ice cream shop, just to prolong the moment a little bit.

Seungkwan

I think Seungkwan will probably ask you out in advance, too, not because he wants to plan it out in detail or because he is a perfectionist, but because he can’t wait for it. This volleyball game has been one of the events he’s been most excited to for the last months, and bringing you along is nice because he can do something he really enjoys doing, which is watching sports, while having someone to share the experience with. On the day of the date, Seungkwan picks you up with his car (he probably texts you a lot of times to make sure you’re ready to go). He promises he will explain to you everything that’s happening throughout the game if you’re not familiar with it, but at the end he gets way too excited cheering for that - which, thankfully will be cute enough for you to let it pass. 

Vernon

He tries to play it cool by asking you to go to the movies with him. It won’t exactly feel like he’s asking you out necessarily, since you are already friends and usually hangout at places like those, but trust me, in his mind, this will be the date. Unfortunately, Hansol lets it slip that he’ll be watching a movie with you and some of the boys might end up showing up - which will then cause some chaos, and ruin all Hansol’s plans of turning this casual hangout into a proper date. He, then, will have to make it a little more obvious that this was not the type of outing that he was planning on taking you to, but that’s fine, because it gives him a nice excuse to run away from that cinema with you, and finally find somewhere more personal and hopefully, more romantic. At the end of your escape and your now real date, Hansol will make sure to walk you to the bus stop (this man simply refuses to drive) and if he’s feeling especially clingy, he might even take your bus with you (even if it doesn’t go even near his house).

Dino

Oh dear Channie… All he needs to hear is that you’re having a difficult day at work and then, at the end of your working-hours, his car will be parked in front of your company. This puts him in the “doesn’t really ask you out” box, but in a less extreme way, because the poor guy was just worried about you. He might be waiting for you with a snack you like, or even a small gift, just to make sure you leave all your worries behind before embarking on his sudden-date. He will drive with you for a while, feeling extremely proud for causing such envious looks from your co-workers when he parked in front of the building (which he’ll totally brag to you about) and then he’ll stop next to a somehow empty park, asking you to walk a little and just talk. Chan is overall just happy to be the one that helps you unwind after a stressful day - especially if he gets to kiss your worries away at the end of the night.

[hahaifolded]

I had this thought earlier but never knew how to fit it in so why then we just do a

Imagine if…  You, as the POC! Intelligence Officer, got hit with some sort of enemy “sex pollen”-esque thing and have to rely on a conflicted 141. (Warning: MDNI, Bad smut, ANGST, long as fuck) - also instead of a gender neutral reader, it’s more of AFAB reader because I don’t know how to write GN!smut so my bad)

So imagine, at this point, the 141 had began to ice you out and you are still trying to figure out what happened. So in an attempt to get back in their good graces, you decide to do a late-night mail sesh. Maybe you could find some sort of holy grail of intelligence that will prove your worth again. 

So you’re so determined in finding something that you start opening envelopes and packages without little care. With so little care that you rip into a weird looking package and immediately get sprayed with some weird powder. You jump back, but it’s too late, you’ve already inhaled the foreign substance. 

Trained for a situation like this, you sound off the alarm, alerting the base of the tainted package. You’re immediately taken into medical to monitor your health.

The 141 are immediately made aware of the situation and rush to the infirmary. The four pace outside, devestated that you were hurt and they weren’t with you. 

Their blood goes cold when the base’s head doctor calls the four in the hallway, brow furrowed. They listen intently as the doctor explains you were hit by a new toxic agent that just entered the black market. They all sigh in relief when the doctor explains that the medical team had gotten word of it weeks prior and figured out a way to combat the agent’s effects. However, relief quickly turns into the weirdest mix of shock and arousal when the doctor explains…

“The agent attacks the hypothalamus, making the body go into overdrive. The quickest way to negate its affects while also flushing it from the body is rigorous intercourse. So if you want to save your intelligence officer, someone will need to go in there and give them a hand.” 

After explaining your exact state (lucid but incredibly horny), the doctor leaves the four to decide who was going to help you. Johnny, Kyle, and Simon all look at their captain, unsure on what this meant in terms of the pact. 

“This is for them, not us,” Price announces. The other three nod. Kyle opens his mouth to ask how would they decide, but before he could say anything, Ghost walks to your door and turns your doorknob.

“Woah, woah, woah. Who said you could do it?” barks Soap. Kyle joins Soap in glaring down at the Lieutenant.

Ghost slowly opens the door. “I’m the only one who won’t enjoy this.” And with that, he walks in. 

You really didn’t think this could get much worse. Instead of making life easier for your boys, you just stressed them out. And now in order to save your life, your poor lieutenant has to take one for the team and touch you. Fuck, you’d rather die than let that poor man go through with this.

Despite the growing heat between your legs, you try to shrink yourself in as Ghost enters the room. Fuck, he looks good. Strong, big, powerful. Shit, you wanted him. But he didn’t want you. 

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize how close Ghost had gotten until he was practically hovering over you. Not really, but that’s how close he felt as he sat by your side.

“You okay, pretty thing?” You couldn’t help but moan at that. You tried to fold yourself further in, but Ghost wasn’t having none of that. He gently turns you towards him, forcing your body to spread out. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothes. He caressed your face. “I know the situation sucks, but let me help. Please. I— we, we can’t lose you,” he pleas. You were caught off guard. You had never heard your lieutenant so soft before. 

“But,” you try to stabilize your voice, but you couldn’t hide the strain in it, “you don’t want this.” You try to leave his grasp to further sell your point, but Ghost holds you down. He leans towards your face and stares straight into your eyes. 

“I want this. I. Want. You,” he enunciates each word. You didn’t think you could get any hotter. You stare straight into his eyes to search for any hesitation or disgust. Instead, Ghost’s eyes are twinkling, clear sign he’s smiling under that mask. Fuck, that mask. Maybe you do have a mask kink.

“Promise?” You whimper.

Ghost leans down and digs his face in your neck. “Promise.” 

That’s all the confirmation you needed. You sit up and throw yourself against your Lieutenant. You push him against the bed and crawl over him. Fuck, you knew he was big, but feeling him under you made the size difference even more glaring. You weren’t necessarily tiny yourself but damn did he make you feel small. That alone makes you go dumb. 

And Ghost knows he said that he wasn’t going to enjoy this but fuck did he feel good. He wished y’all’s first time wasn’t under these circumstances but it is what it is. Your entire body pressed against his, begging for more. If this was going to be a one time thing, then Ghost was going to savor it to its fullest. He moved further in the bed and pushed you deeper on his lap. He grabbed your back and rocked you against his groin. You immediately cry in pleasure at the extra fiction. Ghost needs to hear that again. 

“Do that again,” he begs. He rolls you over and starts to drive his hips into yours. You moan which only fuels the Lieutenant more. There’s no way you don’t feel what you’re doing to him.

“Come here, pretty thing,” Ghost pleads. He tears his mask off. Now it’s the moment of truth. You look up and stop rocking against him. Shit, did Ghost fuck up? 

No actually as you crash your lips against his. You moan against his mouth, eager to taste your Lieutenant. Not one to waste an opportunity, Ghost reciprocates your kiss with the same fervor. 

You’re the first to break for air. He moves down towards your neck as he fumbles with the button of your pants. Ghost couldn’t believe his luck. After weeks of ignoring you, he’s now about to devour you whole. You continue to moan against his neck as he continues to rock against your hip. As much as he loves to hear your moans, Ghost needed something more.

“Say my name. Say my name, baby. Say Simon, say Simon,” Simon babbles. You just moan in response. Ghost grinds harder into you, hoping it will egg you on to say his name. Instead, of saying his name however, you grab at his shirt, tugging it up his torso.

Understanding what you want, Ghost gets up and takes a good look at you. He stares down and takes in your heaving chest, your gaping mouth, and your empty eyes. Your empty eyes. That makes Simon’s blood run cold.

What the fuck is he doing?

He treats you like shit for weeks and now suddenly he’s going to be your knight in shining armor by fucking you while you’re under the influence. What kind of man is he.

“I can’t do this.” Ghost jumps off the bed in disgust. He rushes out of the room, unable to be in the same space with you a moment longer. He is greeted by a sitting Price and Soap. They both jump up in shock, surprised to see the lucky Lieutenant maskless, but fully clothed. Before anyone can say anything, Ghost rushes past them, leaving the two confused.

“What the fuck happened?” asks Soap. He strides towards your door and peaks inside. It doesn’t look like you’ve been satiated so what happened? John stays silent. He recognized that look in Simon’s eyes. 

“Soap, go. I’ll check on Ghost,” John states. Soap didn’t need to be told twice. 

The door slamming nearly sobers you up. If your body wasn’t already hot, you know it would be burning in shame. Ghost didn’t want you. Ghost got a taste and couldn’t go through with it. Ghost… Simon was disgusted by you. 

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you fail to notice the Scottish sergeant enter the room until he slips in your bed. He maneuvers your head so its between his bicep and chest. You try to pull away, not wanting to disgust another member of your team, but Soap doesn’t allow it. 

Pulling you back in, he whispers against your head, “no, no, none of that. I’m here to help, mo ghraidh.” He pulls you in closer so your body is right against his. “Nearly killed L.t. when he went in your room first.” You let out an airy gasp in response which only eggs Soap on. He slides his hand down your torso until it reaches the top of your pants. He toys with the buttons and breathes against your head, “let me help, please.” 

Fuck, you need this. You need him. You moan out a yes in his ear and further press yourself against him. He immediately slips his fingers down your pants and underwear and gets to work. 

“Jesus, you’re wet,” breathes out Soap. In any other circumstances, Soap would have been worried for Ghost, but he couldn’t help but feel grateful right now. He has you exactly where’s he wanted for the longest time: moaning, wet, and begging for more. He alternates between rubbing your clit and slipping a few fingers in you which only makes you moan. To his delight, you dig your face into his neck, nipping at every piece of skin you could get. 

With every moan and nip, Johnny felt his pants get tighter and tighter. However, as much as Johnny wanted to ravage you, he had to remain poised. Sure the doctor said you were still cognizant, but that doesn’t mean you wanted this… or at least wanted this in this way. So Johnny remained professional… controlled. He’ll let you take what you need and that’s it. Your pleasure was his main task at hand.

And fuck was he giving it to you. You had to give it to your sergeant, he was good with his fingers. You pull your pants down as you knew with a little more space, Soap would be able to get you to see stars in no time. Intuitive as always, Johnny helps you, one hand on your pants and another on you. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble against his neck. You needed more. More of Johnny. You stretch your head further up, landing wet, hot kisses against his jaw. Just a little more and your lips would be against his. Just. A. Little. Mo—

“Ah, ah, ah,” tsked Johnny. He slowly pushes your head down and curls his arm over it. “Whores don’t deserve kisses,” he growls in your ear. The room only gets hotter, but not in the fun way. The reality of the situation suddenly washes over you. Here you are, bottoms off, getting fingered by your fully clothed co-worker who frankly hasn’t said a single word to you in weeks. Is he even enjoying this? 

“Stop,” you gently cry. You push on his chest which he responds by holding you tighter in his grasp. He says something, but you are so overwhelmed by shame and embarrassment, you fail to hear him. You fight against his grasp and begin to squirm. Realizing the situation, Johnny releases you from his grasp, allowing you to scoot fully away from him.

“Get out,” you state. You reach for the bed’s sheets and cover yourself as your body burns from both shame and arousal. 

“Wait, I wasn’t talking about y—,” he begins, butyou interrupt him, asking him to leave once more. Shame clearly painted all over your face. That was the last thing Johnny wanted you to feel in this moment. 

“Please mo ghraidh, I didn’t—“

“GET OUT JOHNNY…please,’ you cry. Johnny’s heart shattered as he sees tears brim your eyes. Realizing his time was up, he got up and left the room. 

Much to his dismay, Johnny is met with his Captain and recovered Lieutenant. He just looks down and joins the pair at the bench, silent but very clear in his message: he fucked up.

The three sit in silence. John is the first one to speak as he asks about Kyle’s whereabouts. 

“You have to do it.”

“What?”

“You have to do it,” Ghost states. His voice emotionless and hollow. “We have no clue where Kyle is and he’s not answering his phone. They don’t have a lot of time and Johnny and I already messed up.” 

John takes in a sharp breath. It’s not like he didn’t want to because Lord knows that he wants to. He just didn’t think he deserved to. How does the man who ordered for your isolation get to accompany you in your most vulnerable state, 

“Save them,” adds Johnny who shifts in his seat, clearly still affected by his time with you. 

Price shifts his gaze from the two men to your door. Determined to save you, he rises from his seat and opens the door. 

You grip on the sheets harder as the door lets in a harsh glow of light in, another reminder of your situation.

“It’s fine. I can handle it,” you groan out as you cover yourself with the bed sheet. 

“You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.” You squeeze your legs together at your captain’s deep voice. He timidly approaches the bed and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He tries to shrink himself to no avail. “I don’t know what got into Ghost and Soap and I promise you, I will have a word with them, but right now, you’re my priority. So tell me, how can I help?”

You shrink yourself further in the bed, fighting every nerve in your body telling you to mount your captain. 

Your captain slides his body towards you with one of his arms leading. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart. It’s never been your fault.” You can’t help but look at him as his voice falters. You’re taken aback when you see guilt flash across his face. 

“Please, let me make this right,” he pleads. On your most desperate nights, it’s been your captain’s dominance that’s gotten you to unwind, but right now, your captain’s unexpected submission was making your entire body burn with desire. 

Unable to fight the urge anymore, you look straight into Price’s eyes and slowly took the covers off yourself. His eyes widened as your bare legs were unveiled. He kept his eyes on yours, trying to be as respectful as he could. You stretch out your legs and slowly spread them. 

“Say it,” your captain breathes out. 

“Eat me,” you whisper.

Those two words are all that John needs. He lunges forward and hooks your legs over his shoulders. It’s time - just the moment he dreamed of for months. 

John dug his face in your cunt and got to work. He wasn’t sure who moaned louder, you or him. With how wet you were, John knew his beard was just soaked but he could care less. All he cared right now was making you scream over and over and—

“Fuck captain,” you screamed. John pulls you in closer, lifting your entire lower half off the bed and closer to his face. He wanted to feel you finish on his lips. The louder you got the tighter his pants became. He couldn’t believe he was denying himself and his boys this. You are perfect. 

As your screams turn to whines, John slowly lays you down to catch his breath which isn’t long as he begins to pepper your inner thighs with kisses. 

“Better?” he asks. You shoot him a quick glance before tugging his hair and pulling him up. John eagerly follows your lead. His eyes catch the ways your gaze shyly glance down at his lips. Not wanting to deny you anymore, he passionately takes your lips, kissing you with the same fervor he had when he ate you out. To his delight, you kiss back just as fiercely. 

Despite the orgasm, your body aches for more. As you tasted yourself on Price’s lips, you toy with his pant buttons, hoping he’ll indulge you with something bigger.

“Say it,” Price jests against your lips. You feel his lips curl into a smile. You can’t help but laugh at the irony of the situation. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks. His eyes crinkle with joy. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen those eyes. 

Without a second thought, you answer “you’re looking at me like I haven’t been a pain in your ass these past few weeks.” You giggle, trying to hide the pain you’ve felt these past few weeks. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh c’mon John, let’s be honest here,” you start. “You and the rest of the guys have treated me like shit for weeks now… for good reason though,” you quickly add. Oblivious to your captain’s inner turmoil, you push him on the bed and begin to feather kisses all over his face. “But don’t worry, maybe I can make it up right now,” you joke. Fueled by the drug in your system, you pull John’s pants and underwear down, revealing his well-endowed member. 

“You really don’t have to,” John pushes back as your breath hit his dick. Despite it being the a dream come true, he couldn’t let you pleasure him under the guise of ‘you making it up to him.’ If anything, he should be making it up to you. He hurt you. He made you feel worthless. He doesn’t deserve your kindness. He should be on his knees for week and erasing every ounce of doubt in that pretty head of yours. He doesn’t deserve to feel good. He deserves to suffer.

And to your dismay, his body agrees. Within your own mouth, John’s dick softens. You try to ignore it and reason it was all in your head. But as the extra limb got softer and softer, shame overtook your body. Are you really that undesirable?  

John gently tugs on your head and asks that you let him try. His voice is tight (with embarrassment). John scoots to the edge of the bed and tugs on his dick, hoping to revive it. You watch as it refuses to come back. 

“Fuck,” he barks. He glances back at you and assures you it’s not your fault. Despite his reassurances, you can’t help but feel disgusted by yourself. Three men, three busts. One walked out, another didn’t want your touches, and now your captain is unable to get it up. You inch yourself away from John until your back hit the bed’s frame. You grab the sheets once more to cover yourself. 

You break the silence that had filled the room. “It’s okay. You can stop now.” John’s shoulders slump. 

“Sweetheart—“ he starts but you really didn’t want to hear it. 

“It’s fine. You don’t have to excuse yourself,” you try comforting your captain who you think is distraught by his performance. “I know it’s not your fault.” You see John’s back slightly straighten before it relaxes once more. “You can g—.” Before you can even let out that “o,” John shoots up from the bed and pulls up his pants. As he strides out the exit, you can’t help but yell out a quick, “thank you for trying.” 

Price freezes at that. With the door slightly agape, he sadly mutters, “I’ll get Kyle.” And with that, you’re alone once more.

Kyle couldn’t help but glare at his exiting captain. He couldn’t believe his luck. Bad enough Ghost was the who got to help you but now you’re telling him that Ghost AND Soap AND now Price all had the chance to help you but all fucked up.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he spits as Price leans against the wall, shame written all over his face. “I leave for what? 30 minutes? And you all got your dick wet without helping them.”

“I didn’t even pull it out.”  “Technically my fingers were the ones that got wet.” “My dick wouldn’t even get hard.” 

Kyle glared them all to silence. “It doesn’t matter if THEY’RE still dying.” Gaz couldn’t believe his team. Determined on saving you, he strides to your door, leaving the other three to wallow in their guilt. 

“Baby?” Kyle calls out. His heart breaks as he takes in your heaving, sweaty body. You quickly glance at Kyle and let out mix of a groan and moan. Not wanting to waste another minute, he crawls in your bed and presses you against him. “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here.”

“Kyle?” you groan out. You try to leave his grasp but Kyle wasn’t having it. He begins to kiss your neck and caress your body over the sheets. 

“I’m right here. Let me make you feel better,” Kyle begs. He can’t lose you. You’ve been slipping from his fingers for weeks, but now, he’s going to hold on to you and never let go. 

While Kyle didn’t want to let you go, all you want to do is escape. You are done. It’s bad enough that your teammates ignore you for weeks, but now, while you’re at your lowest, they all come get a quick taste and gag. You aren’t even angry. Just hurt. And really confused because why does Kyle care so much? 

“Use me.” You stop pushing against him and look up at him. Your entire body began to burn at the idea of using Kyle “Gaz” Garrick for your pleasure. And it seems like Kyle noticed your excitement. 

“You like that?” he whispers in your ear. “You on top,” he kisses your cheek, “or I’m on top,” a kiss to your other cheek, “I could be on my knees,” a kiss to your forehead, “or you could be on your knees,” a gentle kiss on your nose, “we can do whatever you want.” 

Your head starts to ring by the contrast between Kyle’s dirty promises and sweet kisses. You aren’t sure what’s hotter, free rein with a special forces sergeant or for once, after weeks, being in complete control of your own pleasure. 

“Take it off,” you command. To your joy, Kyle immediately starts to strip. Now determined to put yourself first, you rip the covers off your body and take off the last few articles of clothing on your body. As soon as Gaz finished, he began to crawl over your body. However, not wanting to be under him anymore, you push him on his back and climb on top of him. 

“Take whatever you need,” Kyle breathes out which only makes you wetter. You couldn’t help but moan when you felt Kyle’s already hard member between your legs. You grab his dick and slowly ease yourself on it. You groan in delight as Gaz’ dick filled you up. Determined to end this once and for all, you start to bounce. Your moans, Kyle’s groans, and skin slapping fill the room. In another life, this would have been a dream come true. Instead, this is just a means to an end. While you try to ignore the implications of you sleeping with your sergeant and really the entire 141, Kyle beings to babble. 

“You’re perfect,” Kyle groans, “everything I’ve dreamed of.”  As he starts to spew our compliments, you can’t help but cringe. Of course, the only time Kyle compliments you is when you’re riding his dick. 

“I love y—.” Unable to hear such a lie, you bend over and shut him up with a kiss. Wanting to end this dream-turned-nightmare, you begin to bounce furiously. Kyle begins to whine against your lips. His hands grip your bottom as he uses his legs to bounce up in you. You really wish he actually wanted you like this. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Kyle!” you scream in pleasure as your orgasm hits you. You slump against Kyle’s chest as your body tingles in pleasure. It’s short lived as the reality of the entire situation hits you like a bus. 

Kyle caresses your back and whispers every sweet thing he’s been wanting to say for weeks. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making sure you feel cared for. 

However, it seems like that’s the last thing you want as you suddenly climb off him and quickly hide under the covers. He calls out your name and asks you to come back. “Hey, come back. Let’s can cuddle for a bit and make sure it’s completely out of your sy—“

“No need. I feel better now. You can leave,” you rush out. 

“Baby, c’mon, let m—“

You sit up and glare at Kyle with watery eyes. “I’m not your fucking baby,” you spit out, “And I’m not Ghost’s pretty thing. I’m not Soap’s mo ghraidh and I’m not Price’s sweetheart. I get it, okay? So stop pretending like you care and just leave. I’m fine now. You got the job done.” You lay back down with your back towards Kyle. His heart breaks as he catches the way your shoulders shake. Realizing that the damage was done, Kyle slowly gets up, gets dressed, and leaves. 

— — — 

Kyle winces as he’s greeted by the bright light of the hallway and the hopeful faces of teammates. 

“How’d it go? Are they okay?” Johnny shoots up from his seat, eager for his fellow sergeant’s answer. 

“They’ll live.” Johnny cheers as Price and Ghost physically relax. 

But, their joy is short-lived as your sobs reach their ears. The four look at each other, all questing whether it was all worth it. 

Word Count: 4350

More Thoughts

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 14

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 8k

Trigger warning; fluff hehe

notes; What's up everyone, back again this week for a new chapter. This is one is cute, really cute but it was a pain in the ass to write after everything that happened in the previous one lol. either way, i hope that everyone is doing well. i have not much to say this week beside that i wish you will have a great time reading this chapter. See you next time <3333

previous ✧

After a moment, the two of you left the garden, the cold air biting at your skin but doing nothing to dispel the warmth that seemed to radiate between you and Azriel. His shadows lingered around you like a protective veil, their faint touch against your skin a constant reminder of his presence. His hand was warm in yours, his thumb brushing softly over your palm in slow, soothing strokes. 

As you walked back toward the house, you cast a glance over your shoulder at the garden. The snow had already covered the imprint of where you had knelt together, erasing any sign of the moment that had passed. It was as though it had never happened, yet you felt it etched deeply into your heart, a memory that would never fade.

The house was calm when you stepped inside. The dining table had been cleared, and the soft glow of the fire in the living room, accompanied by a few flickering candles, bathed the space in a comforting warmth. The echoes of laughter and conversation from earlier were gone, replaced by a serene stillness. It felt as though the house, too, had exhaled and settled for the night.

Without speaking, the two of you climbed the stairs, your hands still entwined. The gesture felt natural, grounding, and neither of you let go. When you reached Azriel’s room, it felt as though your feet had guided you there instinctively, and you stood together just inside the doorway.

You exhaled softly, your shoulders sagging as though the weight of the night had finally lifted. “I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that before,” you admitted, your voice tinged with both humor and lingering emotion.

Azriel’s worried gaze softened, and he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. He kissed each of your closed eyelids, the gesture so tender it made your breath catch. “Are you okay with staying here tonight?” he asked, his tone careful, as though he didn’t want to push.

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Ah, yes. I mean, if you don’t mind.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Why would I mind?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your chest loosening as he turned toward the wardrobe. After a moment of rifling through his clothes, he pulled out a large, soft shirt and handed it to you. “You can change here if you want,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll step out to the bathroom.”

The simplicity of the gesture, the quiet respect in his tone, made you smile as you accepted the shirt. “Thank you.”

Azriel nodded and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, he turned back, his golden eyes searching yours for a moment as though reassuring himself that you were truly okay. Then, with a quiet click, the door shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room.

You looked around the space, noting the minimal yet thoughtful touches—books neatly stacked on the shelves, the faint scent of cedar and something distinctly Azriel lingering in the air. You ran your fingers over the shirt in your hands, a soft laugh escaping you as you thought about how surreal the night had been.

The house was silent, the snow outside continuing to fall, but in this moment, wrapped in the calm and warmth of Azriel’s room, you felt... safe.

You quickly changed, the oversized shirt draping comfortably over you, and the scent of Azriel surrounding you felt like a protective cocoon. It was grounding, familiar, and it made your heart ache in the best way. A faint laugh escaped your lips as you noticed one of his shadows curling playfully through your hair, tickling your nose.

Stepping toward the window, you gazed out at Velaris, a city that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a dream. The soft glow of lanterns dotted the streets below, casting a golden hue over the cobblestone paths that wound between the elegant, timeless buildings. The Sidra sparkled under the moonlight, its waters calm and steady, mirroring the endless expanse of stars above. The sky was impossibly clear, the constellations vivid and bright as if painted by some celestial artist. Everything about the view felt magical, like a promise of serenity in a world too often filled with chaos. For a moment, it was as though the looming threats had vanished, replaced by this pocket of quiet perfection. No war, no god of death, no impossible decisions. Just peace. A fleeting, precious peace.

You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt him—Azriel’s presence was unmistakable. His arms slipped around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. The weight of his touch was grounding, steady, as if he was trying to anchor you to this moment. One hand rested firmly on your shoulder, his thumb brushing a light, comforting arc against your skin. The other circled you protectively, holding you close to him. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away the lingering chill of the evening.

You leaned back into his chest, letting out a soft sigh as his face came to rest against your shoulder. The light scrape of his stubble brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his embrace held only comfort. It was intimate, but not demanding, as though he was content simply to be close to you. You closed your eyes briefly, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing calm the storm in your mind.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked softly, his voice low and velvety, carrying a weight of concern and curiosity.

You hesitated before answering, your gaze still fixed on the peaceful cityscape. “Everything feels so calm, so peaceful,” you admitted. “Like nothing is coming for us. Like I can just... breathe. It feels strange—almost wrong—to feel this safe.”

You felt his gaze on you, steady and unwavering, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of your face under the soft glow of the moonlight. His presence behind you was grounding, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone in the chaos of your thoughts. Slowly, you turned in his embrace, meeting his eyes.

And oh, those eyes. They held so much—concern, yes, but also something raw and vulnerable. Admiration, reverence, and something deeper still, something that made your heart ache with its intensity. It wasn’t just affection; it was understanding, a quiet acceptance of everything you were, even the pieces you struggled to accept yourself. The bond between you hummed softly, pulling you closer in ways you couldn’t resist.

Before you even realized what you were doing, you kissed him.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but deliberate, charged with an intensity that made your heart race. It was as though every word unsaid between you both poured into this single, searing moment. The bond thrummed stronger now, pulsing like a heartbeat, drawing you so close that the very act of breathing felt like a betrayal of the closeness you craved.

Azriel’s hands moved to your back, his touch firm yet tender as if afraid to let you go. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him even closer, and the kiss deepened. It was intoxicating—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his body pressed to you, the way his scent enveloped you completely.

In one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground as though you weighed nothing. A small, surprised sound escaped your lips, and he smiled against your mouth. The gesture was fleeting but enough to send a shiver through you, softening the intensity just enough to remind you of the person behind all this strength.

You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, the world tilting as he carried you. His hands settled on your thighs, steadying you as he sat on the edge of the bed, his wings spreading slightly behind him for balance. The kiss didn’t falter. If anything, it grew more fervent, his lips claiming yours with a quiet desperation that mirrored the feelings you couldn’t yet bring yourself to name.

Straddling his lap, you cupped his face with trembling hands, your thumbs brushing against the sharp planes of his cheekbones. You broke the kiss, just barely, your foreheads pressed together as you both caught your breath. The silence was thick with emotion, the bond between you humming so loudly it felt like a third presence in the room.

Azriel’s eyes searched yours, his golden gaze filled with something you couldn’t quite place. A flicker of worry crossed his features, as if he was afraid this moment would shatter.

You shook your head softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing gently over his skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

And in that moment, his entire world shifted. The way you looked at him—with love so unfiltered, so honest—made his breath hitch. He had spent centuries yearning for something like this, for someone to see him, all of him, and not flinch. To accept him, scars and all.

He kissed you again, this time slower, softer, but no less intense. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise, a quiet declaration of everything he couldn’t yet put into words. His shadows curled around you like a cocoon, warm and protective, as if they, too, were trying to tell you what he couldn’t.

When the kiss finally broke, you both lingered there, your foreheads touching, breaths mingling. His hands rested on your waist, anchoring you in place, while yours tangled gently in his hair. The world outside the room seemed to cease to exist, leaving only the two of you in this stolen moment of peace.

Azriel gently turned you both, and you found yourselves lying on the bed next to each other, tangled in each other's arms. His fingers traced delicate, reassuring patterns on your back as he pressed soft kisses to your mouth, your forehead, your cheeks, and even the corners of your closed eyes. Each touch felt like a silent promise, as if he was ensuring that you were truly there, in his arms, in his bed, with him.

“Stop it, that tickles,” you murmured with a small laugh, squirming slightly under the light press of his lips.

He raised his head, a smile playing at his lips as he looked down at you, golden eyes warm and full of quiet amusement. “Does it?” he teased, chuckling softly.

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, your laughter filling the quiet room.

The intimacy of the moment felt right, but doing anything more tonight felt premature for both of you. The bond, the emotions of the evening—it was too much, too raw, too fresh. You both needed to let the night settle, to breathe and process before taking another step forward.

Azriel shifted, resting his head against your chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. Your fingers found their way into his hair, softly threading through the dark strands. For the first time in what felt like forever, Azriel felt completely at ease, the tension that usually resided in his body dissolving into your embrace.

“Are you hugging me like that because you want to feel my heartbeat,” you asked, voice tinged with playful mischief, “or because you like being in my boobs?”

His head snapped up, his golden eyes wide with surprise. “What?” he exclaimed, the disbelief clear in his tone.

You winked at him, laughter bubbling out of you. He stared at you for a moment before a grin broke across his face, and he began laughing with you.

“Both,” he finally admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smirk.

“Both?” you repeated, feigning shock, your grin widening.

“Yes, Y/N. Both,” he said firmly, his laughter softening into a contented smile.

As the laughter faded, your breathing became slower, softer. Azriel felt your hand still in his hair, your body relaxing fully against his. He tilted his head slightly to look at you, seeing your features softened in sleep. The sight sent a quiet pang through his chest—how lucky he was to have you here, to have this moment.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, and then he felt the gentle brush of Rhysand’s presence against his mind. He let him in without hesitation.

How is she doing? Rhysand’s voice was quiet but full of concern.

Azriel hesitated before answering. It’s a lot, he admitted. And knowing her, she’s trying to process everything as quickly as possible so it affects her the least. But for now... she’s okay.

Good, Rhys replied, his tone firm but kind. I’m sure you won’t need my help for the moment, but if you both need anything, Az, please let me know.

Azriel paused, feeling a faint warmth in his chest at Rhys’s offer. Thanks, brother, he said softly, and he felt Rhysand’s reaction—an unspoken acknowledgment of the term—as the connection faded.

Azriel’s shadows curled protectively around the two of you, their touch gentle and comforting. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, settling further into the warmth of your presence. In that moment, with you in his arms and the world outside forgotten, he allowed himself to truly rest.

You stirred gently, the weight of Azriel’s arm draped over you grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with unfamiliar comfort. His embrace was firm yet tender, as though even in sleep, he feared you might slip away. Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of him enveloping you. His scent lingered around you, rich and comforting, mingling with the faint, familiar smell of his room.

The sunlight creeping into the room was soft and golden, casting delicate patterns over the walls and the bed. It spilled through the curtains, brushing against your face like a whispered reminder that morning had come. The city outside was just beginning to wake, its quiet hum blending seamlessly with the steady rhythm of Azriel’s heartbeat.

Your gaze wandered, taking in the relaxed expression on Azriel’s face. In sleep, he looked so different—his brow smooth, the faint shadows under his eyes softened. His lips were slightly parted, and his hair was mussed from where you had run your fingers through it the night before. He looked peaceful, vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

You raised your hand slowly, careful not to wake him, and watched as the sunlight caught the edges of your fingers. Azriel’s shadows, ever curious, danced around your hand, their movements gentle and almost playful. A small, tired smile tugged at your lips, the contrast between the light and shadow a quiet reminder of the bond you shared.

The past few days had been a whirlwind. Azriel discovering the bond, Elain’s vision, the attack on your way back from Dawn—it all felt like too much. Even for you, someone used to balancing on the edge of chaos, this was overwhelming. And yet, here you were, lying in the arms of the person who had unknowingly become your anchor.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you let your gaze drift back to the sunlit room. What were you supposed to do now? Pretend you hadn’t seen what Elain had seen? Ignore the ominous shadow of the future looming over you? It was an option, sure, but it was far from an easy one. The perpetual threat of what was coming made it impossible to fully relax, even in moments like this.

You let your hand fall back to rest lightly on Azriel’s arm, your fingers brushing against his skin. His shadows seemed to respond to the movement, curling protectively around you both, as though they, too, were trying to shield you from the weight of it all.

For now, you told yourself, you could take this moment. Just this brief, fleeting moment of peace in the arms of someone who had become so much more than you had ever expected. The world outside could wait, if only for a little while longer.

Azriel shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening around you as his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the lazy movement made your heart flutter.

“Good morning,” you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He mumbled something incoherent in response, the sound low and gravelly, which only made your smile widen. You ran your fingers gently through his hair, his soft strands tangling around your fingers. The small motion seemed to comfort him, his hold on you firm yet tender.

You thought you could stay like this forever, wrapped in his warmth and the quiet safety he provided. Azriel seemed to drift back to sleep for a moment, his breathing evening out against your neck. But soon, he shifted again, his face lifting to yours. His sleepy golden eyes met yours briefly before he leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and unhurried.

It was a simple gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you. You leaned into it before pulling away gently, stretching your arms above your head as you sat up. The morning light illuminated the room, and you were acutely aware of your messy hair and puffy face from the night before.

Azriel didn’t seem to care. He was still lying on his side, propped up on one elbow as he watched you. His gaze was so soft, so unguarded, that it made your chest ache.

“What are you doing today?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

You combed your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the wild strands. “I’m probably going to finish working on the last files you brought me last time. I forgot them here and didn’t had the time to come and get them. So I’m a bit late. Before lunch, I should head back to the clinic to check on things. If Elain is feeling better, I might examine her by the end of the afternoon or tomorrow, depending on how busy things are. Honestly, probably tomorrow. You ?”

Azriel nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve got a few reports to go through and some meetings with Rhys and my spies. Tomorrow, I’ll need to head to Hewn City, so we’ll need to prepare for that.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused at the nonchalant way he mentioned visiting one of the most dreadful places in the Night Court. “Sounds delightful,” you teased, earning a soft chuckle from him.

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, his shadows swirling lazily around his shoulders. “Are we seeing each other tonight?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Well, it depends on my schedule,” you said with a playful smirk. “But I should be able to pencil you in.”

His lips quirked up at the corner. “Generous of you,” he replied dryly. “We could go out in Velaris, or stay in and do something here. Whatever works for you.”

The thought of spending a quiet evening walking through Velaris filled you with a sense of warmth. “Walking around Velaris sounds nice,” you decided, your smile softening.

Azriel remained on the bed, his gaze following your every move as you stood and leaned over him. Your hair fell in a curtain around your face, brushing against his cheek as you kissed him again. It was sweet and lingering, and when you pulled away, you noticed the way his shadows curled gently around your wrists, as if reluctant to let you go.

You stepped out of the bed, collecting your clothes from the night before since they were the only ones you had. As you moved around the room, you couldn’t help but notice Azriel’s gaze following you, his golden eyes filled with a quiet intensity that made your cheeks warm. You ducked into the bathroom, trying to shake off the flutter in your chest as you got dressed and washed up.

When you came back into the room, Azriel was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hair slightly tousled, and his shadows swirling lazily around him. He looked up at you with a soft smile.

“Hungry?” he asked, standing as you approached.

“A bit,” you admitted.

“Good,” he said, already heading toward the door. “Let’s get breakfast before you leave.”

You followed him down to the kitchen, where the quiet warmth of the townhouse enveloped you. Azriel moved to the counter, rolling up his sleeves as he started to prepare something. You took a seat at the kitchen island, resting your chin in your hand as you watched him.

“You’re cooking?” you teased, a playful lilt in your voice.

He glanced back at you, a faint smirk on his lips. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

You laughed softly and leaned forward. “So, about this trip to Hewn City—what exactly are you and Rhys hoping to accomplish?”

Azriel’s shoulders stiffened slightly at the mention of Hewn City, but he continued cracking eggs into a bowl. “There’s been some tension with the Court of Nightmares lately,” he explained. “We’re going to remind them where their loyalties should lie. Nothing too dramatic, hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With Keir, there’s no such thing as a simple conversation.”

Before Azriel could respond, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning, you saw Feyre, Rhysand, and Nyx entering the kitchen. Rhysand had Nyx cradled in his arms, the babe’s small hands clutching at his father’s shirt.

“Good morning,” Feyre greeted warmly, leaning down to hug you and kiss your cheek.

You winked at her. “Good morning.”

Rhysand shifted Nyx in his arms, giving you a sly smile. “Do you mind taking him for a bit?”

“Of course not,” you said, reaching out to take the squirming babe from him. Nyx immediately latched onto you, his tiny hands grabbing at your hair with a delighted gurgle.

As Azriel worked on breakfast, you balanced playing with Nyx and chatting with Feyre and Rhysand about the upcoming meeting in Hewn City. Rhysand eventually brought up the healer meeting and the detailed recap you’d provided him.

“Was it always like that?” he asked, tilting his head.

You nodded. “Pretty much, yes. Most of the time, Madja made me go instead of her to represent the Night Court.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “She did?”

“She never told you?” you asked, laughing softly at his surprised expression. “Well, besides the last hundred years—because I was on the continent, and then Amarantha happened. But usually, we either went together or I went alone.”

Azriel turned toward you with a plate of food and a steaming cup of coffee, setting them down in front of you. Feyre gently took Nyx back from your arms, giving you a chance to eat.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your eyes meeting Azriel’s as he leaned against the counter. He gave you a small nod, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he turned back to the others.

The warmth of the kitchen, the quiet hum of conversation, and the contented sounds of Nyx cooing in Feyre’s arms made the moment feel almost surreal. For the first time in days, everything felt... right.

You left the townhouse shortly after breakfast, the large stack of files balanced precariously under your arm. Feyre laughed softly as she watched you struggle, shaking her head in amusement. Azriel, leaning casually against the counter, smirked as you maneuvered toward the door.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Feyre asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

You grinned back at her. “I’ve got it, don’t worry. Just another day in the life.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “You’re carrying enough paperwork to bury an Illyrian camp. Impressive.”

You shot him a mock glare. “Keep making fun, Shadowsinger, and I’ll add your reports to the pile.”

Both of them chuckled as you waved and made your way out the door, heading toward the clinic. The brisk air of Velaris filled your lungs as you walked through the quiet streets. Despite the weight of the files, you couldn’t help but smile at the city’s beauty, the soft buzz of life returning to normal around you.

When you arrived at the clinic, the familiar scent of herbs and the gentle hum of conversation welcomed you. Healers bustled about, patients seated in the waiting area, and the overall atmosphere felt calm and controlled. You exhaled softly, relieved to be back.

Elira spotted you first, her face lighting up as she approached. “Y/N! You’re back. How are you feeling?”

You set the stack of files down on a nearby counter, rolling your shoulders. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, but nothing I can’t handle.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to the faint bandages peeking out from your shirt, her brows knitting together. “I saw Azriel’s wing the other day. Everything okay on the trip? We haven’t talked about it yet.”

Another healer, Aline, joined the conversation, her curious gaze darting between you and Elira. “Yes, tell us! How was the Dawn Court? Was it as beautiful as they say?”

You smiled, brushing off Elira’s concern with a wave of your hand. “Everything went fine, don’t worry. The Dawn Court was stunning—exactly as beautiful as they say, maybe even more. The palace is breathtaking, and Thesan’s hospitality is unmatched.”

Aline leaned against the counter, her eyes wide with curiosity. “I can only imagine. What about the healers? I’ve heard the Day and Summer Court healers are some of the best.”

You nodded, a warm smile on your lips. “They are. It was wonderful catching up with everyone. The collaboration between the courts has grown so much stronger over the years. It’s really inspiring to see.”

Elira tilted her head, a playful grin on her face. “And Thesan? How was he?”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “Still as charming and graceful as ever. He sends his regards, by the way.”

The three of you laughed, the lighthearted conversation a refreshing change after the tension of the past few days. As you discussed the various techniques and approaches you’d seen during the meeting, the healers listened eagerly, their excitement palpable.

The rest of the day passed quickly as you dove into your work, consulting with patients and organizing the files Azriel had brought you. The clinic buzzed with its usual rhythm, and for a while, you felt a sense of normalcy settle around you—a reprieve from the storm of emotions and events that had been swirling lately.

Back in your office, the organized chaos of the clinic buzzed faintly beyond the closed door. The soft light streaming in through the tall window illuminated the neat stacks of files on your desk. You pulled the chair closer, letting out a small sigh as you adjusted the lamp for better visibility. The familiar scent of herbs and parchment filled the room, grounding you as you began sorting through the documents.

Each file held the weight of decisions to be made: updates from the Dawn Court healer meeting, notes on new treatment methods shared between courts, and detailed reports from various Night Court healers. You carefully reviewed each one, annotating the margins with your thoughts and proposed actions. Your quill moved swiftly, the scratch of ink on paper blending with the faint sounds of the clinic.

Every now and then, a knock at the door would interrupt your focus. Healers popped in to ask for your opinion on a patient’s treatment plan, or to share updates on how things were progressing in the clinic. Despite the heavy workload, you welcomed these moments—they reminded you why you loved this work. Even in the chaos, there was purpose, and that purpose kept you grounded.

One particular case stood out, and you set the file down with a frown. It was from one of the Illyrian camps, detailing the ongoing challenges they faced. Supplies were running low but still manageable, and while progress had been impressive and made in spreading knowledge and materials, it wasn’t enough. Your mind wandered to Windhaven, the memories of your last visit there stirring unease in your chest. You would have to go back soon, as much as you dreaded it.

Between files, you found yourself slipping out of your office to assist in the clinic. A child with a persistent fever needed a careful examination, and an elderly woman with chronic joint pain sought relief. You moved seamlessly between tasks, your presence steady and reassuring. The healers you worked with were competent and kind, and it warmed your heart to see how well they managed everything in your absence.

Still, there was a heaviness lingering in the back of your mind. You hadn’t had time to check in on Elain yet, and the thought left an unsettling feeling in your chest. While Feyre had assured you earlier that she was resting, the memory of her vision—the way her body had convulsed and her eyes had gone stark white—clung to you. You couldn’t shake the image of what you had seen when you entered her mind, the darkness that had consumed the vision, the death it foretold.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you stared at the document in front of you. The words blurred slightly, your thoughts drifting back to the moment Elain had slapped you. It wasn’t her fault, you knew that, but the weight of it all—her vision, your role in pulling her out, and what you’d seen—pressed heavily on your shoulders.

Forcing yourself back to the present, you straightened in your chair and picked up the next file. There was too much work to be done to dwell on the unsettling feelings. But even as you worked, the nagging thought remained: you needed to check on Elain. If not today, then tomorrow. You owed her that much.

By the time you finished the last document, the sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow across the room. The clinic had quieted down, and you sat back in your chair, staring at the neatly stacked files on your desk. Progress had been made, but the unease in your chest hadn’t abated. You knew it wouldn’t—not until you addressed everything that was hanging over you.

As you finished scribbling the last note on your parchment and set it aside, the soft knock at your door caught your attention. You glanced up just as Azriel stepped in, his presence instantly filling the space with a quiet, steady warmth.

"Busy saving the world again?" he asked, a faint smirk on his lips as his eyes darted to the towering stack of completed files on your desk.

You leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. "Something like that," you replied with a small grin. "I guess you could say I’m trying to keep the chaos at bay."

Azriel crossed the room, his steps unhurried, and perched on the edge of your desk. "You’ve been locked in here all day, haven’t you?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Are you keeping tabs on me, Spymaster?"

"Someone has to," he teased, his tone light but tinged with something deeper. "Otherwise, you’d probably forget to leave."

You laughed softly, pushing yourself up from the chair. "Guilty as charged. But I’m officially done for the day—well, almost. What brings you here?"

Azriel tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering to the nearly empty desk before meeting yours. "We made plans, remember?"

"Right," you said, grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair. "Our walk. I didn’t forget, I swear. I just... lost track of time."

He smirked, standing as you slipped into your jacket. "You’re lucky you have me to drag you out of here."

As you both stepped out into the clinic’s hallway, Elira spotted you and raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Leaving work before the middle of the night ? Who are you, and what have you done with Y/N?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. "Very funny. I’m trusting you to keep everything under control while I’m gone."

"Go," Elira said, waving a hand dismissively. "You deserve a break. And maybe some fresh air."

"Don’t let her fool you," Azriel murmured as the two of you exited the clinic. "She’s probably relieved to have a break from you hovering over everything."

"Hey!" you protested, nudging him lightly as a laugh escaped you. "I do not hover. I supervise."

"Mm-hmm," he replied, his tone teasing but affectionate as his hand brushed lightly against your back, guiding you down the quiet street. The air between you felt warm despite the evening chill, and as you glanced at him, you found yourself smiling without even realizing it.

The streets of Velaris were alive with a quiet kind of magic that only came with the nighttime. The soft glow of faelights lined the cobblestone paths, their golden hues casting a gentle shimmer on the river that wound through the heart of the city. Above, the stars sparkled like tiny shards of diamonds scattered across a velvet canvas, their light reflecting off the spires and rooftops of the City of Starlight. It felt as if the world had slowed down, the rush of the day replaced by a serene rhythm, like the city itself was breathing in sync with the stars.

You and Azriel walked side by side, your steps in tune with each other, though neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t heavy; it wasn’t awkward. It was comforting—like a blanket wrapped around the two of you, shielding you from the chaos of everything else. Occasionally, his shadows would dart out, flickering like curious wisps before retreating back into him. Their presence was faint but constant, as if they, too, were enjoying the peaceful night.

The streets were mostly quiet now, save for the occasional soft laughter or distant hum of music spilling out from a café or a home. The scents of freshly baked bread, spiced teas, and blooming night jasmine drifted through the air, wrapping you in their warmth as you wandered further into the heart of the city. The river reflected the starlight, creating an endless mirror that seemed to stretch forever, and every now and then, you caught Azriel glancing at it, a small, almost wistful smile playing on his lips.

Your hand brushed his arm once—accidentally, at first—and you felt a jolt of awareness run through you. You weren’t sure why, but it felt like the bond, subtle and unspoken, was humming softly between you. A few moments passed before you carefully, almost nervously, slid your hand to gently rest on his arm, your fingers lightly curling around his sleeve. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like everything in that moment.

Azriel glanced down at you, his golden eyes catching the faint light of the faelights. His smile was soft, unguarded, and it made your chest tighten. "Comfortable?" he asked quietly, his voice warm and tinged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You nodded, a faint smile of your own tugging at your lips. "Yeah," you murmured, your gaze shifting to the stars above. "I think I am."

His smile widened just a fraction, and he turned his head to look at the sky as well. You could feel the muscles of his arm relaxing under your touch, as if your presence grounded him in the same way his did for you. The world around you both felt distant, as though this walk was its own little pocket of time, reserved for just the two of you.

As you walked, your steps carried you to a small bridge overlooking the river. You both stopped, leaning slightly against the railing to admire the view. The stars seemed impossibly close here, their light dancing on the water. The gentle sound of the current filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of life in the distance.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence wasn’t empty. It was full of meaning, of unspoken words and shared thoughts. Azriel’s shadows curled faintly around your fingers where they rested on his arm, and you let out a soft breath, feeling your heart settle into a steady rhythm that matched the peace of the night.

When you finally turned to look at him, his gaze was already on you, his expression calm but filled with a quiet intensity. The corners of his mouth lifted just slightly as he met your eyes. You weren’t sure if the warmth flooding through you came from the glow of the stars or from him, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

The walk was quiet for a while, the comfort of Azriel’s presence beside you a soothing balm to your thoughts. You glanced up at the stars, your hand still lightly resting on his arm. After a moment, you decided to break the silence.

“How was your day?” you asked softly, turning your head slightly to look at him.

Azriel glanced down at you, his expression softening. “Busy,” he admitted with a faint sigh. “The preparations for Hewn City are done, but it’s… tedious. We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

You nodded in acknowledgment, the mention of Hewn City tugging at something in the back of your mind. “It’s always tedious with them, isn’t it?” you teased lightly, though your tone held understanding.

He let out a low chuckle. “That’s putting it mildly.”

The conversation turned to smaller things after that—the tasks he’d tackled during the day, the little moments you’d found peace while working in the clinic. The exchange was easy, flowing naturally as you walked, the night air crisp and refreshing around you.

Then, as you turned down a quiet street, your steps slowed. You stopped in front of a large house, its windows glowing warmly with light. Even from the outside, you could hear the faint sound of laughter and the chatter of children. Azriel halted beside you, his sharp gaze flicking from the house to your face, where a wistful smile had formed. Your expression was soft, tinged with nostalgia and a faint sadness.

“What’s going on?” Azriel asked, his voice low and curious.

You gestured to the building, your eyes still fixed on it. “This is where I grew up,” you said softly. “It’s one of the orphanages of Velaris.”

Azriel blinked, clearly surprised. He had known of the orphanage’s existence—Velaris was a city that cared for its own—but he had never really thought about it, never imagined you having a connection to a place like this. But the way you looked at the house, with a mixture of warmth and old sorrow, made his chest tighten.

“What was it like, growing up here?” he asked, his voice careful.

You tilted your head slightly, your smile deepening as your gaze lingered on the house. “It was… fine, I guess. Much better than so many other places could have been. They took care of us, made sure we had what we needed.” You paused, the corners of your lips tugging upward in a bittersweet way. “I was the only winged child here, though. That made me different—set apart from everyone else.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“The times were difficult,” you admitted, “but still, there were good memories. I remember Madja coming to see me every other day, checking in on me. She practically raised me, even though she couldn’t take me in.” A soft laugh escaped your lips as you looked at the house. “I tried to fly on my own once. I barely made it off the ground before I fell straight into the Sidra.”

Azriel couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips at the image. “Did it hurt?”

“Only my pride,” you teased, glancing at him briefly before looking back at the house. “I had good moments here, even though it was hard. Losing my parents… that was the hardest part.”

The lightness in your tone faltered slightly, and Azriel’s hand on your arm tightened just a fraction, a silent gesture of comfort. “Do you still think about them?” he asked softly, his voice gentle.

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Sometimes I do,” you admitted. “But… I can’t even remember their faces clearly anymore. I was so young when they passed. It makes sense, I guess, but it’s still hard to accept sometimes.”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression somber as he listened. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quiet but weighted with sincerity.

You smiled softly, turning away from the house to meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you said simply, appreciating the steadiness in his presence. Then, with a deep breath, you glanced back at the house one last time before stepping away.

“Come on,” you said, your voice lighter now as you tugged him gently forward. “We still have the rest of Velaris to see.”

Azriel nodded, falling into step beside you again. But even as you walked away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the house, as if trying to picture the younger version of you that had lived there—the one who had already endured so much and somehow still become the person walking beside him now.

As the two of you continued walking, the streets of Velaris became livelier, the marketplace ahead buzzing with energy. Merchants called out their wares, the scent of roasted almonds and spiced cider filling the cool night air. You instinctively stepped closer to Azriel, the press of people making you feel the need to stay near him.

Azriel, ever attuned to you, noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he reached down, his fingers brushing over your wrist before one of his shadows slithered around it like a soft tether. The feeling sent a shiver up your arm, but it wasn’t unpleasant—it was comforting. A silent reassurance that he was there, that he wouldn’t lose you in the crowd.

You looked up at him with a small smile. “Keeping me on a leash now, Shadowsinger?”

He smirked slightly, his golden eyes gleaming under the market lights. “Just making sure you don’t wander off.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t move away. Instead, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of his presence, the way his fingers occasionally brushed yours when you both shifted through the bustling streets.

As you turned a corner, lost in the vibrant atmosphere, a small figure suddenly crashed into your legs, nearly knocking you off balance. A tiny child, no older than four or five, looked up at you with wide, teary eyes, his little hands clutching at the hem of your coat.

“Oh, little one,” you said softly, crouching down. “Are you alright?”

The boy sniffled, looking back and forth frantically. “I—I lost my mama.”

Azriel stepped closer, crouching beside you. “Do you remember where you last saw her?” he asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

The boy shook his head, looking on the verge of tears. Without hesitation, Azriel reached out and carefully lifted him into his arms. The sight of it made your heart clench in the best way. The way Azriel, the feared spymaster, held the child with such ease and gentleness made something warm settle deep inside you.

You watched as the boy curled against Azriel’s chest, tiny fingers gripping his tunic. “We’ll find her,” Azriel murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.

The moment didn’t last long before a frantic woman came rushing through the crowd, calling the child’s name. Relief flooded her face when she saw him, and she all but collapsed in front of you both.

“Mother above, thank you,” she breathed, reaching for her son. Azriel handed him over with care, and the little boy beamed up at both of you before burying himself in his mother’s embrace.

The woman gave you both a tearful smile. “Truly, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” you said warmly. “We’re just glad he’s safe.”

As the mother and child disappeared into the crowd, you turned to Azriel, still feeling the lingering warmth of the moment. He was watching them go, his expression unreadable. But there was something softer in his eyes—something distant, as if a part of him had once longed for the same embrace that child had just received.

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his. He looked down at you, blinking in surprise.

“You’re really good with kids,” you said softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “You say that like I don’t deal with Cassian and Rhys every day.”

You grinned. “That’s different. Nyx loves you, you know? And that little boy—you calmed him down faster than I ever could.”

Azriel just shook his head, but there was the faintest dusting of pink on his ears. He gave your hand one last squeeze before leading you both forward again, back through the winding streets.

As you walked together through the quieting streets of Velaris, the familiar silhouette of the House of Wind loomed above, nestled in the mountains, its presence both imposing and oddly comforting. You tilted your head slightly, glancing up at Azriel.

Azriel hesitated for a moment before glancing at you. “Stay tonight,” he said softly. “Even though I’m leaving early tomorrow.”

Your chest ached at the thought of waking up without him here, but you nodded, offering him a small smile. “Of course.”

“Do you change places every night or something?” you asked, teasing.

He let out a low chuckle. “No, but the House of Wind is calmer than the river house. Feyre and Rhys barely sleep now with Nyx still not fully settling through the night. It’s better to leave them some peace for the moment.”

You hummed in understanding, your gaze drifting up to the House of Wind. It had been a long time since you’d been there. The last time had been brief, business-related. But now, standing here with Azriel, the idea of returning felt... different.

You turned to him with a smirk. “Are you going to fly me up there?”

He raised a brow, smirking back. “If you don’t mind, yes. Unless you’d rather take the stairs.”

You made a face, feigning deep thought before flashing him a grin. “Fine. But only if you don’t let me fall.”

Azriel scoffed, shaking his head in mock offense. “That happened once. And it will never happen again.”

You gave him an exaggerated, knowing look. “I know,” you said with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry.”

Without another word, Azriel scooped you up effortlessly, his arms locking around you with practiced ease. The rush of wind wrapped around you as his powerful wings spread wide, lifting you both into the air. The city of Velaris shrank beneath you, the lights twinkling like stars against the darkened streets.

You nestled closer, the warmth of his chest radiating through his leathers. The steady beat of his wings was soothing, the flight smooth, effortless. As the altitude climbed, you let your lips ghost closer to his ear, your voice soft, just above the sound of the wind.

“Your flying’s not bad, I’ll admit,” you teased lightly, feeling the faintest shift in his grip on you.

Then, without thinking too much, you leaned in further, brushing a kiss against his cheek—just shy of the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched slightly, nor the faint dusting of pink that rose along his cheekbones. His grip on you tightened just a fraction, but he remained steady, his expression unreadable save for the telltale warmth in his golden eyes.

The reaction made you laugh softly, pressing your forehead against his temple for a moment. “I think I like flying with you.”

Azriel exhaled, a small smirk tugging at his lips despite the slight blush he tried to hide. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t intend on letting you go anytime soon.”

You didn’t have time to process the weight of those words before the House of Wind came into view, its towering presence greeting you as Azriel angled his wings and began the descent.

——

Azriel’s room in the House of Wind was just as you remembered—calm, dark, and carrying the faint scent of cedar and night-chilled air. As you stepped inside, he set you gently on the ground, his hands lingering at your waist for a moment longer than necessary before finally letting go.

The space was warm despite the vastness of it, the heavy curtains barely letting in the moonlight. It felt safe, intimate even, as if the very walls carried the weight of memories—of quiet moments, of healing, of revelations too heavy to be spoken aloud at the time.

You swallowed, taking in the familiarity of it all. It had been months since you had last stood here, when Azriel was still recovering, when you had barely left his side. When you had first discovered the bond and had buried it deep within yourself, refusing to acknowledge the aching truth of what it meant.

And now?

Now, you were here again, but no longer holding that secret alone.

Azriel turned to you, his golden eyes scanning your face before stepping closer, his hand rising to brush your cheek with a softness that made your chest ache. You tilted your head into the touch, savoring it, before reaching up to hold his wrist, your fingers tracing the warmth of his skin.

Neither of you needed words in that moment.

Instead, you leaned up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was slow, deliberate—not rushed or frantic, but full of understanding. The bond thrummed between you, a quiet hum of recognition, of home.

Azriel kissed you back with the same reverence, his hands settling at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. Not out of desperation, but out of certainty—certainty that he wanted you, that this was right. But still, there was a quiet restraint in the way he moved, as if he was making a silent promise to himself.

After a while, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the dim light.

“I want you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But not here. Not tonight. Not hours before I have to leave for the Court of Nightmares.”

You blinked up at him, waiting, listening.

“I want to take you to the cabin,” he continued, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Away from all of this. Just us.”

A shiver ran through you at the thought, not just from the idea of what would happen, but from the way he said it—like he was already certain, already planning, already waiting for the moment you both fully accepted what was between you.

You smiled softly, nodding. “Then it will wait.”

Azriel exhaled, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before leading you toward the bed.

As you lay down beside him, your fingers instinctively reached for his. He let you trace the scars that marked his hands, let your nails gently drag over them, sending faint shivers through him. His wings twitched slightly behind him, betraying the way your touch affected him, but he didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” he murmured, watching you closely.

You smirked faintly, tilting your head as you continued your slow movements. “Maybe I like being gentle with you.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s dangerous.”

“Is it?” you whispered, lifting his hand and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

He swallowed, his eyes darkening just slightly, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear before tracing his own fingers along your jaw, down to your shoulder, then back to your wrist, as if mapping every part of you he could reach.

After a while, you leaned in, pressing one last, lingering kiss to his lips before settling into his arms.

The silence between you was easy, comforting. Your breath matched his, slow and steady, as you allowed yourself to sink into his warmth.

Then—

“Oh,” you mumbled suddenly, your eyes widening slightly as the distant sounds of something unmistakable echoed through the walls.

Azriel groaned, closing his eyes. “I forgot about that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heat creeping up your cheeks as Cassian and Nesta’s… activities carried on without a care for who could hear them.

You hid your face in Azriel’s neck, shaking slightly with quiet laughter. “It’s fine,” you murmured against his skin, biting back another giggle.

Azriel let out a soft huff of amusement, his arms tightening around you. “I’ll soundproof my room next time.”

You nodded against him, letting your laughter fade as the warmth of his embrace lulled you toward sleep. His scent, his touch, his presence—it was enough to make everything else melt away.

As your breathing evened out, Azriel pressed a final, featherlight kiss to the top of your head, letting his own eyes slip shut.

Tomorrow would come soon. But for now, for this moment, it was just the two of you.

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