#i keep pausing to just keep looking at him

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓

╰┈➤ ❝ caleb x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with plot; honestly more fluff-centric with a lil smut towards the end <3), mention of nightmares, comfort, kissing, cuddling, heavy petting, dry humping, praise, dirty talk, inappropriate use of evol (kinda), use of pet names "baby" "princess", + "pipsqueak" like… once. lmk if i missed any tags !

wc : 2.4k

an : AAAAA i gave in 😭 some of you may know that im a chronic nightmare haver and. absolutely nothing . n o thi ng !!!!!!!!! is going to stop me from writing fluffy smut with the love of my life JSNFBWHF (++ mildly inspired by @starmocha 's post, ily you keep me (in)sane <3)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

You can't sleep, but at least he's right there to help you.

"Caleb…"

It started with a soft nudge.

"Caleb?"

There was no reply.

Your head lifted then, momentarily leaving the comfort of the pillow… only to be met with stillness. You could feel a huff threatening to spill from your lips, ever indignant over moments of lack of attention from him—yet, the dark of the room reminded you exactly where you were. A glance at the clock on his bedside table showed you an hour you shouldn't be awake at; not normally, at least. And if that wasn't enough, then the silent, sleeping figure next to you would have proved it.

It wasn't fair to wake him up. You were the odd one out.

And, yet…

And, yet…

You pursed your lips.

A beat.

Two beats.

Three.

"Caaaaleeebbb…."

His name turned into a whine, and this time, you sat up, reaching to roll him over onto his back.

Thankful as you were of his general attentiveness to you, you watched a little wave of recognition wash over him.

"…Hmh? Pip..squeak…?"

A hand reached out to rub at his eyes, voice thick and raspy, the lower octave jumping out to you. And with that unfocused gaze, and those slow movements… He wasn't quite awake.

Sheepishly, you pawed at his arm.

"Sorry, can't sleep…" you mumbled.

"Mmm… That's a shame, 'cause I sure can…"

You looked at him with a frown.

Still asleep, my ass.

The lazy smile on his face contrasted with the droopy eyes his expression still wore, and yet, he was still clearly awake enough to tease. You knew he was only getting under your skin on purpose, but nevertheless, you wanted at least a smidge of comfort—you huffed in an indignant manner, reaching out to give his shoulder a little punch in protest.

At your motions, he laughed quietly.

"Alright, alright. C'mere."

He reached out to ruffle your hair, and there was a slight moment of pause. You watched him scan your figure—there was a sort of appreciation to it, a soft, fond gaze that felt a lot like… Home. And then with a yawn and a stretch, his arms tugged you closer to his body until you hadn't much of a choice but to roll over on top of him, his arms circling around your torso to gently hold you in place against him.

"Better?" he murmured.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the little thrum of his voice as he spoke—it was a low whisper in your ear, still somewhat fighting the sleep from his tone, but just soft enough to lull you into a sense of comfort.

A small smile spread on your lips.

"Mhm," you nodded against him; "A little."

He allowed you to move and adjust yourself over him, legs resting neatly on either side of his waist, your body curled right into him with your head resting right above where his heart would be.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You smiled.

He felt safe.

"...Only a little, though? What's up? Nightmare?"

There was a yawn to his voice, and slowly, you felt him begin to absentmindedly run his hand up and down your back.

In truth, he didn't need to ask. He knew you well enough—you were like this often; there weren't reasons otherwise to why you would be awake at this hour. And he knew, too—there would be no sleeping for you until you could forget whatever images you'd seen in your head just moments ago. You needed a distraction.

He would provide it.

You felt him nuzzle his nose into your hair, planting a series of chaste kisses, the pad of his thumb placing a little bit more pressure onto your back if only to reassure you that he was there.

That everything would be alright.

"Mm… Hard to close my eyes when I can still see it…" You sighed and tilted your head, chin resting atop his chest as you cherished the way his other hand had moved to gently stroke through your hair.

"Yeah? S'okay, I'll stay up with you." You could see the way the sleep had more or less worn off of his features, almost as if the only thing that mattered to him in the moment was staying alert enough to help you fall back asleep first.

It was kind of adorable.

Your eyes softened, enough to let out a playful roll of your eyes. "Aww, look at you being all warm and caring~"

"And, what? You'd rather I not be? Says the girl who's always come runnin' back to me after falling and scraping her knee at the playground!"

"Hey, that's different! It really hurt, you know?! You were there!"

"Uh-huh. And might I add you were runnin' from some supposed ghost of the swing set, just 'cause it wouldn't stop moving?"

"Ugh, don't you bring that back! I didn't understand the laws of physics yet! What else can you do when you're ten and not a science gal?!" The smug little smirk on his face was infuriating enough, and were you not so comfortably snuggled up in his arms, you'd have reached out to smack it off of him yourself. "I am not a kid anymore, thank you very much."

But if you thought he'd use your indignance to push your buttons a little further, to your surprise, his only response was a chuckle. His head leaned down to kiss the top of your forehead; "'Course I know that, you're all grown up now. Just… Where would you be without me, am I right?" He smiled, and this time, his hand slide over from the top of your head over to the side of your face. Gently, gently, he coaxed your head up a little bit, palm cupping your cheek with a little caress of his thumb. "Some things don't change. And since you are my princess, then I gotta give you the princess treatment."

Giggling a little, you shifted slightly to nuzzle your nose against his. "…Geez. Okay, I concede. 'Specially when you call me that."

"Princess? You really like that one, huh?"

And despite the laugh in his voice; despite the playful roll of his eyes right back at you, he leaned in to place a soft kiss on your lips.

One kiss.

Two.

Light, feathery touches that fall into soft, breathy laughs—

Another kiss, and then another.

Slowly, you found yourselves lost in a quiet moment of feeling each other like this, foreheads pressed together, fingers gently running through strands of hair.

So close— so… comforting.

"Feelin' better, baby?" he murmured.

And you realized that the pointless bickering, the little bit of reminiscing—all that he'd done by means of pulling you far away from your dreams and into the reality that you shared with him.

Because it was really, truly, all that mattered in the end.

Smiling softly, your gaze dropped back to his lips as you placed a little kiss to each corner, cherishing the soft huff of laughter that fell from his own.

"Mhm," you whispered. "Much, much better."

So close, so comforting.

You could look into his eyes—warm, and pretty, and so inherently him—and they would be the only things you'd care to look at.

"D'you wanna sleep now? Or…" There was a playful lilt to the way he spoke, and his eyebrow raised—you could feel him press your lower back a little bit more against him, the subtle way his hand dipped lower to rest upon the curve of your ass. You didn't miss the smirk that edged at his lips. "If you're not sleepy yet, I could think of a couple ways to make you sleepy…"

Typical Caleb.

You swat at his arm playfully, a louder laugh falling from your lips. "Caleb! It's, like, three in the morning! I though you were sleepy?!"

"Uh, yeah, I am. But clearly you aren't."

"But that's 'cause—!"

You caught the roll of his eyes as he leaned up to give you another little kiss, and then promptly gave you a look.

"Heyyy. It'd help you sleep, right?" he offered a lazy smile. "And I told you I'd help you. You're in a pretty ideal position too, you know."

You were used to being curled up on his chest like this, but now that he'd suggested it, you had to realize that he was right—and perhaps as a little test, perhaps because you couldn't help it, you gave a little experimental roll of your hips.

The immediate gasp was more of a reaction than you'd expected, and then even you couldn't help the knowing smirk from spreading across your features.

"Shit— oh, that's how we're doin' this, huh?" He spoke through gritted teeth, but his hands had already slid down to rest at your hips. "Gonna use me to get yourself off, s'that it?"

"You suggested it!" you shot back, "don't you take back your words!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that. No way in hell am I takin' back anythin', princess." Another lazy grin despite the firm hold he had on your hips, and he cocked his head to the side. "Well? Go on, baby, do your thing."

It was near embarrassing how easily he could have you dripping wet with just his words, with his voice, yet you knew with certainty that you could have the same effect—every tentative roll of your hips brought out such delicious sighs from his lips, and you could watch with glee the way his eyes would flutter shut. You'd never been more grateful for the thin fabric of your pajamas; the stiff outline of his erection pressed so perfectly against you that the barrier almost didn't matter at all.

"Caleb…" you gasped. You'd fall into him as the movement of your hips sped up, and you could already feel the messy slick that had seeped right through your clothing.

"Keep goin' baby, just like that. Lemme feel you…" One hand slid back up your body, dipping beneath your shirt to caress your skin. "Such a pretty lil princess. You like this, huh? Grindin' all over me like this?"

His palm pressed into your skin—more, he mouthed. Faster.

And you nearly cried as you swallowed your own moans against his lips, feeling the way his hands dug back into your hips, urging you, urging you, guiding your hips into a frenzied rhythm.

Mindless.

Needy.

"M-mmhf, not— mm—! N-not enough, need m— mm—!" You moaned between kisses, and your eyes nearly rolled back into your head as the pressure around you steadily increased.

You knew what he was doing.

The minute he pulled back from your lips to take in the dazed look in your eyes, lips nearly red and swollen, you could see the surge of pride flash in his eyes.

"C-Caleb…" you whined. The hold on your hips was nearly bruising, but it was nothing compared to the way he'd push you so harshly against him, practically digging the shape of his cock into the dampness of your clothing. Slowly, slowly, you felt the cool air of the night hit your thighs, your wet slick mapping over his cock as your pajamas slid down to expose your panties.

Your hands gripped tightly onto his arms—

He wasn't lifting a finger.

"Ch-cheater…!" You huffed. "You can't…! C-can't use—hnng— y-your evol, like…!"

He only chuckled. "No? You said you needed more, though. C'mon, baby… S'okay, I got you. Gonna make you feel so good."

You groaned, burying your head into his chest, allowing him to move your hips as he saw fit.

Every needy drag and grind of your clothed cunt right against him had you soaking his clothing, pushing onto him, chasing that friction. And now that he wasn't kissing you—now that he had his hands free to roam your body, to tangle into your hair, to feel you…

He chuckled, pressing his lips down to your ear. "That’s right, moan so pretty f'me. Lift your head a lil, let me hear you, baby. Tell me how good you feel."

The tip of his cock grazed your clit, and your nails nearly dug into him with a cry. "W-wait—!"

Obedient.

You lifted your head to look at him, but your gaze refused to focus. A blur of hazy pleasure had you panting, moaning incoherent words…

He wasn't even in you yet.

"C-Caleb, wait, I need… I need you, ple— please, please, just fuck me, I-I can't…!"

You shivered, feeling his fingers reach up to trail the side of your neck with ghostly touches.

"You really do wanna make me do all the work, huh…"

"N-no, I, I just…!"

"Wanna cum, right? Well, nothin' here to stop you, baby. C'mon… You can do it, I know you can. I'm helpin' you already, you know?"

Your chest heaved, and you knew he was right. Every movement had you nearly crying, your hips rutting against him and nearly jerking each time he would lift to grind up into you. The pressure from his evol made you dizzy, and you could feel the pleasure building, and building, and building—

Out of the blurry haze of your vision, you could see him give you another smirk, and his lips were back against your ear.

"Cum for me, baby."

He pressed you tight against him, forcing himself to feel you, groaning into your ear at the way your body shook with a pleasure so undeniable.

"There we go, there we go, that's it..." Soft murmurs into your hair, hands rubbing comfortingly over your back. And as the intensity of your orgasm slowly faded away, you felt him pepper kisses into your hair, his arms wrapped around you in a hug so secure.

You were aching, sensitive. He was right; you could feel the fatigue settling over your body, every heave of your chest slowly lulling you to sleep—

He wasn't about to let you.

He flipped you over within seconds, his eyes raking over your body so intensely that you keened under the drag of his gaze.

It didn't matter that you'd begun to feel a little sleepy; you knew he wasn't done with you.

"C- Caleb, you…"

He brought a finger down to your cunt, your slick gathering in an instant. He brought it up to his lips; gave a little bit of lick. "Such a mess. Ugh, sorry, baby, I think I won't be able to sleep 'til I get my fill… Let me stay up a bit longer?"

A press to your clit had you doubting the puppy-like gaze he'd given you, and you groaned—

So hard to resist.

"You're making this up to me in the morning…"

taglist : @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @pikachuzhc @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @hunters-association

an : that thing with the swing.. that's uh. that's based on personal experience. 😭

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[reiding-writing]

Cold!reader who defends Spencer when’s someone’s making fun of his autistic traits, and the teams like “what?????”

STAGNANT — SPENCER REID!

why would someone ask spencer a question if they didn’t want to hear the answer?

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.2k | fluff? | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — the cold!reader roster i have atm has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair, stay tuned

You step into the cramped precinct in a town that barely makes the map, the smell of stale coffee and old paper immediately hitting you.

The air hums with tension—murder cases tend to have that effect on a room. Your team disperses, each member diving into their respective tasks like clockwork.

You stay near Spencer, keeping an eye on the board he’s already scouring, his sharp mind undoubtedly miles ahead of everyone else’s.

It doesn’t take long for the local officers to start asking questions. You’ve seen it before: their curiosity morphing into disbelief as they’re confronted with Spencer Reid in full form.

This particular case involves a peculiar type of soil found on the victim’s shoes, and when one officer, a grizzled man named Officer Moore, offhandedly asks about its significance, Spencer lights up.

“It’s fascinating, actually,” he begins, his voice picking up with enthusiasm. “The soil contains traces of montmorillonite clay, which is common in areas with volcanic ash deposits. This specific type is unique to the western side of the county, and based on the composition—” He gestures to the samples bagged on the table, oblivious to the officer’s quickly fading interest.

Spencer continues, lost in his explanation, his words flowing like water over smooth stones. You watch the officer shift uncomfortably, his expression hardening into impatience. The moment Spencer pauses to breathe, Moore cuts in, looking at you with a smirk.

“Is he like this all the time? Never shuts up, huh?”

You freeze. The room, bustling moments ago, seems quieter now. Your team is too far off to hear, but you’re right here. Close enough to feel the sting of the comment.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or maybe he pretends not to. Either way, it doesn’t sit right with you. The dismissive tone, the condescension dripping from the officer’s words—it sparks a heat under your skin that you don’t bother to hide.

“Are you stupid?” Your voice is sharp, like a knife scraping metal. Moore’s smug expression falters.

“Excuse me-?”

“You heard me,” you continue, stepping closer, your gaze fixed on him. “If you can’t keep up with what Dr. Reid is saying, that’s your problem. He’s giving you answers—solutions—that you clearly wouldn’t find on your own. So maybe try listening instead of running your mouth.”

Moore blinks, taken aback. His hand hovers near the cup of coffee on the table, forgotten. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” you interrupt, crossing your arms. “And for the record, if he’s too much for you to handle, then stay out of his way, you’ll murk his IQ into single digits.”

The room is quiet now, the subtle hum of computers and distant voices the only sound. Spencer finally looks up, his expression unreadable. There’s a hint of surprise in his eyes, but mostly he just seems... confused.

Moore mutters something under his breath and stalks off, clearly not willing to press the issue further. Good. You watch him go, your blood still simmering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Spencer says softly, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

“Yes, I did,” you reply without hesitation. “He was being a jerk.”

Spencer tilts his head, studying you. “People say things like that all the time.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” you counter, your tone firm. “And if you wont put your foot down about it then I will.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if trying to decipher some hidden code in your words. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—small and fleeting, but genuine. It feels like a victory, however minor.

—

Later, when the team regroups, the tension in the precinct has eased, though you can still feel a few lingering stares from the local officers.

Hotch gives you all the rundown of the next steps, his voice steady and commanding as always. You nod along, but your focus drifts to Spencer, who’s scribbling something in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by the earlier incident.

As the team breaks off to get to work, Emily sidles up beside you, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “So,” she begins, drawing out the word. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” you reply, feigning ignorance.

“That little showdown with Officer Grumpy Pants earlier,” she says, smirking. “Word has it you tore him a new one,”

You shrug. “He was being disrespectful.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “To Reid?”

“To all of us, honestly,” you say. “But yeah, mostly Reid. He didn’t deserve that.”

Emily studies you for a moment, her smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Awe how sweet,”

“Don’t start,” you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Emily laughs, raising her hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, no judgment,” she says. “It’s just... very human of you.”

“I’m not a robot.”

She gestures vaguely toward you. “Oh hush you know what I mean,”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance across the room at Spencer, who’s now deep in conversation with JJ and Rossi. The earlier exchange seems to have rolled off him, as if it never happened.

But you know better. You’ve seen the way comments like that stick, the way they fester in that moment f hesitation before he speaks. You’re not sure why it matters so much to you—why he matters so much—but you don’t dwell on it.

—

The case drags on into the evening, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. By the time the unsub is in custody and the team is preparing to head back to the jet, exhaustion hangs heavy in the air.

As you gather your things, Morgan claps a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, Ice Queen,” he says, his tone teasing. “You did good.”

“Thank you? I was doing my job.” you reply, shooting him a bemused look.

He chuckles. “Not with the case, sweetness. Word is you went full gladiator on one of the locals earlier.”

“Word travels way too fast in this team,” you mutter.

Morgan grins. “What can I say? We’re a nosy bunch. But it’s nice to know you haven’t lost your bite now you’re saddled up to boy wonder.”

He gestures with his head towards where Spencer was sleeping on the jet’s couch, wrapped in a cheap blanket like baby.

You fight back the urge to smile.

“I never changed,” you say dryly.

Morgan laughs, but there’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Sure you did,”

“No I didn’t,”

He nudges your shoulder, a whisper of “You’ll admit it one day,” before he walks off.

[the-original-skipps]

|| Dinner? A Bath? Or Me? || Honkai Star Rail Reactions ||

the thing I did for windbreaker imma do it for hsr too mehehehe just experimenting if this is well received I’ll do more

: aventurine. dr.ratio. sunday. dan heng. phainon. mydei.

cw: hints of sexual content. suggestiveness. established relationship. gn!reader. possible oocness (first time writing for some of these characters). art used does not belong to me but credited to it's rightful owner.

"Welcome home! Would you like dinner? A bath? Or perhaps me...?"

❥ Aventurine stills for a moment before his signature smile graces his face. You can already feel his mischievousness radiating off of him in waves as he steps closer to you, to stand directly in front of you. He acts as if he's in deep contemplation at your words. "Dinner does sound nice, I'm absolutely famished! Though, a nice hot bath does sound equally as enticing." He says with a playful mirth, trying to gauge your reaction. He's quick to notice the slight down pull of your lips - as expected of you, his smile grows wider. "Ah, the third option?" He asks like an afterthought but you know it's intentional. His face inching closer to yours while his gloved hand teasingly trails up your arm. His eyes lock you into a hypnotic trance that you can't possibly look away from. 

"Hmm and what might you be able to offer me...?"

❥ Dr. Ratio's face is serious as he digests your question. "Dinner followed by a bath would sound like the most logical option." He tells you as if he's stating a basic fact which causes you to deflate. "However..." You perk up at his words. "Exercising before eating has been known to lead to improved insulin responses and a higher fat burning rate." He speaks to you as he walks past you towards the hallway of your shared home. You feel your face grow how at his implication and use of the word 'exercising'. Then he suddenly stops to look back at you, his reddish eyes locking onto you. "Why don't we do a little exercising before dinner?" The atmosphere in the room shifting with the implication of his words. His face remains serious as he motions you to follow him.

"I simply chose the option with the most merits, that would be beneficial for the both of us."

❥ Sunday blanks out as he tries to process your words and the possible meaning behind them. As he eliminates all possible answers and lands on the one you’re most likely insinuating. His face starts to flush - his wings twitching from the urge to hide his face. "By ‘me’, are you possibly implying...?" Sunday manages to stutter out as he shyly looks towards you - awaiting your confirmation. You can't help but laugh softly at his question before nodding. Sunday matches your nod with his own letting the words sink in. The halovian hesitantly steps closer to you, taking your hands in his. "Then, may I h-have you...?" He asks you a slight nervousness laced within his voice as he brings your hands for his lips brush against your knuckles. A smile blossoms on his face as you accept. 

"T-Thank you, I promise to take good care of you..."

❥ Dan Heng freezes as you ask him this question. Keeping his face as neutral as possible. Your words immediately reminding him of a certain grey haired friend. He wonders if it was their idea to make you pose this kind of question to him. His eyes nervously shift around the room to make sure they’re really not hiding, watching his reaction. Once Dan Heng confirms the coast is clear, he clears his throat awkwardly looking away from you in embarrassment. The full weight of your words and intentions hitting him at once. “Sorry, I-I must have heard you wrong. Did you say ‘me’..?” You eagerly confirm, a smile beaming on your face. He pauses as he considers his next words, trying to come up with possible answers to your question. Your prolonged silence as you await his answer makes his cheeks grow redder by the second.

“I s-suppose one of those options does sound appealing to me…”

❥ Phainon couldn't contain the excited smile that breaks out on his face at your words. He immediately walks up to you, but before you could react to his sudden closeness. His hands hook underneath your thighs, lifting you to his press against his chest. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. Feeling pleased, Phainon chuckles at your reaction. “Why, my dear. I believe the answer should be obvious.” He answers you with a bright smile as he walks over to the dining table, then carefully placing you upon it. He then places his hands on your cheeks, cradling your face as if you're his most prized possession. Your body tensing as the pad of his thumb brushes against your button lip - his previous smile turning into a smirk. 

“You don’t even need to ask, the answer will always be you.”

❥ Mydei smirks, a deep resounding chuckle rumbling from his chest. “How bold of you to ask me such a thing.” He proclaims as he slowly walks towards you like a lion stalking his prey. His crimson eyes rooting you to the spot, daring you to even try to move away from him. “I don’t think dinner can satisfy the hunger I have right now.” He almost growls to you, as if he's trying his best to hold himself back from pouncing on you right now. As you momentarily look away from him in embarrassment, he uses his fingers to tilt your chin up. "Eyes on me." He orders, his eyes swirling with want while his other hand holds your waist to pull you until you're pressed against him. You feel your breath stolen away with how quickly his lips descend upon yours.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

[pha55ed]

Midnight Cravings || CL16

type :: smut - blurb

tw/cw :: cock warming, edging?, somnophilia, pinch of size kink

summary :: being a f1 driver means he's constantly grinding on the stim. you can relate since you're always grinding on him

f1 masterlist || f2 masterlist || OVULATING CELLY!!!

Everyone says you're so lucky for marrying a rich man, which you are! You don't have to pay for a single thing: bills, clothes, makeup, food, anything! But the only thing you did need to do was keep him satisfied, which Charles will always say you do.

He's on his stim, yet again. He needed to perfect his laps for the upcoming race. With Hamilton as his new partner, he was a tad bit scared. The idea of being replaced used to seem like an insane idea. But after seeing Carlos be tossed away: Charle's newest nightmare was no longer "box box" but instead "I also understand it was never going to be Charles."

So you're there with him, comforting him in the best way possible. His dick buried deep inside of you while you watch him race. Your back was against his chest with his chin resting on your shoulder. You're sure that this angle is going to hurt his neck, but he simply shushes you and says his neck is one of his strongest muscles.

And if you don't shut up, then he'll quickly pause the game and make you shut up.

"It's almost 12am Charles," You say softly as you watch him restart the lap after slightly messing up on a turn. "You need to rest."

"Just..." He stops as he locks in at a hard turn. "Just a few more." he insists.

You huff, shifting you legs slightly. Moving was strictly against Charle's rules for cock-warming on the stim. Only he was allowed to move and pick when you two could fuck. The main reason being that last time you topped him, the stim broke. From "water" damage, is what he told Ferrari so they'd send him a new one.

"Stop that." He demands, his tone was quick as he continued to race He knew you wouldn't disobey him twice.

So you sat there, just staring at the screen. Patiently waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting... Gosh you're so sleepy. And you can't resist the urge to shut your eyes, so you do.

And before Charles knows it, you're fast asleep with his dick still deep inside of you. Filling you up to the top, barely brushing against the tippy top of your insides. You thank God that Charles wasn't any bigger or else you'd be sent to the hospital every day.

Once Charles is satisfied, he lets out a sigh of relief as he looks down at you for once. Seeing your peaceful face and trust in him made him so soft inside. But his dick was the opposite, if anything it was harder. Now his new task to complete was to see how he could cum without waking you up.

[sim0nril3y]

Home

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: After an incident in your home you made the decision to move in together. Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, talk of break-in, canon-typical swearing.

It was late evening, Simon had just gotten home himself from meeting with Price and Gaz, they met up and caught up on everything they’d missed in each other’s lives. He still couldn’t bring himself to speak about you in front of them, still wanting to keep you a secret, keep you safe from any parts of his life that could put you in danger. He’d kept quiet even when Price spoke about some pretty thing he’d been seeing and when Gaz brought up the posh bird he'd met at a wedding.

He'd asked for you to call when you got home from work, his phone buzzing as he entered his home caught his attention. Smiling, answering and bringing it up to his ear as he asked. “Get home alright-” The words died in his throat as he heard the sounds of your little hiccups and sobs. “What’s happened? Where are you?” As soon as Simon had entered his home, he’d walked straight back out of it in the direction of his car. “I’m on my way…”

The story was that your flat had been broken into whilst you’d been out at work. The place had been completely ransacked, anything valuable was gone, mostly everything else was trashed and destroyed. The lock on the door was completely busted now and ultimately you just felt vulnerable in your own space, it simply didn’t feel safe anymore.

The whole journey to your block of flats Simon was cursing himself. The one night that he didn’t come pick you up from work, the one night he was busy and focusing on himself you’d fucking needed him, you’d been sacred and alone and come back to your flat to find the door kicked open and worried that whoever had gotten in there might still be in there.

He took the stairs to the flat block two or three at a time, chasing up them to get to you. Everyone in the block seemed to be stirring from the police being on the scene, all out to watch this all unfold. You’d been standing outside of your flat allowing the police to look around the small space inside, searching for anything that might have been left behind in the wake of the chaos that had happened inside. Simon approached and wrapped his strong arms around your trembling form, pulling you into his chest and kissing your forehead as he muttered. “I’m here… I’m here…”

He calmed you. He coaxed you into his arms. He silently seethed about whatever little prick had let themselves into your home, your sanctuary and made their way off with your things, your personal items. Simon would hunt them down given the chance but now wasn’t the time to be raging, all his energy needed to be focused on you. “I know, babe. I know.” He muttered quietly, pulled into his arms, warm and safe in his embrace.

Soon enough the police were done, they advised strongly to stay elsewhere for the night, with a busted door and the place already targeted it was more vulnerable than ever. Simon was collecting some of your clothes into a bag whilst you wandered aimlessly around the rest of the small home, pausing for a long moment at your art supplies, kneeling down to inspect the canvas’. It hurt to see them trampled and discarded like this, just completely destroyed by some heartless thug.

“Y’okay?” The small voice of Simon came from behind you, glancing over your shoulder in his direction. You certainly didn’t look alright, you look so vulnerable, so betrayed in your own place. “I know…” He muttered gently, moving towards you to gently kneel down beside you and look at your canvas. “You’ll make better-”

You mentioned. “I’m too tired to do this.” And he understood, you’d just come home from work to find this horrific event had happened. It wasn’t fair and you didn’t need to process these emotions right now. No, right now, he just needed to get you someplace safe where you could rest your head for a few hours and deal with everything else in the morning.

Following that incident it didn’t take long for the two of you to come to the decision that moving in together would be for the best. Honestly, he thought he’d have a little more difficulty taking that step, but with all that had happened the idea of having you live under the same roof as him, having you around all the time, waking up together, simply knowing that you were safe filled him with this sense of relief and completion.

Everything was set into motion from then, you took to cancelling your tenancy on the flat and the process to move you into Simon’s home was put into effect. With all that was left in your flat it didn’t take much to box up all the remaining furniture and items, three or four trips back and forth from the flat to the house was all it took to move everything over. That was it settled; you were living together.

Simon was holding a box labelled ‘art supplies’ stepping past you to head upstairs. “You can just put it in the garage.” You suggested, after having most of your art destroyed the appeal to make anything new wasn’t inside of you, unsure if it was temporary or permanent you boxed your things away for now to deal with at a later time. “S’alright…” He mentioned, continuing to stomp upstairs. “I’ll put it in your art room.” He commented, now this was enough to make your brow furrow.

“What?” You then proceeded to chase upstairs behind him, following him into the spare room and coming to a stop to see Simon had kitted it out with all the supplies that had been destroyed in the break-in, even a new easel facing to look out the window into the beautiful back garden scenery. “This… is for me?”

It had been something that Simon had noticed that you’d been lacking expressing yourself creatively, usually he’d find you holed up creating something new, or working on an old piece… but since the break-in you’d been almost avoiding it. Placing down the box in his hands he replied. “Well, yeah… you don’t think it’s all for me, do ya?” He asked with a raised brow looking at you, a teasing tone to his voice which made you smile subtly. “Can’t put this stuff in the garage, anyway, got my weights down there.” He informed you with a non-committal shrug.

You watched him for a moment before rushing over and wrapping your arms around him, hugging onto him as tight as you could manage. Simon hugged your back, placing a hand on the back of your head and rubbing your back in a soothing way. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his throat. There was so much that you were thankful to him for but allowing you the space to find that creative side to yourself again was something you’d be eternally grateful to him for. “Thank you.”

“S’alright, babe.” Simon replied, kissing the top of your head and holding you securely in his arms. “You’re safe now.” He muttered, probably more to himself that even you. “You’re home.”

Masterlist | Ask | 20-01-2025

[meowcats734]

There were no doors in the spective’s house, just sheets of falling liquid that parted for us like curtains. Despite how hard it made conversation, I was thankful for our helmets. I had no desire to join the people who’d been fully encased.

Ana insisted on going first every time we went through a door, and maintained physical contact with me at all times. I don’t think the crimson child took it personally; they seemed halfway convinced they were an irredeemable monster already. So while Ana took care of physical security, I tried to get through to our guide. 

“So this is a question for all of you,” I said, and when the molten red in the shape of a kid tilted their head in confusion, I elaborated: “the person who’s talking to me and the voices in your head. Do you have names?”

The spective stumbled, though there were no obstacles in the mirror-smooth pool of a floor. “I… my name is Thom. The voices, they don’t have a name. They just shout at me…”

“Is it alright if I keep addressing them as ‘the voices’, then?” I asked.

Thom paused as Ana peeked through the next curtain of liquid. “They like that. I don’t like how much they like that.”

What the poor kid needed was a dedicated therapist, not a social worker and a soldier. But my job was to make sure Thom was safe enough to even be in the same room as a therapist, and I wasn’t qualified to figure out what was going on in their head.

So I stepped past the matter and moved on to the matters I knew how to help with. “The people who were frozen upstairs—do you mind if I ask who they are?”

Thom hunched over. “I don’t know. They were just… there, when I held the moment. I think they were his parents. Or maybe his siblings.” He hesitated, then—somewhat forcefully—added, “They were going to take him away.”

“Him?” I asked.

“Tsu.” Anachel interrupted, backing out from the doorway. “This one’s closed.”

I turned her way, and she tapped the curtain of fluid with a touchstick, parting it. The other side was sealed shut, the shiny fresh wax showing the outline of a door.

I didn’t like the look of that, but this house wasn’t made for me. Thom placed one morphic hand against the doorknob, and I heard it click as the child swung it open.

It must have been a playroom, before the spective’s power had preserved it under a coating of wax. A TV still glimmered, frozen between frames, its light blurred to illegible crimson beneath its semi-transparent shell. Foam bullets and toy guns were littered across the floor, their shapes nothing more than barely visible lumps.

And in the heart of the room a figure—a child’s outline, couldn’t be older than twelve—was half-standing, turning to leave.

“He was going to go,” Thom said, his voice quavering. “Forever. Do you see? I just need—I just want a little longer with him. Can you give me that? Please?”

Thom’s form rippled, losing coherence, like the last splash in a summer pool, the droop of a flag running out of wind, and in that instant I saw into the shard of magic that a child named Thom had inadvertently made his own. His was the power of endings defied, hands held at sunset and farewells forestalled.

Ana nudged my heel with hers, and I followed her gaze. Through the uneven coating of wax that had held Thom’s friend—or more?—in this instant, I saw the fluttering of eyelids.

The people Thom had entombed were still conscious.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, to Thom, to the voices in their head, to the people who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time where a spective had been born.

“Just let me have this,” Thom begged. “You can go back and tell them I’m not hurting anyone, okay? I’m just… keeping them here. For a little. They’re still alive, see? And I’ll let them go and it’ll be like nothing happened, I just… not yet. Please. Please, don’t make me do this.”

“Tsu,” Ana said, as the walls sludged towards the sealed door and it twisted with a click. “Assay.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what came next. “I can’t help them,” I whispered. “Get us out of here. We’ll come back with someone who can help you, Thom, I promise.”

“I don’t need help!” Thom shouted. “I’ll lock you up here forever if you ruin this!”

“Kid, you can’t win this with violence. They’ll send you to the Neverfound if we don’t return,” Ana said, and there was an exhaustion bone-deep in her voice as she looked at one more child with too much power who was in too deep to back down. 

“I know,” Thom said, and in that moment I knew we’d made a mistake. “And in the Neverfound nobody will take this moment from me.”

Blood-red wax surged inwards as Ana drew two artifacts from her belt, and I whispered one last apology to Thom.

A.N.

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I had a dream I was touring a house, and in the basement there was a little staircase that led to a door sealed with red wax. I told the lady showing the house “I don’t like that.” and she said “Then this house just isn’t for you. :)”

[chleem]

Love Deception II

One shot: ceo!drew starkey x assistant!reader

Summary: In order to secure a business deal, you pose as Drew’s girlfriend at engagement party.

Genre: fake dating, slowburn, yearning, age gap (31 & 26), read at own caution

⋆.˚ don't copy or translate my work!

⋆.˚ inspired by this tweet!

♡⸝⸝ shld this be a short series? | one

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Through the glass walls of Drew’s office, he sees you eating lunch alone. 

It was a first- staffs eat at the cafeteria, not at their desk. 

He watched for a moment longer, your eyes focused on your laptop as you ate the sad, almost tasteless-looking food. 

And as if sensing someone staring, you glance up. Drew immediately looks away, his gaze darting to his laptop home screen. 

It’s weird, awkward, and Drew hates how much he wants to invite you in. 

Loosening his tie with a quick tug, he sighs, trying to shake off the tightness that’s settled in his chest. He stands up from his desk, the decision to leave his office feeling heavier than it should. 

The moment you see his office door opening, you stop eating, looking up at him with your posture straightened. It’s as if you’ve already braced yourself for some last-minute request, a surprise meeting, or some sort of crisis.

Drew pauses in the doorway, watching your reaction. For a split second, he wonders if he should just turn back, retreat into the safety of his office. But the feeling nags at him. Something about your quiet, isolated lunch doesn’t sit right.

“There’s something I need you to look over,” he forces out the lie, “in my office.”

“Yeah- sure,” you reply, standing up. You smooth over your pencil skirt, walking over to him. 

As you pass by him, Drew catches the faintest whiff of your scent—something fresh and floral. It lingers, grounding him in the moment, and for a split second, his pulse quickens.

He’s reminded of last night, the way he had been so deeply absorbed into you. 

He swallows, trying to shake off the tension. His hand lingers at the doorframe longer than it should, almost as if trying to regain his sanity. 

You stand near his desk, and in his mind, he slightly panics about what to show you, or what to say. 

This morning, during the monthly patrols around different departments, it had already been awkward enough between the two of you. At least for Drew, since last night, his desire for you grew even more. 

Picking up the blue binder, he hands it to you. Your hands touch, and for a brief moment, there’s a jolt— enough for Drew to internally panic again. He leans against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. 

He focuses his gaze onto the floor, waiting as you flip through the pages. 

“I checked it this morning,”

you say, confusion creeping into your voice. 

There’s a pause. Drew stiffens, the muscles in his neck tightening.

“Oh wait-“ you mumble to yourself, and Drew’s gaze flickers over to you. Your eyes squint down on one of the pages, “I typed the wrong budget.”

So there was a mistake. Huh. 

“You should check the rest,” Drew says, his voice low and almost too steady. 

He sees the way your hands curl around the binder, yet the voice that replies is awfully light, “yes, Mr Starkey.”

“Do it, in here,” Drew adds, nodding toward the small couch in the corner of his office, the one he keeps for guests.

He watches as you bend over his desk, grabbing the large stack of folders there. You then turn towards the couch, sitting down with folders on your lap. 

…what now?

Drew certainly got you to stay and accompany him, now he just needs a reason to make you eat. 

Right on cue, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” Drew calls out, and the door swings open to reveal one of the staff members from the floor, holding a takeout bag.

Her eyes immediately dart over to you, and she fails to hide her surprised and slightly judgmental expression. She quickly masks it with a tight smile, “sir, your food has arrived.”

He doesn’t miss the look; instead, his expression remains neutral as he nods in your direction. Understanding, she quickly places the bag on the table, and she exits, but not before stealing another glance at you. 

Even as she walks past the office, she keeps looking through the glass walls. 

Good thing those walls are paired with smart glass technology—one press of a button and the transparency fades.

Drew hits the button without a second thought, the walls quickly turning cloudy, cutting off any further curious glances from the hallway.

Too focused on the binders, you fail to notice any of the changes. 

Drew walks over, the couch dipping under his weight as he sits down beside you. He starts unpacking the takeout, and silently thanks himself for ordering an extra Bolognese. 

As if it were second nature, he hands you the food, saying, “for you,”

He then proceeds to take the folders out of your lap, your eyes widening at his actions. 

He knows that look- you wear it during meetings, business dinners, patrols- the one where you take in everything, analyzing things in your head. It’s cute, because he knows you’re going to say something smart within a minute. 

But now, that same look makes him feel a little... off-balance. He isn’t sure what you’re thinking about this particular gesture, and suddenly, he feels the pressure of waiting for your response.

“No thanks, I have my own lunch,” you politely decline, masking a fake smile. 

You reach for the folders, but before your fingertips can even touch it, Drew shoves the fork into your hands. 

You glance up at him, only to find that he’s already digging into his own food, completely unbothered.

Okay. 

From the corner of his eye, Drew notices you start to eat as well. A small smile plays at the corner of his lips, but he quickly hides it behind a bite of his own food.

Drew watches you for a few bites, his eyes lingering on the way you eat, but he can tell right away that something’s off. The way you’re picking at your food, clearly distracted. It’s enough to make him feel a little self-conscious.

He shifts in his seat, causing his knee to bump against yours. It’s a subtle touch, and when he sees that you don’t notice it, he leaves it there. 

His fingers tap on the edge of his takeout container as he clears his throat, “something wrong?”

It must’ve came out rougher than expected, because you flinch slightly, your shoulders tensing. “No- no, it’s fine, delicious,” you emphasis on the word, forcefully stuffing a meatball into your mouth. 

You smile at him while chewing, not at all convincing. 

Drew’s tongue presses against his cheek, eyes narrowing slightly as he observes you. “…I thought we promised not to lie to each other.”

He brings up one of your first conversations, the one where you both agreed on full transparency. It was partly because of the dynamic—he was your boss, and you were his assistant—but also because he’d been genuinely curious about what was on your mind. 

It turned out to be useful last night, too, when you played the role of his fake girlfriend. You had your doubts, ones you voiced aloud, and he had listened—responding with just enough assurance to make you go along with it.

Your eyes bounce between his food to yours, slowly swallowing the one in your mouth. 

After a few seconds, you say, “everyone thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

Your head is tilted down, eyes looking up at him, almost sparkling, completely at odds with the flushed tone in your voice.

Drew’s heart misses a beat at the look, his breath catching for just a moment.

“…and they look at me like I’m the enemy.”

Oh. Is that why you ate alone? 

He’s also reminded of the fact that it was one of the things you worried about before being his fake girlfriend. Of being excluded and looked at differently by your co-workers. 

Shit. Now he feels like a total dickhead. 

“But, I agreed to be your girlfriend, so it’s fine,” your voice almost too calm, as if trying to convince both him and yourself.

Just as Drew opens his mouth, ready to apologize, you cut him off with a shift in tone.

“Oh, the Harringtons contacted,” you say, completely changing the subject. Your body shifts, leaning closer to him, your knee now brushing against the side of his thigh.

Drew nods, barely pausing his chewing. But then you add a crucial detail that makes him slow down, his fork halting mid-air.

“At their new house. Just, the four of us.”

His grip on the fork tightens for a moment, and his gaze flickers from the plate to you, a mix of curiosity and something else. "Just us?" he repeats, a little too casually.

“Yeah- but I wasn’t sure if you wanted that, so I said I’d have to check-“

“No, it’s fine,” he cuts you off, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate to play-pretend with you again. “Add it into my schedule.”

“It’s tomorrow night,” your voice dropping to a hushed tone, like it would be a secret if you said it any louder.

“You got something planned?” 

A flicker of surprise flashes on your face, before you quickly shake your head. 

He sees the pink blush painted on your cheeks, the corner of your lips curling, “no, nothing,” you murmur, your fork stabbing around the Bolognese again, “I’ll add it to your schedule.” 

Are you shy? Or just reluctant to decline his request? 

Drew isn’t sure, but the flutter in his chest is undeniable.

Despite being your boss, the professional distance he should maintain, he realizes something: his little crush on you might just be growing, maybe even flourishing. The idea of spending more time like this—pretending, playing along—only makes it worse.

He catches himself, quickly returning to his meal to cover up the sudden heat creeping up his neck. 

But his thoughts don’t wander too far from you.

——

Harrington residence, 7.05PM. 

Drew presses the doorbell, standing closely beside you on the front porch.

The dim light from the overhead fixture casts a soft glow, illuminating your features. As you step out of the dark car, he notices the light makeup you’ve carefully applied.

Drew tries not to stare, but the effect is hard to ignore. 

You’re beautiful, and it physically pains him that he can’t say that to you. 

The door opens after a couple of seconds, and it’s Mr Harrington with a bright smile on his face. 

“Starkey! Hey,” Mr Harrington pulls Drew into a hug, catching him off-guard. 

Drew stiffens for a moment, but then hugs back, his arms reluctantly wrapping around Mr Harrington in a quick, half-hearted embrace.

He pulls away just as quickly, flashing a polite smile. “Good to see you, Harrington,” Drew says, trying to brush off the awkwardness that lingers from the surprise hug. His eyes flicker over to you, curious if you're as caught off guard as he was.

You are, because you’re pulled into a half-hug too. 

“Y/n,” Mr Harrington greets, “you guys can call me James,”

First name basis with clients/partners means that this business deal is definitely happening. 

“Come in, come in,” James says, moving away from the doorway. 

Drew’s hand lingers over your waist for just a moment, guiding you through the door before following in behind you. The warmth of the house immediately surrounds him, and he takes in the cozy atmosphere—a soft blend of modern comfort and lived-in charm.

It’s not what Drew expected from a high-profile client, but then again, James and his wife always had a down-to-earth vibe. The living room is cozy, bathed in warm light and tasteful décor that feels more like a home than a showcase.

“Coats here,” James points over to the coat rack just by the door, “dinner’s almost ready, you two can wait by the living room.”

“We’d love to help,” you immediately offer, shrugging off your overcoat. 

Drew’s eyes land on your outfit, a long-sleeved turtleneck dress, that hugs your figure in all the right places. 

His gaze lingers, before he quickly averts his attention, focusing on taking his own coat off. His hands reach for your coat, hanging it up for you. A murmured ‘thanks’ leaves your lips as you await James’ answer. 

“Nonsense, you’re the guests,” James says, “living room’s that way.”

With that, he leaves to the kitchen, leaving just you and Drew. 

“Should we…?” You awkwardly ask, cocking your head over to the living room. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Drew chuckles, the sound coming out throaty. 

The two of you walk side by side, and once inside, you both sit down on the large, plush couch.

Drew leans back, spreading his legs comfortably. You, on the other hand, sit up straighter, crossing your legs at the ankle, your posture a bit more reserved.

And because it felt right, Drew casually drapes his arm over the back of the couch, his hand hovering just inches away from your shoulders. 

“You nervous?” Drew asks, his voice low, almost teasing, though his eyes stay focused on you, observing for any sign of discomfort. 

But he knows you too well; professionalism at best. You wouldn’t let tension show, even if it’s thick enough to feel. 

“Just wondering…” your eyes stay glued to the huge fireplace in the living room, “if it’s real.”

A soft laugh escapes him, finding it amusing how it’s your first thought upon entering. “What?”

“I mean, you have a fake one,” you say, before turning your head to him. 

You’ve got a small smile on your face, one that’s shy yet teasing. Drew's lips twitch, fighting a smile of his own as he catches the hint of mischief in your eyes.

“So you a fireplace enthusiastic now?”

“Yes, you see this badge right here?” You press lightly on your right boob, making Drew’s eyes land on the imaginary badge. 

You then laugh at your own lame joke, the sound light and playful, and for a moment, it fills the space between you. Drew can’t help but grin, his heart fluttering at how natural this feels, like two friends hanging out, no titles, no power dynamics—just comfortable.

He likes the feeling. 

He likes it very much.  

He likes you. 

Very much. 

Your laughter dies down, and then, you finally lean back onto the couch with Drew. You’re closer to him than expected, your knees touching his again. 

Staring at your side profile, the words leave his mouth before he even processes them: “You’re beautiful.”

Fuck. 

The words hang in the air for a moment. Drew immediately feels the heat rise in his chest, his pulse quickening. 

You’re suppose to keep that to yourself, idiot. 

Then, slowly, your eyes catches his, a flicker of surprise, then, turning into something casual, as if brushing the compliment off. 

“Thanks,” you say, your voice coming out more hushed, “tried something new with the makeup.”

It’s not the makeup; it’s you. 

This time, Drew’s able to keep that comment to himself. 

“Looks great,” he murmurs, and feeling the weight of the eye contact, he looks down at his lap. 

After a few seconds, unable to bear with the silence, you add on, “learned from my niece.”

Drew raises an eyebrow at your direction, and you say more explicitly, “my niece is fourteen, and she knows way more than me.”

“Really?” Drew asks, tone laced with amusement and curiosity. 

He knows you have a niece. And a nephew. Both twins. 

He’s not supposed to know this much about your personal life. But he remembers when you mentioned your niece and nephew once a long time ago, the way your eyes softened when you talked about them.

He knows a lot more than he should, but it's not like he’s snooping. He just… pays attention.

It’s not creepy, right?

“This winged eyeliner?” You point to your eyes, “she did this.”

“Impressive,” he nods, a small smirk on his lips. 

He gets ready to ask more, to say more, when Mrs Harrington walks in, informing that dinner was ready. 

Drew stands up, and as you rise to follow Mrs. Harrington, your body brushing past him, Drew catches that familiar scent again—the floral, fresh fragrance. 

Nothing to clench against to this time, so his hands ball into fists, fingers digging into his palms, trying to suppress the sudden wave of heat flooding his chest.

“After you,” he says, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

You flash him a smile, one that’s completely innocent, like you’re unaware of the effect you’re having on him. 

He forces himself to move, following you into the dining room, but it’s harder to ignore the way his pulse races with each step closer to you.

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

word count: 2.7k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i love writing in drew's pov...bc he's just down bad for me

seriously tho...if you guys like it, i can make it into a series. anyways, hope you liked this! imo, i prefer writing slow burning angst and tension scenes, rather than smut...idk, just something about it makes me blush.

a little tmi, but my drafts currently rest with casual extra III, and not a big deal final so be patient with me! my progress is slow, but trust- i only do it to deliver the best for you.

unofficial taglist aka the ppl that supported me to write another part (ily: @ecstqzy @drewwhor @melvigaristaa @wheeniemyloove

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Sandcastles - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: nerd! Chan x best friend! reader

summary: it's finally spring break and with final exams in the rearview mirror, it's time for you and your best friend to enjoy a well-deserved beach day.

warnings: inexperienced Chan, experienced reader, angst, insecurities, body issues, (you make Chan feel better about himself!!) light kissing, so much fluff <333

a/n: sorry for the little hiatus but I am officially back with the first story in the Stray College series :') I hope y'all like it!!!

“Hey, wanna eat lunch together?” Chan said with a bright smile as he scooches toward you. As you sit down next to each other, you both reach for the sandwiches splayed on your trays. “So, how has your day been so far?” Chan asks, trying to keep the conversation light and casual, but his heart races slightly at the proximity to you.

“Oh, fine. What about yours?” You ask. You peel back the lid of your pudding before bringing it to your lips.

Chan watches you lick the pudding clean from the flimsy lid, his mind wandering briefly before he snaps back to the conversation. "Mine was okay, just the usual." He swallows hard, trying to ignore the sudden butterflies in his stomach. You turn towards him, noticing the pile of textbooks next to his arm. Chan has always been too hard on himself when it comes to studying.

“How has biology been? I know the test last week was brutal.” you ask.

Chan chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Oh god, don't remind me. I was up all night studying for that thing.” He pauses, glancing at you with a small smile. “You did pretty well on it, right? I remember you aced the practice tests.”

You feel that familiar warmth start to build in your stomach at his words. A feeling that only Chan has seemed to master to create inside of you.

“Ha, yeah. I guess I did alright on it.”

Chan's eyes linger on your flushed cheeks, a faint warmth spreading through his own chest. “That's great to hear. You're really smart, you know that?” He looks away quickly, his face growing hot. “So, um, have you decided what you're doing for spring break yet?”

Spring break. Most of the students had made plans months ago to go on exotic vacations and expensive cruises. But the two of you had been so caught up with finals that it didn't leave much time for planning. You chew the bottom of your lip in thought. Something easy, something fun, and most importantly, something affordable on a student budget. Your eyes suddenly light up with an idea. “Oh! How about a beach day?”

His heart skips a beat at your enthusiasm. “A... a beach day?” His voice cracks slightly. “That... that sounds nice.” He fidgets with his food, trying to hide a nervous smile. “Though... I'm not really the most experienced swimmer…” He lied. Truth was, Chan loved to swim but hadn't done it in years. You give him a warm smile, nudging his arm with yours playfully. “That's okay! We'll just hang out on dry land, make sandcastles and get food and tan!”

Chan blushes deeper at the playful nudge, his stomach fluttering with excitement and nerves. “A tan, huh? I'd really like that. With you.”

Your face turned a brighter shade of red. “Then it's a date! meet me tomorrow at Eagle Crest beach okay? And don't forget your bathing suit!” You give Chan a wink before grabbing your lunch tray and walking away. Chan's jaw nearly drops at your wink, his entire body flushing red as he watches you walk away. He mutters softly to himself, hardly believing what just happened "A-a date? Did... did we just... oh god…”

The next day, Chan arrives at Eagle Crest Beach, his heart pounding like a drum solo as he scans the crowd for you. He's armed with SPF 100 sunscreen, an oversized beach towel (his shield against embarrassment), and a stomach full of butterfly-flavored nerves. He spots your waving arm and makes his way over, trying to act casual despite his racing heart. As he gets closer, he sees the towels and umbrella, realizing you actually meant this to be a real beach day, not just a meet-up. "You... you planned this.”

Your eyes follow his as the two of you take in the set up you've made for the day. Embarrassment washes over you like a cold wave as you realize you may have done too much, been too eager, too excited and now he would feel uncomfortable. “It's nice.” Chan whispers under a smile. You smile back and decide to make yourself comfortable. You lift your shirt to reveal a bright red bathing suit top. Chan's eyes widen as he takes in your red bikini top, his mind blanking for a moment before he quickly averts his gaze, blushing furiously. He swallows hard, trying to act normal as he spreads his beach towel next to yours. He looks down at his baggy white T-shirt, then back at your bikini top, gulping audibly. He hesitantly pulls his T-shirt over his head, revealing a chiseled physique.

Your eyes flicker over to him innocently before they drink in the entire view. He catches you staring at his abdomen as he adjusts his towel, his muscles flexing unintentionally. He's always been shy about his physique, but seeing your reaction makes him feel a strange warmth spreading across his chest, not from the sun. "You... you good?”

Your mouth goes dry at the moment he turns towards you. What a ridiculous fucking question. Your voice is now a strangled and raspy mess. “You're…RIPPED!”

His face turns beet red at your compliment, running a hand through his hair nervously "Oh, um, I... I just workout sometimes. In my room. It started as a way to stay fit and healthy but I just really enjoy it now.”

Your face splits into a wide smile hearing Chan talk about something he genuinely enjoys that isn't school. His eyes seem to glimmer at the mention of it. “Maybe we could workout together sometime?” You push your shoulder into his gently. Chan lets out a chuckle then a deep breath. A breath he didn't know he was holding onto. “I'd like that.” He says softly, his eyes still fixed on the sand at his feet.

The two of you sit together, listening to the waves crashing and breaking into the shore. Soon, most of the people have gone home leaving the two of you and a single umbrella punctured in the shoreline.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice carries over lapping water.

“Sure.”

“You have no idea how hot you are, do you?” You ask, keeping your eyes fixed on the cool blues and greens of the ocean.

Chan coughs into his can of beer. The smell of hops spurts back into his nose as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. “Excuse me?” His head snaps to you.

“You heard me, bookworm.” You exclamate your words with the sound of your beer can clanking against his.

“I guess, no? I don't really consider myself ‘hot’.” Chan confesses. And it was the truth. He had never been told he was the hot guy before. He was the “nice guy”. The guy that helped you with your homework, the guy that your parents trusted to stay out late with, the guy that followed the rules. “I'm not that guy.” His voice drops to a solemn tone.

You set your empty can of beer down next to you and turn to face Chan, a cheeky smirk growing quickly. “Sorry to be the one to break this to you, but you are that guy. You're the hot guy.”

Chan's eyes lock with yours and for a moment even the waves seem to have slowed themselves to see what would happen next. He knew what the “hot guy” would do in this situation. He would grab the girl and kiss her, right? Right?! He swallows hard, his eyes following yours to his own lips. He feels a sudden urge to close the distance between you, to kiss you and see if the attraction he feels is mutual. But his shyness holds him back, leaving him stuck in place, his lips parted slightly. You let out a soft chuckle and roll your eyes, pulling his face to yours. “Come here, you.”

His eyes widen right before your lips meet his, surprise giving way to pleasure. He melts into the kiss hesitant at first, overwhelmed but eager. After a moment, he timidly begins to reciprocate, his inexperienced lips moving clumsily against yours. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss slightly, trying to mimic what he's seen in movies. He can feel your body pressed against his, making him acutely aware of his own thick frame. He breaks the kiss briefly to whisper, "How's that for the ‘hot guy’?”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin @doyunkang @cocofia143 @nchhuhi @iovecb97 @skzfairyyydreamz @mikeysonlygirl @kwitchabtchn

[n1daehodefender]

can you write headcanons with your usual characters (dae-ho, thanos, etc) were they find reader crying in like the bedroom or smtg and they just got home so they don't know what happened, but still kinda comfort reader the best they cant (idk if this makes sense)

Their reactions to finding you crying

Pairing: kang dae ho, Nam gyu, thanos (Su Bong) Separately!

Warnings: Warnings: Emotional comfort, mentions of crying and emotional distress, gentle themes of reassurance.

A/N: requests are open

Kang Dae-Ho

Dae-ho had been looking forward to seeing you all day. Work was exhausting, and all he wanted was to relax with you, maybe joke around about something silly or talk about your day. But the moment he walks through the door and hears the faint sound of muffled crying coming from the bedroom, his heart drops. His playful energy vanishes, replaced by deep concern.

He doesn’t barge in immediately. Instead, he pauses to collect himself, not wanting to startle or overwhelm you. Quietly, he knocks on the doorframe, his soft, “Hey, are you okay?” breaking the silence. When you don’t respond right away, he carefully opens the door to find you curled up on the bed, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of you like this pulls at his heartstrings, and any jokes he might’ve planned to crack to lighten the mood are completely forgotten.

Dae-ho moves slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured to explain yourself. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. His voice is soft, filled with that golden retriever-like warmth you’ve come to love.

“I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He gives you space to decide whether you want to lean into him or not, but when you do, his arms wrap around you like a safe cocoon.

Dae-ho’s hugs are everything: firm yet gentle, warm and grounding. He strokes your hair with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. Occasionally, he presses a light kiss to the top of your head. His presence is steady, reminding you that you’re not alone.

He doesn’t push you to explain, though it’s clear he’s worried. Instead, he keeps his words gentle and encouraging:

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

His tone is earnest, his voice trembling slightly from how much he hates seeing you hurt.

Once your tears subside, Dae-ho suggests small things to make you feel better, like getting some fresh air, eating something comforting, or just lying together for a while. He stays with you the entire time, not leaving your side even for a second. If you eventually open up about why you were crying, he listens without judgment, offering reassurance and positivity where he can.

Nam Gyu

Nam Gyu doesn’t expect to find you upset when he gets home. He’s usually the one you greet with a smile or a sarcastic comment, so the quiet, heavy atmosphere hits him immediately. He hears faint sniffles coming from the bedroom, and his mind races with worry.

The second he sees you crying, his heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t hesitate to approach, his strides purposeful but not rushed. Kneeling in front of you, he cups your face gently, his eyes scanning your expression for any signs of what might’ve happened.

“Hey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Who do I need to deal with?”

His tone is serious, laced with protectiveness, but his touch is gentle.

Nam Gyu hates seeing you cry and will do everything in his power to make it stop—not because he’s uncomfortable with your emotions, but because it physically hurts him to see you in pain. If you don’t want to talk about it, he respects that, but he’ll still hover protectively, sitting close to you and holding your hand. If you lean into him, he wraps you in his arms tightly, his chin resting on top of your head as he murmurs reassurances.

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you. Whatever it is, you’re not alone in this.”

His hugs are firm and grounding, making you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he’s there. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, occasionally tilting your chin up to wipe away tears with his thumbs.

Though Nam Gyu isn’t the most emotionally expressive person, he steps up when you need him. His words are straightforward but heartfelt, and he’s willing to listen for as long as you need, his attention completely focused on you.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

If you eventually explain, he listens intently, his jaw tightening if it’s something that upset or hurt you. You can see the barely restrained protectiveness in his expression.

Nam Gyu will insist on taking care of you afterward, whether that means cooking your favorite meal, running a bath, or just lying down with you. He’s not the type to leave you alone, ensuring you feel safe and loved before he considers relaxing himself.

Thanos (Su-bong)

Su-bong is in a great mood as he walks in the door, ready to tell you about something funny that happened during his day. But the moment he hears soft sobbing coming from the bedroom, his mood shifts entirely. His heart aches at the sound, and he immediately heads toward you, his earlier excitement forgotten.

When he sees you crying, his playful demeanor is replaced by quiet concern. He kneels beside the bed, his brow furrowed in worry as he gently calls your name.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, love.”

Though his instinct is to crack a joke to cheer you up, he knows better than to do that right away. Instead, he focuses on being present for you, letting you feel whatever you need to feel.

Su-bong’s approach is a mix of gentle affection and lighthearted attempts to make you smile. He’ll wrap you in a warm hug, one hand stroking your back while the other holds your hand. If you don’t pull away, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and whispers:

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

If you’re unresponsive, he doesn’t push but stays close, his presence steady and reassuring.

He’s incredibly tactile, holding you close and wiping away your tears with the sleeve of his shirt (despite you protesting that he’ll ruin it). His touch is gentle, and his hugs feel safe and secure.

Su-bong’s words are soft and soothing, filled with unconditional love and support. If you eventually share what’s wrong, he listens attentively, nodding along and offering comforting words when needed. He’s also not afraid to be vulnerable with you, admitting that it hurts him to see you cry.

“You don’t have to explain, but if you ever want to, I’ll be here, okay?”

Once you start to feel better, Su-bong’s playful side re-emerges. He might crack a light joke or do something silly to make you smile, but he’ll also make sure you’re comfortable—bringing you snacks, cuddling with you, or watching something lighthearted to lift your spirits.

[sturniolosblanket]

texts w/ brothers bsf!matt + drabble

pt. 6

your blood was boiling. your weren’t exactly expecting to be greeted with matt making out with someone else the moment you walk into the party. it was like something in you snapped. you felt used, betrayed, pissed. you knew you and matt could never become something, but your feelings for him were so strong that it swallowed the fact that he’s your brothers best friend. it took you a long time to realize your feelings for matt, but when you came to the realization that you might be in love with him. it scared you more than the man himself.

you searched for matt’s car and himself in the huge line of cars covering the sidewalk. you finally end up spotting matt leaning against the passenger side door looking directly at you.

“what do you want?” you ask rolling your eyes trying to avoid eye contact.

“please don’t give me attitude baby.” he said frowning and tilting his head

“are you gonna cry about it??” you take a step back from him

“no,” he paused “maybe.” he said smiling at you

“are you gonna keep joking around or talk?” you said crossing your arms

“y/n, im so sorry you had to see me with that girl, i promise i don’t want her, she threw herself at me and i stupidly didn’t stop her.” Matt said taking a step toward you.

“good for you?”

“y/n it feels so wrong touching other girls, your literally the only person i want to touch”

“okay.” you responded flatly shrugging

“your a pain in the ass you know that?” he said shaking his head

“your not exactly the delight either, matt.” the silence after you said that was thick. both of you clearly frustrated, but your mind goes back to your messages.

“how do you feel?” you asked straight up

“what?”

“you said i can’t see how you obviously feel. so, how do you feel?” you repeat your question

matt sighs shaking his head moving back to lean against his car. “your my best friends little sister.” he spoke

“so i noticed.”

“Nathan would kill me if he knew I was fucking you, and yet I don’t stop. Why?”

“because your a horny fuck?” you replied chuckling to yourself

“Everyday for the past 4 months I risk losing my best friend to see his little sister.”

“matt stop fucking narrating your daily actions just answer the fucking question god damn.”

“I am obviously in love with you, y/n” he said looking dead in your eyes.

your stomach completely flipped. shocked, happy, excited, nervous. various emotions flowing through your body, searching for a response, but when you couldn’t find words. you and matt stare at each other in silence both still soaking up the words and meaning of his confession. you feel so relieved, relieved he feels the same, relieved you don’t have to hide your feelings from him or yourself anymore.

when you don’t respond to him right away he goes into a state of panic, thinking he needed to explain himself further, and words just start spilling out.

“princess, when i slept with someone else, it was to try and stop my feelings for you because the truth is, i’ve never ever felt this way for anyone else before, ever, and it’s scary as fuck. your the only person i think about, look for, want to talk to, and im just so scared of getting hurt that i hurt you in the process, and im so sorry for that. ill literally do anything or block anyone to gain your trust back.”

your face turns red at his confessions, and you feel your cheeks turning a shade of pink. you feel a rush of happiness flow through you as you jump up into his arms, and all matt can do is sigh in relief and hug you back. you hug him as tightly as you can. you never knew a hug could be so emotion filled, but somehow, it confesses a lot more than your words could.

“i love you too, matt” you said into his chest. “but, nate..” you said looking up at him.

“i know, princess” he said looking down at you “we can always just be together, and just not tell him.” matt said smirking

“that feels so wrong” you said putting your forehead against his chest

“i know, but not being around you feels worse.” matt said, his fingers snaking up into your hair

“can’t we just keep sneaking around and having sex, but not put a label on it?”

“of course we can, but would we eventually end up being together?” he asked

“yes.” you said stepping onto your tippy toes to give him a quick peck, “ of course.” you smiled up at him, “once you prove yourself trustworthy again.”

“yes ma’am.” matt said, his other hand snaking around your waist to pulling you into another kiss.

“i know it’s going to take a lot for you to trust me again, but i promise i’ll make it up to you.” he said after pulling away, looking into your eyes. you can tell he’s being genuine, that he’s not lying. so all you can do is smile at him and pull him into another kiss.

“i told you.” you said pulling away and looking at him with a big smile on your face

“told me what?” he said furrowing his eyebrows

“you went soft on me.” you said grin widening. a smile slowly forms on his face, he shakes his head slightly in disbelief as he presses his lips to yours.

a/n: SURPRISE!! i finished my work and felt a little devious. also yall, this ain’t the end, i want them to get caught by nate at some point so stay tuned reinassss!! comment ‘❄️’ to be added to taglist!🩵

taglist: @matteatmeout @littlefreak-liz @mattsplaything @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @isasflorals @harls-sturn @h3arts4harry @rcklessheavn @chrissysturnzz @rafesapprentice @mattysketchup @imobsessedwithtaylorswift @emely9274 @trvqvoiisee @heartsforsturniolo567 @rafecameronsbitch @annsx03 @slutmattout @trevorsturniolo @h3arts4nat @beersangel @sturniolosluttt @sturnzpro @slutmattout @rainebow333 @bigcoke69420 @nmegamett20 @ivysturnss @quirklessliap @rain-likes-purple @shadowthesim @julisturn @chrissturniolossidebitch @slut4chris888 @edwardscoldhands @freshsturniolo346 @nervoussagittarius @sturniolosfr3shl0v3 @ilovechrissturniolooooo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @secret-sturniolo @viktorssugardaddy @ikyoudreamofme @not-sinai @alyssa-sturn @ribread03 @bellassturniolo @bambisribbon @mrs-riddlexo

dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

HEAD OVER HEELS

drew starkey x fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers appearance !!)

SUMMARY: in which drew starkey is head over heels in love with his girlfriend, y/n.

based on this ask !! i really hope you like this anon, you didn’t request a specific plot so i went with this :)

WARNINGS: pure fluff, obsessed!drew but in a cutie patootie way !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

A/N: i promise guys i will sort out making a master list tonight !! for now, click on my personalised tags like #bettys asks !!

WORD COUNT: 1k

THIRD PERSON +

Drew couldn't stop talking about her. His girlfriend, Y/N, that is.

His castmates on the Outer Banks set had long since grown used to it, though they still teased him mercilessly. It wasn't unusual for him to pull out his phone between takes and scroll through pictures of her, showing anyone who would listen. Even Chase joked once, "You know, Drew, we've all met her. You don't have to keep proving she exists."

But Drew didn't care. He loved talking about her. Loved the way her smile lit up his entire day, the way her laughter felt like sunshine breaking through clouds. Y/N was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wasn't shy about letting everyone know it.

"She's visiting today," Drew announced, a giddy grin spreading across his face as he leaned against the craft services table.

Madelyn raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. "You've only mentioned that about a hundred times this week."

"Yeah, and what's your point?" Drew shot back, unbothered. He grabbed a bottle of water and opened it, taking a sip before adding, "I just can't wait for you guys to see her again. She's incredible."

Madelyn exchanged a knowing look with Rudy, who was attempting (and failing) to suppress a laugh.

When Y/N finally arrived on set that afternoon, Drew spotted her instantly. She stepped out of the car, her hair slightly tousled from the coastal breeze, and his entire world seemed to pause. She was wearing his favorite sundress—the one he'd told her once made her look like a walking daydream—and he couldn't stop the wide, lovesick smile that overtook his face.

"Y/N!" Drew called out, practically sprinting toward her.

Before she could respond, he had her wrapped in his arms, lifting her off the ground as she let out a surprised laugh.

"Joseph Andrew Starkey! Put me down!" she exclaimed, though she was grinning just as much as he was.

"Not a chance," he replied, spinning her around once before finally setting her back on her feet. "God, I missed you."

"You saw me three days ago," she teased, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

"And that's three days too long," he said without missing a beat, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It didn't take long for the rest of the cast to spot her. Chase and Rudy came over to say hi, both of them giving her warm hugs and cracking jokes about how Drew had been "insufferable" without her.

"You're a saint for putting up with him," Rudy quipped, earning a playful shove from Drew.

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly as Drew laced their fingers together. "He's not so bad," she said, glancing up at Drew with a soft smile.

"Not so bad?" Drew repeated, feigning offense. "I'll have you know I'm the perfect boyfriend."

"And humble, too," she teased, nudging him lightly.

The group chatted for a while before Drew pulled her away, eager to have her to himself. He brought her to his trailer, where he'd set up a small surprise for her: a bouquet of her favorite flowers and a handwritten note resting on the table.

"Drew," she said softly, her eyes shining as she turned to look at him. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to," he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist. "You deserve it. You deserve everything."

She leaned into him, resting her head against his chest as she took a deep breath. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"Not possible," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

For the rest of the day, Drew was glued to her side. He introduced her to everyone on set—again—even though most of them already knew her from her previous visits. But it didn't matter to Drew. He wanted to show her off, to let the world see just how amazing she was.

During breaks in filming, he would find her wherever she was sitting and drape himself over her like an oversized golden retriever. "You comfortable?" he'd ask, despite the fact that he was the one taking up all the space.

"Very," she'd reply, laughing as she adjusted to make room for him.

When it came time for Drew to shoot his scenes, Y/N watched from the sidelines, her eyes filled with pride. He'd glance over at her between takes, flashing her a grin or a wink, and her heart would flutter every time.

At one point, Madelyn leaned over to Y/N and whispered, "He's like this all the time, you know. Completely obsessed with you."

Y/N's cheeks turned pink, but she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face. "I'm not complaining," she said softly, her gaze never leaving Drew.

By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the set, Drew was practically attached to her hip. He posted a candid photo of her sitting on a beach chair, the ocean in the background and a soft smile on her face. The caption was simple: My favourite view.

"You're going to make people sick with how sweet you are," she joked when she saw the post.

"Good," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Let them be sick. I don't care."

That night, as they sat on the beach together, watching the waves crash against the shore, Drew couldn't help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

"I love you," he said suddenly, his voice soft but steady.

She turned to look at him, her eyes wide and a little surprised.

"I mean it," he continued, his gaze locked on hers. "I love you. More than anything."

A smile spread across her face, and she reached up to cup his cheek. "I love you too, Drew."

In that moment, with the stars beginning to twinkle above them and the sound of the ocean in the background, Drew felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be. With her.

Always with her.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was so sweet :’) there’s something about guys who are so lovesick and obsessed with their gf’s that just MELTS my heart���

i’m still working my way through all my requests from oldest to newest (except a couple i got good inspiration for), so please be patient if you’ve recently requested something !! <3

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Nightmares Fade

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: After a traumatic mission, you are left shaken by a nightmare that lingers, blurring the line between reality and fear. Unable to shake the feeling of unease, you make your way to the kitchen, hoping a warm cup of tea will calm your nerves. But it’s not just the tea that brings comfort to you.

Based on this request.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, nightmares, a little anxiety and tension, the reader is jumpy, mentions of violence from a mission (implied), mental fatigue, and fluffy (because I can’t help it)

Author’s Note: I tried to avoid gory details or focus too much on the contents of the nightmare.

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You sat straight up in your bed, your heart pounding as you tried to catch your breath. The nightmare clung to your mind. The shadows of your fears haunt you even in the comfort of your bed. 

It was just a dream.

The last mission was gruesome. Normally, they didn’t affect you, or at least you tried not to let them rattle you, but the remnants of the aftermath followed you into your dreams.

It was just a dream.

You wiped your temple, trying to shake off the images and the helplessness that still echoed within you. 

It was just a dream.

Reaching towards your nightstand, you looked over at the time on your phone.

2:15 am

Sighing, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, the cool touch of the floor grounding you for a moment. 

Just a dream.

You ran your hands up and down your face as if trying to scrub away the bad thoughts.

You paused for a moment, feeling that uneasy stillness. The kind of stillness where every creak in the house makes your skin crawl, where the quiet is too much to bear.

You flinched at a sudden noise.

Something moved.

You froze.

A tight knot formed in your stomach.

But it was just your coat, slipping off the back of the chair by your desk.

A breathless giggle escaped you.

You were being ridiculous.

It was just a silly dream.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your robe and padded toward the kitchen, hoping that making tea would help.

You reached the kitchen, filling the kettle with water, the soft noise soothing your nerves. You weren’t sure why you felt so unsettled; you should’ve been able to shake the nightmare by now. But it lingered, just beyond reach, like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Then you heard it.

A sound.

Quiet, but unmistakable.

From behind you.

You screamed, gripping the closing thing to you, which was the handle of the panini press.

Bucky’s tough demeanor cracked, the corner of his lip tugging into a soft smile, a hint of amusement on his face. 

His imposing figure loomed in the doorway, his broad shoulders practically filling the space. His blue eyes, though soft in the dim light, were fixed on you, tense yet unreadable.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “It’s just me.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Relief flooded through you as you realized that you didn't have to fight off an intruder while wearing a bunny robe, and you released the panini press handle. 

Thank God. 

It was just your wild imagination.

His presence in the kitchen wasn’t a coincidence; you knew he must’ve heard you. You froze for a moment, wiping at your face again, hoping he hadn’t seen the tears. Your first instinct was to turn away, to pretend like nothing was wrong, but that was a pointless game to play with Bucky. He saw through every façade. 

Before you could escape to privacy, you heard a sharp whistle from Bucky. “No, you don't. C'mere, sunshine.”

You winced at his tone, but his voice was gentle and commanding in the way only Bucky could be. 

You knew he wasn’t going to let you hide. 

Reluctantly, you turned back toward him, though your eyes were on the floor as you shuffled closer. “I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep,” you murmured, keeping your voice steady, even though you could feel your heart still pounding.

“You okay?” His voice was rough with sleep.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky didn’t buy it.

His sharp instincts had a way of seeing right through any façade, especially yours. He uncrossed his arms, taking a few steps toward you, his large presence making the space feel smaller.

“C'mere,” he said softly, that gentle authority in his voice making it impossible to say no.

Reluctantly, you turned toward him, your eyes flicking to the floor. “Really, Bucky. It’s nothing.”

He didn’t buy it for a second. His flesh hand reached out, gently lifting your chin.

“Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, his eyes filled with concern. “Nightmare, right?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, feeling the weight of the admission, that vulnerability creeping up your spine.

Bucky's face softened, the hardness of his usual demeanor slipping away as he leaned closer to you. "Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Come sit down, alright?"

Before you could protest, he guided you to the couch, his large, strong hand steadying you as he sat you down. He wrapped a cozy, warm blanket around your shoulders, the soft fabric instantly comforting.

“Stay here,” Bucky said with quiet authority, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll make finishing making you some tea.”

You let out a soft sigh, melting into his warmth as he gently pushed a few strands of hair out of your face. 

The simple tenderness of the gesture made your heart swell, and the gentleness of his touch was so at odds with the hardened bravado he often leaned into. 

With you, Bucky was a different kind of man. 

A sweet, soft, protective one.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before he moved to the kitchen. 

The rhythm of his movements in the kitchen was reassuring as you sighed.

When he returned, he was holding two steaming mugs of tea. He settled down beside you, and you shifted out of your cozy blanket cocoon, eager to share its warmth with him.

“Oh, no, sunshine, you don’t have to do that,” he said softly, his voice like a gentle caress.

“I want to,” you murmured, your smile shining through, soft and sweet.

His smile grew, a look of pure affection, as he pulled you closer, his arm sliding around you effortlessly, bringing you into his side like it was where you belonged.

“Here,” Bucky said softly, his voice like velvet, as he handed you a mug, the warmth of it seeping into your hands. His fingers brushed against yours, soft but lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as though he was trying to pass some of his calm into you. “This should help. It’s chamomile.”

You took a sip, the warmth from the tea settling in your stomach and slowly spreading through your chest. 

The sense of calm you needed started to return, but the best part was Bucky. He was still holding you close, his hand gently brushing your hair back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

You paused, considering the offer. It had been so hard to open up to anyone, especially about your nightmares. 

But with Bucky, there was no fear of judgment. He was safe. And somehow, his presence alone made everything feel a little bit easier to bear.

“I was running…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I got cornered and I couldn’t escape. And I kept hearing the team and you…but everyone was too far. No one could reach me in time.”

Bucky’s arms tightened around you, his body tensing for just a moment before he relaxed again, rubbing your back in slow, comforting strokes. “I’m right here, sunshine. And I’m not going anywhere.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions swelling up again. "I know. I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about how scary it felt."

He kissed the top of your head, his voice like a low hum in your ear. "You don’t ever have to face that alone. We’re here. I’m always here. No matter what."

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his words wrapping around you like the blanket he’d draped over you earlier. "Thanks, Bucky. You’re… you’re really something else."

“Nightmares don’t stand a chance when I’m around,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your hair in slow, calming motions. “You’ll never face them alone. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

His words were a promise, quiet but unwavering. And as you snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your cheek, the fragments of your nightmare seemed to fade into the background.

But then you smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the mood, even if only a little. “If we fall asleep here, Sam’s probably going to take another picture.”

Bucky chuckled. 

“Let him,” he said with a grin. “You’re worth it. You should know that by now, sunshine.”

You practically melted into his side. 

There was something in the way he cared for you that made everything feel like it could be okay, even in the worst of moments. 

Nothing else seemed to matter.

And for the first time that night, you felt the weight of fear and anxiety fall away, replaced by the comfort and safety only Bucky could give you.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[my-castles-crumbling]

change - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - trans!regulus - word count: 295

“So,” Regulus sighed, finally closing his textbook after what felt like hours of studying the same stupid Transfiguration theories, “dinner, then?”

“Gods, yes. I was done with this ages ago. I swear, I could eat this pillow,” James moaned, sitting up from where he was sprawled on Regulus’s floor and tossing him the pillow he’d been using to cushion his head. 

“Charming,” the younger boy smirked. “I have no idea how I keep ahold of you, truly. Just a moment, I’m going to put on something lighter. It’s gotten warm out,” he tugged at the neck of his jumper and grimaced.

He heard the Gryffindor make a noise of acknowledgement, but when he turned from his wardrobe, he was confused to find James by the door. “Where’re you going?” he asked suspiciously, button-down shirt in his hand.

“Oh…you said you were going to change. I wanted to give you privacy,” James shrugged, eyes wide.

“I’m just changing my shirt,” Regulus argued, a bit unsure of himself. 

“Yeah, but, I know you…I know you wear a binder. I didn’t know if you wanted me to see,” the older boy bit his lip and looked down.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at the way James stood by the door, shifting from foot to foot. “James, we were snogging not a half hour ago!” he reminded him, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “I told you to put your hand up my jumper!”

“I know,” James nodded awkwardly, wringing his hand. “I just…I never want you to be uncomfortable, Reg,” he explained. And the sincerity of his words made Regulus pause in his laughter. 

“Oh,” he murmured, quieting biting his lip. “Well…thank you.”

“You deserve it,” was all James said before he exited the room, sending Regulus a mind-melting smile.

[callmeizukunotdeku]

Kon paused.

He knew Tim.

Knew that could mean any number of things.

Knew that some days, Tim was the smartest person Kon knew. His plans were unmatched, his drive, unparalleled, but other days?

Other days he could hear Tim crying from half across the world and other days Tim second guessed everything he did, asked if Kon wanted him to leave, called himself an idiot, and suggested plans with the contingency that if everything went wrong, they should just let him be their sacrificial lamb.

Kon tried to keep a lid on his anger. He didn't know yet if it was needed.

"What did he say?"

Tim furrowed his brow at the tone in his voice, staring at Kon for a long moment before asking, "You know how when you first met me, you thought my name was Jason?"

"Yeah," Kon nodded, not entirely sure where Tim was headed.

"He was Robin before I was." Tim looked away. "He died as Robin. He...he was B's son and--and god Bruce loves him so much." Tim sighed. "He used to get the two of us confused a lot when I was Robin, and it's better, now that Jason's back and that's not who I am anymore, but...but it hasn't stopped. Not entirely. It's worse on days like today, when Bruce is scared and confused. He gets defensive--retreats into his head and just...forgets. Things have gotten better--they really have--but Jason was in the cave today and he just--just reminded be that, while 'better' is good, it doesn't mean it's okay."

AU where everyone suddenly has all the words that hurt them the most written all over their body and Tim has "Jason" written all over his face.

[moonlitstoriess]

The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (2/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

See masterlist

Part 1

Warnings: not proofread, SMUT MINORS DNI (i will mention when it starts and ends), mentions of trauma, fighting, angst, mentions of SA, still kinda toxic Azriel, injuries

Azriel had been up for hours. Sleep had evaded him, the tangled sheets of the too-small bed serving as a bitter reminder of his lack of control. He hated himself for what had happened the night before—for how easily he had given in to her. She had been a firestorm in his arms, all heat and anger, a perfect storm of fury and passion. And he’d matched her, moment for moment, letting the simmering tension they’d carried for years erupt into something raw and primal.

But it was a mistake. He knew that.

His shadows slithered around him, restless as his thoughts. The morning air was cool, biting against his skin as he packed their meager supplies with deliberate precision. Every movement was an effort to drown out the memory of her body, the feel of her beneath him, the taste of her curses and her lips all at once.

The soft rustle of sheets behind him told him she was waking. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Already up?” her voice broke the quiet, low and husky from sleep.

Azriel didn’t pause, his tone colder than the air. “We leave in ten minutes.”

He heard her shift, the sound of her feet hitting the floor. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and in the silence, he allowed himself a glance.

She looked… different in the soft morning light. No less fierce, but there was something raw about her, a vulnerability he didn’t want to acknowledge. Her hair was tousled, her expression guarded, but her eyes—gods, those eyes. They betrayed her for a heartbeat, flashing with hurt before they iced over.

“Right,” she said flatly, turning away to gather her things. “Wouldn’t want to waste time.”

The words were casual, but he could feel the edge in them, sharp enough to cut. He deserved it. He’d known that last night would hurt her, and he’d done it anyway.

His jaw tightened as he turned back to his task, pretending not to notice the quickness with which she dressed, the stiffness in her movements. Pretending not to feel the weight of the silence between them.

Azriel’s thoughts churned, a chaotic mess he couldn’t untangle. He’d spent years keeping his distance, convincing himself it was better that way. Safer. For her. For him.

But he hadn’t truly stayed away. He’d watched from the shadows, making sure she didn’t stumble into trouble she couldn’t handle. It was obsession, maybe. Or guilt. Or something he couldn’t name.

And last night had only made it worse.

He shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have let her pull him under. But the moment her lips had met his, all his carefully constructed walls had crumbled. And now, standing here in the cold light of morning, he couldn’t escape the truth of it: he wanted her still.

Not just her body, though that was seared into his mind like a brand. He wanted her fire, her defiance, the way she challenged him like no one else dared.

And gods help him, he hated her for it.

Because she had ruined him, too.

The memory of her betrayal—her lies—burned like a fresh wound. Her false information had led to disaster, and he’d paid the price. They both had. He could still see the fallout, the chaos it had caused, the look on her face when the consequences had come crashing down.

He shoved the thought aside, his jaw clenched as he swung his pack over his shoulder.

“We’re late,” he said curtly, breaking the silence.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “I’m ready.”

They left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind them.

As they walked through the quiet streets, the tension between them was palpable. His shadows twitched, brushing against her arm as if they had a mind of their own. He saw her stiffen at the contact, her gaze snapping to his in annoyance.

“Can you control those things for once?” she muttered.

“Can you stop giving orders for once?” he shot back, his voice colder than he intended.

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she quickened her pace, as if putting distance between them would lessen the weight of the silence.

Azriel watched her, his thoughts a tangled mess of guilt, anger, and something he refused to name. She was infuriating. Stubborn. Beautiful.

And gods help him, he didn’t know how to let her go.

The trail they followed wound through dense woods, the kind that swallowed sound and sight in equal measure. Every step was accompanied by the crunch of leaves underfoot, though Y/N couldn’t bring herself to care about stealth. Her frustration at the male stalking behind her simmered too hotly for that. If Azriel wanted her to be quiet, he could damn well walk faster and take the lead. But no—he kept his distance, keeping to his shadows as if they were the only things he trusted.

And maybe they were.

Y/N’s grip on her weapon tightened as she stomped down the uneven path, the tension between them suffocating. She didn’t dare look back, not when the memory of last night still clung to her like a second skin. She’d woken up to find him already dressed and preparing, his expression shuttered, his voice clipped.

A mistake.

That word had cut deeper than any blade. She hated herself for the flash of hurt he must’ve seen in her eyes before she managed to lock it away. Hated him even more for the way he seemed so unbothered, as if it hadn’t meant anything to him.

She gritted her teeth, her mind replaying his cold tone as she finally muttered, “You know, if I’m such a liability, why don’t you just leave me behind?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately, though she knew he’d heard her. His shadows slithered across the ground toward her, curling near her boots as if they, too, wanted to silence her.

His voice, when it came, was clipped and devoid of emotion. “We’ve been over this. I need you. You need me. We both have the same goal. Malrik’s loyalists won’t hand themselves over for interrogation.”

The mention of Malrik set her blood boiling, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the danger he posed or the fact that Azriel’s words had come with such detachment—I need you, not I want you. Not I care about you.

“Right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes even though she knew he couldn’t see her face. “Because that worked so well last time.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, but Azriel didn’t take the bait. Of course he didn’t. He never rose to her provocations unless it served some purpose, and right now, his silence only made her anger burn hotter.

The tension between them had her so distracted that she nearly missed the sound. Nearly.

A twig snapped, sharp and sudden, slicing through the oppressive quiet of the forest.

Y/N froze instantly, her instincts kicking in as she gripped her weapon. Her heart raced, but her body stayed perfectly still. She didn’t need to look back to know Azriel had stopped, too. His shadows darted out like vipers, curling through the trees in search of the source.

“Move,” Azriel hissed, his voice low but urgent.

Before she could process his command, he shoved her behind a tree. The force of it knocked the air from her lungs, and she barely had time to steady herself before an arrow flew past, embedding itself in the bark where she’d been standing a second ago.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she peered out from behind the tree. Figures emerged from the shadows—six of them, maybe more. Their movements were too calculated, too precise for common bandits. These were professionals.

“Well, well,” one of the mercenaries drawled, his scarred face splitting into a grin. “Looks like we caught ourselves a pretty bird and her handler.”

Y/N’s grip on her weapon tightened, her pulse thundering in her ears. She could feel Azriel’s presence behind her, could feel the shift in the air as his shadows slithered around them. The tension between them was nothing compared to the danger standing before them now.

Azriel stepped out from behind the tree, his wings partially spread, his blade gleaming in the dim light filtering through the canopy. He looked every bit the terrifying Illyrian warrior the stories warned of, his shadows curling around his feet like living smoke.

“Leave now,” he said, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “And you’ll live.”

The mercenary laughed, the sound rough and mocking. “Oh, I don’t think so, shadow boy. Malrik wants your heads, and he’s paying well for them.”

Y/N stepped out then, her own blade at the ready. Her pulse steadied as adrenaline took over, her focus sharpening. “If you think Malrik’s gold is worth your lives, be my guest.”

The mercenary’s grin widened. “Feisty. I like her.” He raised his hand, and the rest of the group moved as one, fanning out to surround them.

Azriel shot her a warning look. “Stay close,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She bristled at the command but didn’t argue. They could hash out their differences later—if they survived this.

The first mercenary lunged, his blade aimed at Azriel’s throat. Azriel moved like a shadow, his dagger flashing as he parried the attack and countered with brutal efficiency.

Y/N barely had time to take it in before another mercenary was on her, his blade slashing toward her midsection. She sidestepped, bringing her own weapon up in a fluid arc that caught him across the shoulder. He staggered but didn’t fall, and she had to duck as another mercenary came at her from the side.

The fight descended into chaos, the sounds of steel meeting steel echoing through the forest. Y/N moved with precision, her strikes landing with deadly accuracy. But the mercenaries were relentless, their coordination suggesting they’d fought together before.

At one point, she felt a presence at her back and whirled, only to see Azriel there, his blade slicing through the throat of a mercenary who’d gotten too close. His shadows curled protectively around her for a moment before he moved away, his attention snapping back to the fight.

Her breath hitched, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Another mercenary lunged at her, his strike aimed at her head. She ducked and retaliated, driving her blade into his side. He went down with a grunt, but she barely had time to catch her breath before another took his place.

The fight was brutal, and for a moment, it seemed like they might be overwhelmed. But then Azriel’s shadows surged, wrapping around two of the mercenaries and dragging them to the ground. He moved with lethal grace, his blade flashing as he finished them off.

The remaining mercenaries hesitated, their confidence wavering as they realized they were outmatched.

“Leave,” Azriel snarled, his voice low and deadly.

This time, they listened. The survivors turned and fled, disappearing into the trees.

Y/N lowered her blade, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her body ached, her muscles screaming in protest, but she forced herself to stand tall.

Azriel turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned away, cleaning his blade with practiced efficiency.

The tension between them hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had grown worse. But for now, there was silence, broken only by the distant sound of the mercenaries retreating.

Y/N stared after them, her thoughts a chaotic mess. She’d survived worse fights, but something about this one felt different—something about the way Azriel had looked at her, the way his shadows had curled around her like a shield.

She didn’t know what to make of it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

After a couple of hours, the forest gave way to a clearing bathed in the glow of an early sunrise, the light slicing through the lingering mist. Y/N pushed past a dense tangle of branches, Azriel a step behind her, his shadows still coiling warily as if the mercenaries from earlier might reappear. Her muscles ached from the fight, and her patience was worn thin.

They had only just stepped into the clearing when Y/N froze.

Figures—at least five of them—stood gathered near the center, a flickering fire between them. They were armed and armored, their postures relaxed but alert. The glint of steel and polished leather caught the light, and though they looked at ease, the tension in the air was unmistakable.

“More of Malrik’s men?” Y/N muttered, her hand instinctively tightening around her blade.

Azriel’s shadows slithered forward, testing the air around the strangers. “No,” he said quietly. “Not mercenaries. But not friends, either.”

The figures turned as one, their conversation cutting off as they noticed the new arrivals. Y/N’s stomach twisted. They hadn’t been expecting anyone here, and whoever these people were, they looked like they could hold their own in a fight.

The leader of the group—a tall female with auburn hair braided down her back—stepped forward. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked between Y/N and Azriel. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” she said, her voice smooth but carrying an edge. “And here I thought this little corner of the forest was supposed to be quiet.”

Azriel stepped in front of Y/N, his shadows curling around his shoulders like a cloak. “We don’t want trouble,” he said evenly.

The female arched a brow. “Funny, considering you look like trouble incarnate.” Her gaze drifted to Y/N, lingering for a moment before returning to Azriel. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. What brings you to our woods?”

Before Azriel could respond, another figure stepped forward—a male. He was taller than the others, his dark hair curling slightly at the ends, a sword strapped to his back and a dagger at his hip. His eyes were a startling shade of green, sharp and unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips, as if he found the entire situation amusing.

“Raya,” the male drawled, addressing the woman. “Let’s not scare our guests off just yet. They’ve already had a rough night, judging by the state of them.” His gaze flicked over Y/N, lingering on the dried blood streaked across her cheek and the dirt smudged on her gear.

Y/N bristled under his scrutiny, raising her chin. “We didn’t realize we were trespassing,” she said coolly.

“Of course you didn’t,” the man said, his smirk widening. “That’s what makes it so much fun to catch fae like you off guard.”

“Enough, Cade,” Raya said sharply, shooting the man a warning look. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin never left his face.

Raya turned her attention back to Y/N and Azriel. “These woods are dangerous, in case you hadn’t noticed. Fae like you don’t usually wander in without a reason.”

Y/N hesitated, weighing her options. She didn’t trust these people, but the group was clearly organized, well-armed, and familiar with the terrain. If they were looking for Malrik’s loyalists, these strangers might know something useful.

“We’re looking for someone,” she said finally, ignoring Azriel’s sharp look.

The group exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. It was Cade who broke the silence, his smirk replaced by a more serious expression. “And who, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Malrik’s men,” Azriel said, his voice hard. “We’re tracking them.”

That got their attention. The tension in the clearing shifted, the casual postures of the group becoming more guarded.

“You’re hunting Malrik’s men?” Raya said, her tone skeptical. “Why?”

“Because they’re a threat,” Y/N said simply.

Cade laughed, the sound low and rough. “A threat? That’s putting it lightly. They’re practically crawling all over these woods. You’ll need more than the two of you to take them on.”

“Maybe we’re not the only ones who want them gone,” Y/N said, her tone sharp.

Raya tilted her head, studying her. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that if you know something, you share it,” Y/N said, stepping closer. “We’re after the same thing. Help us, or stay out of our way.”

The group went silent, their eyes darting between Raya and Cade. For a moment, it seemed like they might refuse. But then Cade stepped forward, his green eyes locking on Y/N’s.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice dropping into a low drawl. “We’ve got a camp not far from here. Come with us, and we’ll talk.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Azriel. His expression was unreadable, but his shadows were curling tighter around him, a sign of his unease.

“We’ll follow,” Azriel said at last, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Cade’s smirk returned. “Good. Try to keep up, shadow boy.”

As the group began to move, Y/N fell into step beside Azriel, her thoughts racing. She didn’t trust these people—especially not Cade, with his infuriating smirk and sharp eyes. But if they knew anything about Malrik’s men, they couldn’t afford to walk away.

Still, as they followed the group deeper into the woods, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d just stepped into something much bigger than a simple hunt for mercenaries.

The trek toward the camp stretched on, the forest around them dense and humming with the subtle sounds of life. Cade led the way, his steps light and confident, while the others moved in a loose formation, clearly comfortable navigating the terrain. Y/N kept her eyes sharp, scanning for any sign of danger, though the group’s relaxed demeanor suggested they weren’t worried about threats.

She felt Azriel's presence like a shadow at her back—silent, watchful, and brooding. It was a constant reminder of their earlier argument, and the weight of his frustration pressed against her like a physical thing.

“So,” Cade said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s a girl like you doing running around with shadow boy over there?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his sudden question. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t exactly scream ‘spymaster lackey,’” Cade continued, ignoring Azriel entirely. “No offense, shadow boy.”

Azriel didn’t respond, but Y/N could feel the temperature drop as his shadows tightened, curling around him like restless smoke.

“I’m not his lackey,” she said coolly, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Cade grinned, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re a little too... fiery to be running around on a leash.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Fiery?”

“It’s a compliment,” he said with a wink. “Though, if we’re being honest, I’d peg you as more of a wildfire. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The kind that burns a man alive if he’s not careful.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt a flicker of amusement. “That’s a lot of assumptions for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

“Oh, I don’t need your name to know you’re trouble,” Cade replied, his grin widening. “It’s written all over you.”

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re deflecting.” Cade’s tone turned teasing, his gaze flicking over her with open curiosity. “So, what’s your story, wildfire? How’d you end up chasing mercenaries with a shadow-slinging brooder?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but a low, dangerous growl from behind her cut through the air. She glanced over her shoulder to find Azriel glaring at Cade, his shadows curling tighter, darker.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the path?” Azriel said, his voice cold and quiet, the kind that sent shivers down her spine.

Cade, to her surprise, didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he shrugged, completely unfazed. “The path’s not going anywhere. Besides, I’d hate to miss the chance to get to know your lovely companion here.”

Azriel’s steps quickened, and suddenly he was at her side, his towering presence making it clear that Cade’s banter had crossed a line. Y/N felt the air between them shift, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

“Maybe focus on getting us to the camp,” Azriel said, his voice like steel.

Cade just smirked, his confidence unshaken. “Relax, shadow boy. No harm in a little conversation. Or are you afraid she might like me better?”

Y/N couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped her, though she quickly masked it with a cough. Azriel shot her a sharp look, his jaw tightening.

Raya, walking a few steps ahead, sighed audibly. “Cade, shut up before I gag you. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Aw, Raya, don’t be jealous,” Cade said with a mock pout. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

“Gods, you’re insufferable,” Raya muttered, shaking her head. Then, turning to Y/N, she added, “Don’t let him fool you. He talks a lot, but it’s mostly nonsense.”

“I’m starting to get that,” Y/N replied dryly, though her lips twitched.

Azriel said nothing, his sharp gaze fixed on Cade like a hawk watching its prey. Y/N could practically feel the restraint it was taking for him not to lash out. She nudged him with her elbow, whispering, “Relax. He’s harmless.”

Azriel didn’t look at her, but his voice was low and taut. “I don’t like him.”

“Shocking,” Y/N muttered under her breath, earning her a sidelong glare.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a sprawling camp nestled in a natural hollow. Tents of various sizes dotted the area, their canvas sides fluttering in the breeze. A large fire burned in the center, and several figures moved about, their movements purposeful and efficient. Despite its rough appearance, the camp was well-organized, and Y/N couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Cade said with a dramatic flourish. “It’s not much, but it keeps us alive.”

“Barely,” Raya muttered, striding past him.

Cade ignored her, his attention once again fixed on Y/N. “Come on, wildfire. Let me give you the grand tour.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Grand tour of tents and dirt? Tempting.”

“You’d be surprised what secrets this place holds,” Cade said with a wink. “Stick with me, and I’ll show you all the best spots.”

Before Y/N could respond, Azriel stepped forward. “We’re not splitting up.”

Raya turned to him, her expression hardening. “You are. The elder wants to speak with you, shadow boy.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t answer to your elder.”

“You do if you want our help,” Raya shot back, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N placed a hand on Azriel’s arm, meeting his icy stare. “It’s fine. Go with her. I’ll be fine with Cade.”

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his voice a low growl. “No.”

Y/N sighed, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “Some distance from you would be good, Azriel. I’m tired of seeing your face.”

From somewhere behind her, Cade’s amused voice whispered, “Ugly one at that.”

Azriel moved so fast she barely had time to react, but Raya was quicker. She stepped between him and Cade, her voice sharp and commanding. “Enough. You’re going with me, whether you like it or not.”

Azriel’s glare could have melted steel, but Raya didn’t flinch. With a frustrated growl, he finally turned away, his shadows writhing around him.

Cade grinned, holding out a hand toward Y/N. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Azriel’s retreating form. He didn’t look back, but she could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned back to Cade. “Lead the way.”

Azriel followed Raya through the winding paths of the camp, his strides measured but laced with a tension he couldn’t shake. His shadows rippled restlessly around him, curling and unfurling like they too sensed the storm brewing inside him.

Cade’s smirking face lingered in his mind, every smug word replaying over and over like a taunt. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to turn back and rip the grin off that idiot’s face almost overwhelming. But it wasn’t Cade that truly haunted him—it was the way Y/N had looked at him.

Her faint amusement. The way she’d allowed Cade’s attention, even if she didn’t encourage it.

Why did that bother him so much?

Azriel ground his teeth, the questions cutting deep as he walked. Why did it matter if she found Cade’s banter entertaining? Or if she thought Cade was charming? Hell, she probably did. Cade was... Cade. Confident, carefree, and the type of male who wore his charm like a damn badge of honor.

Azriel’s steps faltered.

Maybe she’d be happier with someone like that. Someone who could smile easily and joke without shadows clouding every word. Someone who wasn’t... him.

No.

The thought sliced through his mind like a whip, swift and brutal. The idea of her with anyone else made his chest tighten painfully, his shadows darken dangerously. Cade. Any male. It didn’t matter. None of them deserved her.

She could only ever be—

Azriel froze mid-thought, his breath catching as the realization clawed at him. With me.

His mind reeled, the emotions swirling in a storm of jealousy, fury, and something he refused to name. How had it come to this? How had she embedded herself so deeply into him that even the thought of her entertaining another male made him want to burn the world to ash?

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—not again.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, guilt twisting in his gut. He didn’t deserve this—her. She deserved better. Someone who could offer her light and laughter, not shadows and scars. Not pain and betrayal.

And yet, despite knowing all of that, the selfish part of him—the foolish part of him—wanted her anyway.

“Trouble in paradise?” Raya’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, dry and laced with amusement.

Azriel blinked, his head snapping toward her. He hadn’t realized she’d been watching him.

“Not in the mood,” he muttered, his tone sharper than intended.

Raya snorted. “You’re walking around like someone stole your favorite dagger. Let me guess: it’s about your lovely companion and Cade’s endless charm.”

Azriel’s shadows flared before he could stop them, and Raya laughed, shaking her head.

“Thought so,” she said. “Don’t worry, shadow boy. Cade’s an idiot, but he’s harmless. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Azriel asked, his voice low, his shadows darkening further.

Raya waved a hand dismissively. “He talks a lot, but he’s not stupid. He knows when to back off... usually.” She glanced at him, her tone turning serious. “You should trust her. She doesn’t seem like the type to be easily swayed.”

Azriel said nothing, his jaw tightening as they continued walking. Trust her? He did. But that didn’t mean he trusted Cade—or any male, for that matter.

They reached a small hut near the center of the camp, its wooden structure weathered but sturdy. Smoke curled lazily from a small chimney, and the faint scent of herbs and earth lingered in the air.

Raya pushed open the door without hesitation, motioning for Azriel to follow.

Inside, the space was warm and dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves overflowing with jars, trinkets, and scrolls. A low table sat in the center, surrounded by cushions, and an elderly figure hunched over it, her hands moving deftly as she sorted through a collection of dried leaves.

The elder looked up as they entered, her eyes sharp and knowing despite the deep lines that etched her face. Her hair was a striking silver, braided down her back, and her presence filled the room like a force of nature.

Raya spoke first, her words flowing in a language Azriel didn’t recognize. The elder responded in kind, her voice steady and measured, though her eyes never left Azriel.

Finally, Raya turned to him. “The elder will speak with you now. Try to be polite.”

With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

Azriel inclined his head slightly, stepping further into the room.

“You are not what I expected,” the elder said, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight.

Azriel raised a brow. “And what did you expect?”

The elder smiled faintly, gesturing for him to sit. “A male less... shrouded.”

He didn’t move. “We won’t be staying long. I only need information on Malrik.”

The elder chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “Always so impatient, your kind. Sit, shadow boy. I am older than your parents combined, and I don’t have time for your posturing.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, but he sat, his shadows shifting uneasily. “Why are you helping us?”

The elder leaned back, studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “Because Malrik is dangerous, and you would not be here unless you had reason to stop him.”

Azriel hesitated, weighing his words carefully. Finally, he said, “He’s gathering forces, planning something larger.”

The elder nodded slowly. “You are right to be wary. Malrik has aligned himself with dark forces—forces that crave power and destruction. He is not a simple mercenary. He is a predator, and his sights are set on far more than this forest.”

“Where is he?” Azriel asked, his voice taut.

The elder’s expression darkened. “North of here, beyond the river. He has a stronghold hidden in the cliffs. But be warned—his forces are not easily overcome.”

Azriel nodded, his mind already calculating their next move. “Thank you for the information.”

The elder’s gaze softened slightly. “Be careful, shadow boy. The path you walk is treacherous, and the stakes are higher than you realize.”

Azriel didn’t respond, rising to his feet.

“You and your companion may stay here for the night,” the elder added. “But do not linger. The longer you stay, the more dangerous it becomes.”

With a curt nod, Azriel left the hut, his mind a whirlwind of plans and unresolved emotions.

He had left Y/N alone with Cade for far too long.

Y/n’s laughter had been constant throughout the tour, a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. Cade’s charisma was infectious, his humor weaving through the air like a gentle breeze, pushing aside the heavy thoughts that always loomed in her mind. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no Azriel, no Malrik, no looming threats. There was just Cade, a bright presence, bringing lightness to her soul that she hadn’t known she needed.

Every joke Cade made felt like a small reprieve, each laugh an escape from the oppressive heaviness of her reality. His voice was like a soothing melody, lifting her spirits with every word he spoke, each playful comment distracting her from the constant weight of responsibility and turmoil. She had almost forgotten what it was like to simply be, to not be at war with herself or the world around her.

As the tour wound to its end, Cade finally turned to her with a grin, his hands brushing against his jacket as if closing a book.

"And that, my lady, is the grand tour," he declared, bowing dramatically. "Voila, your room, your kingdom."

Y/n’s laughter bubbled up again, and she felt a little lighter, a little freer. She didn’t even realize how deeply his presence had begun to impact her until this moment—until the joy had settled over her like a warm, comforting blanket.

But then, something shifted. Cade’s hand, warm and playful, slid around her waist. The movement was casual, natural, as if they had known each other for ages. Y/n stiffened for a brief moment—until the sharp chill of a shadow cut through the air.

Before she could even process the change, a blast of dark power pierced the moment, and Cade was forced to recoil. The sudden pain contorted his face as he jerked his hand back, clutching at it. Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her eyes flashing to the source.

Azriel.

He moved toward them with a deadly quiet, his presence like an icy storm sweeping over the area. His eyes locked onto Cade, and the space between them froze in an instant. Y/n felt the pulse of tension in the air as Azriel’s gaze bore through Cade, his jaw clenched, the coldness radiating from him sending a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Cade, are you alright?" Y/n found herself asking instinctively, her hand reaching for him, wanting to help.

Cade, ever the charmer, brushed off his injury with a smile, despite the clear wince of pain. "I’m fine. No need to worry, my lady. See? Hardly a scratch."

But Y/n was already turning, irritation bubbling under her skin as she faced Azriel. His expression was unreadable, his icy demeanor masking something far darker lurking underneath.

"Azriel," she began, her voice sharp with an edge of frustration, "why the hell would you—?"

Before she could finish, Azriel was already cutting her off, his voice low and controlled. "They gave us a room. Let’s go."

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his commanding tone. The words were like a cold slap to her face, a harsh reminder of who Azriel was—what he was capable of.

"No," she shot back, standing firm. "I’m staying here with Cade. He showed me to my room."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his voice slipping into a low growl. "You’ll be coming with me." His gaze flickered to Cade, a clear challenge in his eyes, and it wasn’t long before Cade, seemingly unaffected, fired back.

"A room close to mine," he stated, his grin mischievous, as though taunting Azriel to escalate the situation.

Y/n’s heart twisted. She could feel the storm brewing between them, the undeniable pull of their conflict—a storm that had been building for far too long. And then, just like that, the tension snapped. Azriel didn’t wait. He lunged forward, a blur of motion, and before anyone could react, he had Cade pinned against the wall. The air crackled with the promise of violence, and Y/n’s pulse raced as she realized just how far things had already gone.

"Cade!" Y/n shouted, rushing forward, but it was Raya who managed to break them apart, her voice commanding as she barked orders.

"Get back, Y/n! Now!" Raya’s voice was like a whip, cutting through the chaos.

Y/n hesitated only for a moment before she grabbed Azriel’s arm, pulling him away with surprising strength as Raya moved to separate Cade from the mess. The citizens had gathered, whispering, eyes wide, watching the spectacle unfold, and Y/n could feel their stares on her as if she were the cause of all this madness.

"Get him away," Raya demanded, her voice cold and stern. Y/n’s own anger flared as she guided Azriel, pushing him towards the room that had been assigned to them.

When they finally reached the door, Y/n slammed it shut behind them, her breath heavy with a mix of anger and frustration. Azriel, ever the master of control, seemed unfazed on the surface, but she could see the simmering fury beneath his calm mask. He was coiled tight, ready to strike—at her, at anyone who dared to challenge him.

Y/n was silent for a moment, her back pressed against the door as she tried to steady herself. When she turned to face him, she saw the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his fists.

"Azriel," she started, her voice quieter than before, though the fury still laced her words. "You can’t just... you can’t keep doing this."

He met her gaze with the cold, deadly calm that he always wore, but she could see it in his eyes—the hunger, the need for control, the need to make her bend to him.

And it disgusted her.

"Sit down," she demanded, her tone sharp as she moved past him to find medical supplies. "You’re hurt."

Azriel didn’t argue, though there was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. He sat on the chair, his body tense, the only sign of his earlier aggression still visible in the way he held himself.

Y/n moved toward him, her hands working to gather the supplies. The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick with unspoken words. As she gently touched his wounds, applying the ointment with careful precision, the moment stretched out into something… more.

"You’re still the same," she whispered, barely audible, her hands hesitating as she met his gaze. "Nothing has changed."

Azriel's voice was low and edged with a dangerous kind of amusement. "What do you mean by that?"

Y/n leaned down to tend to the injury on his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. As she reached to dab at the wound, her hand brushed across his lips. The world seemed to still, the air thick with tension. Azriel’s gaze locked on her, heat swirling in his dark eyes. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her finger, and before she could react, his tongue darted out, catching the tip of her finger.

She gasped, her body freezing as the sensation of his touch ignited something inside her that she had thought long buried. Her thoughts scattered, and for a moment, she forgot herself.

"Divine," Azriel murmured, his voice thick, the word leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Her breath caught in her throat. No. She would not fall for this again. Not after everything.

Y/n jerked back, pulling her hand away from him, her heart hammering in her chest. "Let me go," she whispered, her voice shaky with a mixture of rage and something darker.

Azriel reached for her again, but this time, she was quicker. "You’re not getting away from me that easily," he muttered, though the dark hunger in his eyes made her heart twist.

But she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t fall for it. She wouldn’t let herself believe that she could forgive him, not again, not after everything he had done.

"Why?" she spat suddenly, her voice low but raw. "Why did you care, Azriel? Why does it matter to you now?"

Azriel’s expression froze, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Y/n's words spilled out, as if they had been building for years, for lifetimes, ready to erupt.

"Because of you," she hissed, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. "Because you banished me. You took everything from me, Azriel. It was because of you that I ended up in Malrik’s path. He raped me. Is that what you wanted to hear? You wanted to hear the truth, Azriel? There it is."

The room fell silent. Azriel’s body froze, his eyes wide with shock and something else—something almost darker than fury.

"Wh—what?" Azriel’s voice was cold, barely a whisper, and she could hear the tremble in it.

Y/n’s gaze hardened. She would not give him the satisfaction of her pain. Not again.

"You heard me," she said, her voice breaking only slightly. "Forget it, Azriel. I don’t need your pity. I never wanted it from you."

Azriel’s eyes burned, but she wasn’t looking for the comfort of his gaze. She was too far gone. Too broken.

"Do you care now, Azriel?" she mocked, laughing bitterly. "After everything? After you helped ruin my life?"

Azriel took a step toward her, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Don’t test me," he warned, his voice dangerously low. "What did you just say?"

Y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The damage was already done.

With one final, cold laugh, she turned on her heel, heading for the door. "You don’t deserve to know."

And with that, she left him standing in the silence of the room—his world slowly crumbling around him.

Azriel’s fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the fury that churned through him. His mind raced, every thought tangled in a mess of rage, guilt, and self-loathing, each one more suffocating than the last. Malrik’s name burned through his veins like acid, every breath he took a reminder of the horror that had unfolded—the horror he had failed to stop. He could feel his body trembling with barely contained violence, a force ready to break free at the first opportunity. But it was not just Malrik’s face he saw when his mind closed in. It was hers.

Y/n.

He couldn’t escape the memory of her—her eyes wide, brimming with raw pain as she recounted the depths of what had happened to her. It was the sound of her voice, trembling, the way her hands had jerked away from him as though his touch had poisoned her. It was the coldness that had filled the space between them. It was the utter betrayal he had felt in her eyes, as though every part of her had been shattered by him. By him.

The realization gnawed at his insides like a feral beast. He had been so blind, so consumed by his own guilt and his obsession with keeping control, that he had failed her when she needed him the most. When she had needed him most.

And then, the worst part—the piece of his own tortured soul that he couldn't escape from. That night, when everything had gone wrong, when Y/n had needed someone to chase after her, someone to protect her, someone to care, he had stood there, frozen. Frozen.

His mind had screamed at him to go after her, to chase her down and hold her in his arms, to assure her that he would never let anyone hurt her again. But he hadn’t. He had stayed behind in that wretched room, wallowing in his guilt, knowing that he didn’t deserve to comfort her. He didn’t deserve her.

The thought was like a jagged knife in his heart. How could he, when he had failed her so utterly, so completely? He was the one who had let her down. He was the one who had failed to protect her, who had let the world hurt her.

His rage reached new heights as he thought of Malrik’s name again. The bastard. The monster. Malrik had taken something so precious from her, and Azriel had been too weak, too much of a coward to stop it.

Not again.

Azriel’s chest heaved as the thought surged forward, becoming his singular focus. He would make Malrik pay. He would make him suffer in ways that no man—no monster—could endure. The bastard would feel every single second of pain that Y/n had felt. And more. The thought of what Malrik had done to her filled him with a fury so overwhelming that it threatened to break the walls of control Azriel had built around himself.

Azriel didn’t sleep that night. His mind wouldn’t allow him to. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face again—the raw emotion in her eyes, the betrayal, the pain. The tears that had gathered there but never fell.

Instead, he planned. He planned every agonizing moment of Malrik’s downfall. Every strike, every word he would say to break him. He would make sure Malrik understood what it felt like to be stripped of everything, to have everything he had ever known taken from him in the most brutal of ways.

But even as he planned, even as he dreamed of tearing Malrik apart, a part of him knew—knew—he wasn’t doing it for vengeance. He wasn’t doing it to make the world right again. No. He was doing it for Y/n. He was doing it because she needed him, even if she couldn’t see that right now. Because she would need him again, whether she admitted it or not. He would be there, in the shadows, ready to protect her when she was ready to accept him.

That thought—her needing him again—kept him from completely losing himself. He would keep her safe, even from himself. Even if she never looked at him the same way again, even if she never forgave him, he would keep her safe. That was the only promise he could make.

Morning came slowly. The dim light of dawn crept through the window, casting long, slanted shadows across the room. Azriel felt the weight of the night’s torment lift, but only slightly. His chest still ached with the burden of guilt, but he knew there was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

He stood, stretching his arms above his head, the tension still lingering in his body as he gathered himself. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes fell upon the door.

He had promised to keep her safe. He had failed her once, but not again.

With one last glance around the room, Azriel stepped otside, his footsteps silent as he moved down the road. The cool air of the early morning settled on his skin, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the camp stirring to life.

He knew she would be out there. He could feel her. He could sense her presence in the air like a faint pull at his soul, the connection between them still there, even after everything. He would find her.

And as he rounded a big tree, he saw her.

Y/n.

Her back was to him, her posture stiff, her shoulders hunched in a way that made his stomach twist. She sat on a log near the fire pit, Raya beside her. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Azriel could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way she barely seemed to move, the way her eyes flicked to the ground as if avoiding something. It was clear she wasn’t okay.

Raya spoke, her voice too soft to be heard from where Azriel stood, but Y/n didn’t answer. Not with words. She barely moved. Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight. She looked so fragile, so broken, and it was all his fault.

His anger flared again, but this time, it was directed inward. At himself.

He wasn’t enough for her. He had never been enough. He had always tried to push away his feelings, tried to convince himself that his duty to his people, his loyalty to the shadows, was enough to make up for the coldness he hid behind. But it hadn’t been. It had never been.

And now, here she was, sitting there, broken and lost, because of him.

But he couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t let her be alone in this. No matter what she thought of him, no matter how much she hated him, he would not leave her like this.

She would never be alone again.

Stepping forward, he moved with the silence of the shadows that had always been his ally, coming up behind her.

Y/n didn’t notice him approach, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching her. His heart twisted in his chest, but his gaze hardened. There would be no more hesitation. No more hiding behind his guilt.

"Y/n," he said, his voice low, barely a whisper.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned slowly to look at him. Her eyes, dull and filled with something he couldn’t place, met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

She said nothing, and yet everything in her screamed at him.

But Azriel didn’t look away. Not this time. Not when she needed him most.

"I swear to you," he said, his voice low and laced with a promise, "Malrik will pay. And no matter what you think of me, no matter how much you despise me, I will keep you safe."

She didn’t answer, but the faintest flicker in her eyes told him that she had heard him. It was a small step, but it was a step.

And it was enough.

Azriel stood there, resolute. He would make Malrik pay. He would make the bastard regret ever laying a finger on her.

And as the first rays of sunlight crept across the horizon, he knew—he would always fight for her.

No matter what.

Y/n’s steps were slow, measured, her body almost dragging behind the others. The forest around her seemed distant, even though it was right in front of her. The towering trees, the chirping birds, the rustle of leaves—they were just noises in the background, blending into the dullness of everything else. There was a weight in her chest, one that felt like it was pressing down on her lungs, suffocating her.

It was an unfamiliar kind of silence. The quiet between her and Azriel was thicker than it had ever been, and for once, she didn’t even have the energy to make some biting remark, to lash out. The fire that usually burned inside her, the defiance, the sharpness—it was gone.

Everything felt numb. Everything.

Azriel had been silent too, his usual stoic expression betraying a deep strain that had only grown worse over the hours. She could feel his gaze on her, though she didn’t dare look back at him. She couldn’t. The thought of meeting his eyes—of seeing that guilt, that sorrow written across his face—was almost too much.

She hadn’t said a word since they’d left camp. Neither of them had. The only sounds between them were their footsteps on the forest floor, the soft crackling of twigs underfoot. She was surprised she hadn’t heard Azriel speak, to ask her something, to break the silence. But he hadn’t. Instead, his presence lingered behind her like an invisible weight, an oppressive force that made every breath she took feel shallow.

Eventually, they reached a clearing. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled light over the soft grass. A small lake stretched out before them, its surface as still as the air around it. It was almost eerie, the quietness of it all, and Y/n found herself standing there for a moment longer than she intended, as if waiting for something—anything—to change.

Azriel, however, came to an abrupt stop, causing Y/n to halt as well. He turned to face her, his eyes flicking to the water briefly before meeting her gaze. His jaw tightened, the lines of his face hardening in that way they always did when he was deep in thought.

"We stop here," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Malrik’s place is close. We need to make the final plan."

Y/n just nodded. She didn’t care. She didn’t feel anything. The words fell flat in her mind, the weight of the situation not even penetrating her numbness. Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his brow furrowed, like he was waiting for something. But she didn’t offer anything. Not a word. Not a glance. Nothing.

Azriel sighed deeply. It was a sound full of weariness and frustration, and when she finally looked up at him, she saw something she hadn’t expected—guilt. A deep, gnawing kind of guilt that twisted at the corners of his eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. His eyes dropped to the ground, then flicked back to hers.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low, almost too quiet, "I know what I did… I can’t fix it, but I need you to understand." He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts, as though the weight of his words was more than he could bear.

She stood still, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed firmly on him. She was cold, distant—detached. It wasn’t that she wanted to ignore him. It was just… easier this way. It hurt too much to feel anything else.

"I made the choice to protect the rest of the team," Azriel continued, his voice hoarse with regret. "I didn’t believe you, but I did it to protect the network, the people we worked with. I… I spread the lie that you were a traitor to keep suspicion off of everyone else. To keep the integrity of the mission intact."

His words hung in the air between them, each one a sharp reminder of the betrayal. But Y/n wasn’t surprised. She didn’t even feel the sting anymore. She had lived with it for so long, she had become numb to the pain of it all.

Azriel’s voice faltered when he saw her reaction—or lack of one. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t react the way he had hoped. Instead, her eyes were flat, distant, as if the words didn’t matter anymore.

"That day…" Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I thought—"

Y/n’s eyes flicked to him, the coldness in her gaze sharper than any dagger. She cut him off before he could finish.

"Really?" she asked, her voice flat, a dull edge to the words that cut deeper than any shout. "That’s all you have to say? That’s how little you believed in me, after everything I did for you? After everything I gave you?"

Her words were like ice, and each syllable seemed to strike Azriel like a hammer against his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. The guilt was so thick in his throat he couldn’t find the words. He had hurt her so deeply, and now, there was nothing he could do to make it right.

"You branded me a traitor," Y/n continued, her voice cold and cutting. "I was forced to flee, branded and cast out, with no home, no life to go back to. And do you know what happened then? Do you know what happened when you turned your back on me?" She paused, her eyes now dark and distant as if she were reliving the memories in that very moment.

Azriel’s chest tightened. He could see the pain there, in her eyes, even though her face remained an emotionless mask.

"Malrik," she said, her voice almost a whisper, the name like venom on her tongue. "He found me, in my weakest state, when I had nothing left. He took advantage of me, twisted me into something I wasn’t. And all of it—everything that happened—was because you couldn’t believe in me."

Azriel winced, his entire body recoiling from the harshness of her words, the weight of her truth. He had never wanted to see her like this, to hear her speak of everything he had done to her. He had thought, all this time, that his actions were justified. That they were for the greater good. But now, standing in front of her, all he saw was the destruction he had wrought.

"I didn’t mean for any of it to happen," Azriel whispered, his voice breaking. "I never wanted you to go through that. I was wrong. I failed you, Y/n, and I can’t—I can’t fix it. I just want you to know… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her eyes cold, unyielding. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing for a moment, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.

And then, in a voice that was quiet, but somehow colder than anything Azriel had ever heard, she spoke again.

"Sorry doesn’t change anything, Azriel," she said, her words cutting through the silence. "Sorry doesn’t fix what you did. Sorry doesn’t give me back the life you took from me."

Her gaze flicked to the ground, and Azriel’s heart shattered at the hollow emptiness in her voice.

"I don’t need your apologies," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I needed you to believe in me. I needed you to trust me. But you didn’t."

And with that, she turned away, walking toward the edge of the lake, her steps distant, her posture rigid with that coldness that now seemed to define her.

Azriel stood there, motionless, the weight of her words sinking into him like a thousand blades. He had never felt such crushing guilt in his life. He had never felt so utterly lost.

But Y/n didn’t look back. Not even once.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Suddenly, she sighed before saying, "I hate you but I also need you."

And the next thing she knew, she was taking her clothes off, feeling his gaze behind her as she lazily entered the water. She hated how even after all of this, she wanted his gaze on her and only her.

She was still not looking at him, turned away so her back was facing him in the water as she stared into the other side of the lake. "Let's make the mistake of last night once more. After all, we won't be seeing each other once this mission's done. I don't need your useless pity. All I need is to use you now, just like you used me then."

It meant nothing, it would cut him deep and she didn't care.

Suddenly, she felt his naked chest pressing against her as he lened in to whisper in her ear, "Use me then."

Y/n's breath hitched, a tinge of surprise fluttering inside her despite the cold, calculated mask she had been wearing. She hadn’t expected him to move, to be this close again. But Azriel, ever the shadow, was right there—his presence like a storm against the stillness of the lake. His voice, a low rasp, sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but she couldn't ignore the way her body reacted to his proximity. She hated it. She hated that even in this mess, even in the aftermath of betrayal, her mind still wanted him, still needed him.

"Use me then," Azriel repeated, his words a dark promise that neither comforted nor threatened. It was like he was daring her, pushing her to go further, to test the boundaries of the agony between them. He knew this was all she had left—the anger, the coldness. The way she lashed out, using her words like blades, trying to push him further away.

Her pulse quickened, but Y/n kept her face impassive, her gaze hard as she stared across the lake. The water rippled lazily around her, reflecting the overcast sky, the light barely reaching through the trees. It was all so calm—so still. And yet, inside her chest, the storm raged.

He moved then, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him with a gentleness that contrasted the tension in his body. His lips brushed the back of her neck, a fleeting, tender touch that nearly broke her. But Y/n stayed still, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"I’m not leaving you," Azriel murmured, his voice soft but fierce. "Not like before. Not this time."

The words hit her harder than she’d expected, and for the briefest moment, the coldness in her heart cracked open.

But she wouldn’t let it. Not now. Not ever.

"Let’s make that mistake," she said again, her voice flat, unfeeling. "But don’t think it’ll change anything."

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, his lips brushing against her ear one last time. "I never thought it would."

And before she knew it, his hand went lower, reaching her core, causing a small gasp to leave her lips as her hand came over his arm, gripping it.

He lazily massaged her clit and she suddenly felt aware of his largee cock teasing her from behind too. And as if on cue, he entered her from the back at the same time as his finger entered her from the front.

Y/n couldn't hold the moan that escaped her lips after that, her grip tightening on his arm as azriel began thrusting into her from behind while his mouth started sucking and kissing on her neck.

Then, she felt a second finger dip into her as he began fucking her faster, his pace quickening as her moans grew louder.

"Fuck, just like that, keep moaning," Azriel said through his own growls as she leaned her head back on him for support and thats when he took the chance to capture and mark her lips.

The kiss was brutal, it was as if he wanted nothing more than to eat her alive, to forever be joined with her, to imprint himself on her. The water was rippling wildly with their movements and when he felt her clenching around his cock and fingers, he knew she was close.

But then-- then she did the unthinkable.

Azriel suddenly felt his mind go blank when Y/N reached her hand out and touched that part of his wings. Just the right area of his nerves to make him weak in the knees. With a loud groan he couldn't stop himself and released inside her, Y/N following right after him.

Their ragged breaths were all that could be heard as Y/N fell back on to his strong hold for support.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

An hour later, the silence between them felt heavier than ever after what had transpired. The air was thick with unspoken words, emotions both raw and tumultuous swirling around them.

Y/N lay back on the soft earth beside the water’s edge, her breath still shallow from the intensity. She stared up at the sky, the clouds slowly floating away. But it wasn’t the sky that had her attention—her mind was clouded with thoughts of what had just happened. The distance between them, once so palpable, had blurred. And now, in the aftermath, she felt more lost than ever.

Azriel sat beside her, his posture tense, but there was something else—something softer in the way he looked at her, though he remained silent. He didn’t touch her, didn’t speak. But she could feel him there, present, his very presence suffocating her thoughts.

She wanted to speak. To scream, to confront him, to demand answers. But the words wouldn't come. The anger and frustration she’d been holding inside for so long—since before everything had spiraled—felt heavier now. But it wasn’t just the anger. It was confusion. Confusion about herself, about him. About what they had just shared.

He finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "Y/N…" he whispered her name, and she flinched slightly, though she didn’t look at him. "I—"

"Don’t," she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your explanations."

There was a long pause, the kind that felt like an eternity. Her words hung in the air between them, but she didn’t regret them. She couldn’t. Not after everything.

He remained silent, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. She could feel the weight of his stare, but she refused to meet it. She didn’t trust herself to look at him without feeling something she wasn’t ready to face.

After what felt like hours, he spoke again. "You can hate me all you want," he said quietly, his voice strained. "But I’ll never stop trying to protect you. Even if you don’t want it."

Y/N sat up, her gaze flickering over to him, though her heart twisted at the sincerity in his tone. "Why?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly despite herself. "Why now? After everything?"

He turned to her, his expression unreadable, though the shadows in his eyes seemed to deepen. "I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that I can’t walk away. Not from you."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she thought she might fall apart. Instead, she swallowed, her walls—barely held up to begin with—beginning to crack.

"You think that changes anything?" she said, her voice strong, though her chest felt tight with emotion. "It doesn’t. We can’t undo what’s been done."

Azriel’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. "I never expected you to forgive me," he said, voice low. "But I’ll make sure you’re never alone again. Even if that means staying out of your way."

Y/N turned away, her emotions swirling. She wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not yet. Not when everything still felt so fresh, so painful.

But in that moment, something shifted—something she couldn't name or understand. A part of her knew that this... whatever this was between them... would never be simple. But for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to be.

"Let’s finish this mission," she said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "And then... we'll figure out where we stand."

Azriel nodded, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, even as she stood up, brushing the dirt from her clothes. The mission. The chaos. It all still loomed ahead of them, and neither of them was ready to face it just yet.

But as they walked away from the lake, side by side, something unspoken had changed. They hadn’t fixed everything. Far from it. But they’d come closer to understanding each other, to acknowledging that whatever had happened between them—it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

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

Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08

[gilbertscurls]

campaign — matt sturniolo

summary: the face of prada and the youtuber-ambassador do a campaign together.

The blinding studio lights illuminated the sleek set, a testament to luxury and high fashion. The Prada campaign was buzzing with energy, cameras clicking, assistants rushing, and stylists adjusting the tiniest of details. It was just another day in your world, where you were the face of Prada, the embodiment of elegance and confidence. But today, there was a shift in the usual routine—a new addition to the campaign.

Matt Sturniolo.

You’d heard his name before, of course. Who hadn’t? The wildly popular YouTuber turned Prada ambassador had been making waves, blending his relatable charm with high fashion in a way that seemed effortless. His face had been plastered across billboards, his smile as familiar as an old friend’s to millions of fans. And now, he was standing just a few feet away, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his usually casual demeanor sharpened by the edges of Prada’s luxury.

You adjusted your stance, turning slightly as the photographer called out directions, but your gaze flickered to Matt. He was laughing with the crew, a sound that somehow cut through the controlled chaos. There was something disarming about him. He didn’t seem fazed by the glitz or the pressure, his easygoing nature making it clear he was just as comfortable here as he was in front of a vlog camera.

“Alright, let’s bring you two together for this next shot,” the director called, motioning for Matt to step onto the platform beside you. He approached with a confident stride, but his eyes held a spark of curiosity as they met yours.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm. “Matt.”

You extended a hand, offering a small smile. “I know. You’re everywhere these days. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupted, his grin widening. “Hard to miss the face of Prada.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his candor. “I guess we’re officially colleagues now.”

“Guess so,” he said, stepping into position beside you. “Try to go easy on me. This is more your world than mine.”

The photographer began snapping away, calling out instructions, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at Matt. Despite his self-deprecating remark, he was a natural. He moved with an effortless confidence, his boyish charm contrasting beautifully with the sharp lines of the suit he wore. When the photographer asked you to interact, it felt surprisingly easy. A shared laugh here, a subtle touch there—it was all organic, as though the two of you had known each other far longer than a few minutes.

“Not bad,” you murmured during a brief pause, tilting your head to look at him. “You might just have a future in this.”

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

The shoot continued, but the atmosphere shifted. What started as a professional collaboration turned into something more playful, more personal. Between shots, you exchanged quips and stories, his humor cutting through the usual stiffness of the fashion world. You found yourself drawn to the way he balanced confidence with humility, how he seemed genuinely interested in the world you navigated daily.

As the session wrapped up, the director praised the chemistry between you two, calling it “magnetic.” You couldn’t help but agree. Matt lingered as the crew began to pack up, his gaze catching yours one last time.

“So,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets, “what’s next for the face of Prada?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Probably another campaign. You?”

“Filming a car video,” he said, deadpan.

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself. “Quite the contrast.”

“Hey, it keeps me grounded,” he said with a shrug. Then, after a beat, he added, “You know, this was fun. Maybe we’ll run into each other again on set.”

“Maybe,” you said, holding his gaze. “Or maybe we won’t have to wait for another campaign.”

The suggestion hung in the air, subtle but undeniable. His smile softened, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he nodded.

“I’d like that,” he said simply.

As he walked away, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted—not just in your day, but in your world. It wasn’t every day that you met someone who could stand out in the dazzling chaos of your life. But then again, Matt Sturniolo wasn’t like anyone else.

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim, @courta13, @frankdelreyy