#i’m clutching my chest and falling to the ground

[luvst4rc0r3]

OMG I LOVE UR FANFICS!!

PLZ WRITE MORE SERIES!!

Can you write (if you want) a jinx x f!reader were reader’s first language is not English but another language. And she has a son whose first language is English and he always complains about taking classes. So jinx pulls them out of classes and that makes reader very mad. (basically Gloria from modern family)

It can be any language just ofc not English

TYY IF YOU DO IT

OMG I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!!

I did it in my native language. English is my first but Tagalog (Filipino)is kinda my second asides from Spanish. I can kinda of speak Tagalog just not fluently.

“Lost in translation”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC: 1427

NOTE: established relationship. I did have to use google translate for some words so it might not be grammatically correct.

THIS ALSO MIGHT BE MY LAST FANFIC FOR A COUPLE DAYS BC I HAVE MIDTERMS

“Jinx, what the hell were you thinking?”

You stood in the center of the small apartment, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. Jinx leaned against the counter, her casual stance a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you.

“I was thinking the kid hates it,” she shot back with a shrug, twirling a wrench in her hand. “Why make him sit through something that makes him miserable?”

Your heart clenched. “He needs to learn it. He needs to—” You hesitated, stumbling over your words as your thoughts tripped over each other, fighting to come out in English. “It’s important for him to know… to understand—”

Jinx rolled her eyes, her tone dismissive. “He’s a kid. He doesn’t need a million things crammed into his head. He’s fine just the way he is.”

“Fine?” you echoed, your voice trembling. “Jinx, it’s not just about school. It’s about him knowing who he is. Who I am. You think it’s easy for me, being stuck in the middle of two languages all the time?”

She frowned, her smirk faltering for the first time. “I didn’t say it was easy—”

“You didn’t even ask me!” you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “You just pulled him out without even thinking about what it means!”

Jinx tilted her head, her electric blue eyes narrowing. “He’s my kid too, y’know. I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I just didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Her words hit you like a slap, and suddenly, the English words you’d been clutching at fell away, leaving nothing but raw emotion. Your chest heaved, and before you knew it, tears blurred your vision.

Jinx’s face shifted, the confidence draining from her expression. “Hey, whoa, babe, don’t cry—”

But you couldn’t stop. The frustration and exhaustion, the endless translating in your head, the constant feeling of being misunderstood—it all came pouring out in a language she didn’t understand.

“Ang hirap na hirap na ako, Jinx. Hindi mo naiintindihan. Hindi mo alam kung gaano kasakit na hindi ko masabi nang maayos ang nararamdaman ko.” (I'm in such a difficult situation, Jinx. You don't understand. You don't know how much it hurts that I can't express my feelings properly.)

You covered your face with your hands, your body shaking with sobs. “I just want him to know me,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking. “I want him to understand me without me having to fight for every word.”

Jinx froze, the wrench clattering to the floor. She stepped closer, unsure and unsteady, like she was walking on glass.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice low and raw with something you didn’t hear from her often—guilt.

You didn’t respond, your tears falling harder. Jinx reached out, her gloved hand hesitating before resting on your knee.

“I thought I was making things better for him. I didn’t think about how it would hurt you.”

You sniffled, shaking your head but still unable to look at her. “It does not just hurt, Jinx,” you whispered, the words coming out shakily. “It’s… I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting with my own head, trying to make everything make sense in English just so I can talk to you, or him, or anyone.”

Jinx’s hand tightened slightly, grounding you, as if to say she was listening.

“I just… I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” you continued, your voice cracking. “Not here. Not at home. And now, our son… he doesn’t even want to learn the one thing that connects him to where I come from. To me. And you just let him quit. You made the decision like it didn’t matter.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Jinx’s usual chaotic energy had vanished; she looked like someone had ripped the ground out from under her.

“I didn’t know,” she said after a moment, her voice soft but steady. “Of course you didn’t. You never think of anyone except yourself” with that you slammed the door to your shared room with her.

—

You stood in the doorway, your bag slung over your shoulder. Your hands shook as you clutched the strap, the heaviness in your chest unbearable. Jinx stood across the room, her wild hair and mismatched clothes somehow looking smaller, like she didn’t know what to do with herself

“Wait,” she said, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re leaving?”

You nodded, your throat tightening as tears threatened to spill again. “I just… I need space, Jinx. I need time to think.”

Her brows furrowed, her lips parting like she wanted to argue, but no words came. For once, Jinx didn’t fight. She just stood there, the chaos in her usually vibrant eyes dimmed by something deeper.

“I love you,” you said, your voice breaking, “but I can’t keep doing this if you don’t try to understand. It’s too much.”

The silence in the room was deafening, and when you finally stepped out and closed the door behind you, it felt like your heart was breaking in two.

The days passed slowly. You stayed at a friend’s place, letting the quiet moments give you the space to breathe. But no matter how hard you tried, thoughts of Jinx and your son kept creeping in. The weight of the fight lingered in your chest, heavy and unresolved.

You told yourself you just needed a little more time. That maybe Jinx would realize how important this was—not just to you, but to your family.

And then, three days after you left, you came home.

The apartment was quiet when you walked in, and for a moment, you wondered if she was even there. But then you heard it.

“Kamusta.”(Hello)

You froze, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you turned toward the sound. Jinx stood in the middle of the living room, her hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of her shirt.

“What?” you asked, your heart pounding.

She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and determination. “Kamusta,” she said again, the word clumsy but recognizable. “That means… uh, hello? Right?”

You blinked, stunned. “Y-yeah.”

Her lips twitched into a small, nervous smile. “I’ve been trying,” she said, stumbling over the words. “I… I looked up some stuff. It’s… hard, but I wanna learn. I wanna…”

She trailed off, her electric blue eyes meeting yours with a rare vulnerability. “Ayaw ko… um…” She fumbled for a moment, clearly struggling to remember the phrase. “Ayaw kong… mag-translate ka… araw-araw.” (I don’t…I don’t want you to have to translate everyday)

Your heart clenched at the effort in her voice, the way she fought through every syllable. “I don’t… I don’t want you to have to translate every day. I love you,” she added in English, her voice shaking slightly.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took a step closer. “Jinx…” you smile widely, “now you’re the one who looks like an idiot!”

She chuckles softly but soon returns to her straight face. “I’m serious, okay? I… I’m not good at this, but I’m gonna try. I’ll keep learning. And he’s gonna learn, too. I already talked to him. Told him he’s sticking with it. I don’t care how much he complains—I’ll sit with him if I have to. We’ll both learn.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now, your hand flying to your mouth as you let out a shaky breath.

“I didn’t get it before,” she continued, her voice soft but steady. “But I do now. I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing this alone. Or like we don’t see you��really see you. You shouldn’t have to fight for that.”

She hesitated, then stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “I’ll learn Tagalog for you. For us. Because I love you. And I don’t wanna lose you.”

A sob broke free from your chest as you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close. Her arms tightening around you, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“Salamat,” you whispered through your tears. (Thank you)

Jinx chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Walang anuman. That’s how you say ‘you’re welcome,’ right?”

You laughed, your heart aching in the best way. “Yeah. That’s right.”

Her grin widened, a little of her usual spark returning. “Told ya. I’m a fast learner.”

And in that moment, as the weight in your chest began to lift, you believed her. Together, you’d figure it out.

for once, her chaos felt like home.

TYY whoever requested that!! That was such and interesting requests to write!!

I want food

[shaadowmilkcookie]

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OKAY

pick your shadow milk !?

@shaadowmilkcookie *takes your smilk and admires it

[ddarker-dreams]

I'm clutching on the bars rn pls give us more bf blade content before I explode

I GOTCHU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm joining you in rattling the bars of my enclosure .... bf blade is making me feel Things ... .

warnings: fem reader, not sfw implications

While changing into a new shirt, a deep voice drawls your name. 

Your heart jumps in your chest. If it weren’t for the recognizable timbre, you may have shrieked. It’s a small blessing that you’ve been spared this indignation. Huffing, you turn on your heels, pulling down the bunched-up fabric to cover yourself. 

“I thought you promised to stop jumpscaring me,” you chastise. 

The jumpscare in question — Blade — fixates on your previously exposed midriff. You note how his eyebrows pinch together, though you’re unsure what to make of it. He doesn’t acknowledge your comment. Not even with what Silver Wolf’s decreed his ‘limited NPC dialogue’ (a grunt, hum, nose exhale, or the occasional chuckle, solely procured by your antics). 

“Lift your shirt,” Blade requests. 

“Eh?” You stare at him like he has three heads. “Sorry, I’m waiting until marriage for that.” 

He gives you an unimpressed look. 

“Fine, fine, whatever,” you grumble, acquiescing to the strange demand, “And they said romance is dead…” 

Blade kneels onto one knee. Before you can reiterate the marriage comment was a joke, his gloved fingers hover over the sides of your hips. The leather is cool against your rapidly warming skin. Once you overcome your initial confusion, you consider his countenance. He’s frowning, his eyes playing host to emotions you can’t quite place. His thumb rubs circles into the skin, softly enough to be mistaken for a ghost’s kiss. He appears to be in deep thought. 

You’re rendered speechless — a most commendable feat. 

“These bruises,” Blade murmurs, his voice hollow and haunted, “Did I…?” 

Realization crashes into you like a meteorite. 

You yank the fabric down. “Well, uh, yes, but—” 

(He goes pale as a sheet, further increasing the urgency behind your words). 

“—It’s okay! You didn’t— it wasn’t— I didn’t mind,” you reassure. Clearing your throat, you continue, fighting against the embarrassment scorching you alive. “If anything, I… was into it, so…” 

You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. His arms fall limp to his side as he mulls over what you’ve said, clearly unwilling to accept it at face value. Uncertain of what else to do, you join him on the ground, sitting on your shins. You take his face in your hands, brushing aside his bangs that’d obscured his eyes. His hair’s silky smooth, thanks to your products and insistence on combing through the knots. 

“Hey, old man,” you hum. “All that frowning’s gonna make you look your prehistoric age. You don’t want some young, dashing whippersnapper to steal me away, do ya?” 

Blade scowls. Smiling softly, you boop him on the nose, to which he scrunches it up. 

Your voice takes on a more serious cadence. “You didn’t hurt me. You could never hurt me. I trust you, so… trust me on this, okay? Just this once?” 

It’s gradual. He relaxes his shoulders, then the taut muscles of his face, basking in your closeness. He leans into your touch, reminding you of a stray cat that’s steadily being domesticated. You let the silence linger for as long as he sees fit. Eventually, his gaze meets yours. 

“... It’s a dangerous game you play, girl.”

I’m dangerous, the insatiable hunger in his eyes screams. I long to devour you, mind and soul. 

To this, you grin. 

“It’s a good thing I’ve already won, then.” 

[hisfavegirl]

The Queen Grief - King Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : After the incident where your son was killed coldly, you were drowned in anger and also hated.

part II.

You were consumed by grief and rage, your heart aching as you watched the servants carefully lift your son’s bloodstained blanket. They were going to burn it, or perhaps throw it away, treating it like nothing more than a piece of cloth stained by death. The thought of it made you tremble with fury.

Your eyes shifted to the bed where your son had once slept, now soaked in blood—his blood. The memory of his innocent face, his little hands grasping the blanket you had carefully knitted for him, made your chest tighten with unbearable pain. You reached for the soft fabric, clutching it tightly to your chest as fresh tears began to fall.

The blanket, once a symbol of warmth and love, now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from you. You could almost hear his voice again, that soft giggle when you’d first shown him the blanket, the joy in his eyes when he wrapped it around himself, feeling safe in your arms.

“I made this for you, my sweet Jaehaerys,” you whispered through the tears, the words heavy with the weight of loss. “I promised I would protect you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from them.”

The memory of his reaction, the bright smile and the way his tiny hands ran over the knitted fabric, was now a bitter and painful reminder of how brief his life had been. You clutched the blanket tighter, your sobs wracking your body, and you felt a deep ache inside you that could never be filled. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—gone. And in its place, only the cold, lifeless blanket and the bloodstains that would never wash away.

You collapsed onto the floor, your body shaking as you sat amidst the scattered toys that once filled your son’s room with joy. The small wooden blocks, the tiny figurines—each one a reminder of the life he would never get to live, the laughter and innocence that would never be heard again. Your tears flowed freely, and the pain in your chest became unbearable.

The sound of your sobs filled the room, louder and more desperate with each passing moment. Your heart ached for him, for the life stolen from you both. You cried out for the child you would never see again, for the dreams that would never come true. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the grief overwhelmed you.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Aegon’s arms around you, pulling you close, and his voice, cracked with emotion, whispered in your ear. “I’m here. I’m with you. I’ll never leave you.” His words were a comfort, but the sorrow in his voice matched your own, his tears mingling with yours.

You leaned into him, trembling with the force of your grief. The two of you clung to each other, crying together, mourning the loss of your son in a silence that spoke of shared pain. Aegon’s embrace, his steady presence, was the only thing grounding you in that moment, but nothing could fill the aching void left in your heart.

And so, you cried. You cried until your tears seemed endless, until the weight of the world felt too much to bear. Aegon cried with you, his own sorrow mixing with yours, and for that moment, it felt as though you were no longer alone in your grief. But the emptiness of loss still lingered, heavy and suffocating, as the two of you wept for the son you had lost.

After a long, silent weeping, Aegon finally made the decision to lift you in his arms. His steps were slow and steady, as though the weight of grief was pulling him down just as much as it had consumed you. Your body felt light in his arms, yet heavy with sorrow. Every step he took was an effort, but he kept going, determined to bring you some measure of comfort.

As he walked through the hallways, trying to escape the suffocating grief, a group of soldiers appeared before him. One of them, looking hesitant yet resolute, stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said, his voice respectful but firm, “The Dowager Queen has commanded that the Queen has to meet her at her private solar, as per her instructions.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, filled with the same pain that tore at your heart, locked onto the soldier’s. His voice, cold and unwavering, rang out in the tense silence.

“No,” Aegon replied, his tone low but carrying the weight of his authority. “I will not hand her over. I will take her to our chambers.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the others, but none of them moved. They understood the King’s command. Aegon, despite the crown on his head, was not swayed by the demands of his mother, the Queen Dowager. His focus was entirely on you, his queen, his wife, the woman who was grieving the loss of their son.

With no further words, Aegon continued his path toward your room. The soldiers reluctantly stepped aside, not daring to challenge him again. The halls seemed eerily quiet as Aegon carried you with care, every step bringing him closer to a place where, for just a moment, there would be no responsibilities, no demands—only the quiet solace of being together.

When the door to your chamber finally closed behind him, Aegon gently laid you on the bed, his heart heavy but steadfast. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, and in the quiet stillness of the room, he whispered, “I’m here. I will never leave you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You clung to Aegon’s body, wrapping your arms tightly around him as if you could draw strength from his presence. The storm of emotion inside you seemed endless, the grief so deep you couldn’t see past it. His warmth was the only comfort in that moment, and you buried your face against his chest, closing your eyes, trying to escape the overwhelming pain.

Aegon held you close, his breath steady against your hair, his arms strong around you. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wash over both of you. Then, with a soft and gentle touch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey all the love and sorrow he felt without words.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

Then, to calm you, Aegon began to hum softly, the familiar melody of a song you loved, one that had always brought you peace in moments of chaos. His voice was hushed, carrying the melody gently as he softly rocked you in his arms.

The tune, a song you’d always cherished, seemed to weave its way through the tension and heartache, slowly, gently pulling you back from the edge of your grief. His voice, full of love and concern, was the only thing you could focus on, and with each note, you felt a small measure of calm washing over you.

His arms around you were strong, a shield against the world outside, and in that moment, with his voice humming that familiar, soothing tune, you finally allowed yourself to rest, to close your eyes and let the pain ease—if only for a brief moment.

As the soft hum of Aegon’s voice began to soothe you, a sound from the doorway broke through the fragile peace. You opened your eyes, turning your head, and there she was—your mother, Alicent, standing with an air of composed determination. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sight of you in Aegon’s arms, clutching the blanket that had once been your son’s.

Tears threatened to rise again as you held the bloodstained fabric closer, pressing it against your face, the faintest hint of your son’s scent still clinging to it. The weight of Alicent’s presence, however, was impossible to ignore.

Her voice was calm but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “His body will be taken through the kingdom,” she said. “The people must see the tragedy, must know who is responsible for the death of their prince. You- we will ride in the carriage directly behind him.”

Her words struck like a blade. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the grief and fury warring within you. Slowly, you shook your head, lowering the blanket from your face. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t do it.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but there was something else there too—perhaps a flicker of understanding or even pity. “This is for the realm,” she pressed. “For your son’s justice.”

You sat up, Aegon’s hand resting protectively on your back as you faced her. “Justice?” you repeated bitterly, your voice rising. “Parading his body like a spectacle is not justice—it’s cruelty. It’s not for him, it’s for your politics.”

Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line. She took a step forward, her gaze sharp but laced with concern. “It’s what must be done. The people need to see—”

“No!” you interrupted, standing now despite the weakness in your legs. “I won’t let his memory be used this way. I won’t ride behind him as if he’s nothing more than a tool in this war.”

Alicent stared at you, the tension between mother and daughter palpable, the silence heavy. Aegon rose beside you, his arm steadying you as he spoke, his voice low but firm. “She has made her decision,” he said, addressing Alicent directly. “And as her husband—and her king—I stand by it.”

Alicent’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she said nothing. With a stiff nod, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You exhaled shakily, leaning into Aegon’s support, your heart still heavy but resolute in your refusal to let your son’s memory be tarnished.

The moment you heard the words—the news that your son’s head had been found and sewn back onto his small, lifeless body—you felt your knees weaken, but the urgency in your heart propelled you forward. You moved with haste, ignoring the calls of servants and guards as you hurried to where they had brought him.

When you entered the dimly lit chamber, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, your sweet boy, lying on a cold stone slab. His tiny body, once so full of life and laughter, now lay stiff and pale. The stitching on his neck was visible, crude and brutal, a reminder of the horror he had endured.

You froze for a moment, your mind unwilling to fully accept the sight before you. But then the wave of grief crashed over you, and you rushed forward, falling to your knees beside him. Trembling, you reached out, your hands brushing against his cold, lifeless skin.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you let out a broken sob. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My Jaehaerys… please, wake up.”

You wrapped your arms around his small, fragile body. His coldness pierced through you, but you didn’t care. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just one more time. Hold me back. Call me ‘Mother’ again.”

Your sobs filled the room as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands. You clung to him as if your love alone could undo the cruelty of fate. But no matter how tightly you held him, no matter how desperately you cried, his small body remained still and unresponsive.

The world felt cruel and empty as you wept, your tears falling onto his lifeless face. There was nothing left but the unbearable silence and the weight of your sorrow.

Through the haze of your grief, you forced yourself to lift your head. His face was peaceful, but his silence screamed louder than anything. The coldness of his skin cut through your soul like a knife.

You turned to the nearest servant, your voice cracking with desperation. “Bring me his blanket. The one I made for him. Hurry!”

The servant hesitated, unsure of how to act in the face of your anguish, but a sharp glance from you spurred them into action. As they hurried away, you turned back to your son, your tears blurring your vision.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You always loved that blanket. Do you remember? You said it made you feel safe. I’ll keep you warm, my love. I promise I’ll keep you warm.

Moments later, the servant returned, carefully holding the soft blanket you had poured hours of love into crafting. You snatched it from their hands, your fingers clutching the fabric as though it held the last pieces of him.

With trembling hands, you draped the blanket over his tiny body, tucking it in as though he were merely asleep. But the lifelessness of his form made your chest tighten further, and the tears came again in an uncontrollable flood.

You collapsed beside him, your hand resting on his covered chest, hoping against hope that you might feel it rise and fall, that somehow this nightmare might end. But there was nothing. No warmth, no breath, no heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you leaned down to kiss his cold forehead. “I couldn’t protect you. My baby, my sweet boy, I couldn’t save you.”

You stayed there, your body wracked with sobs, as you clung to him. The servants stood back, silent witnesses to a mother’s endless grief, as your cries echoed through the chamber—a lament for a life stolen too soon.

Your trembling hand reached out, brushing against the cold, pale skin of your son’s cheek. His once rosy complexion was now a stark, lifeless white. You traced his delicate features, your fingers lingering on the softness of his face, as though you could imprint the memory of him into your very soul.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, falling onto his still, small body. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. Your heart ached with a pain so raw it felt as if it might tear you apart.

But as the weight of your grief pressed down on you, a fire ignited within your chest—a burning rage that pushed through the despair. You clenched your jaw, your hand still resting on his lifeless cheek, and whispered through your tears, “I swear, my son… I swear on your name, on your memory, on my very life—whoever did this to you will pay.”

Your voice grew stronger, more resolute, as if speaking the words aloud gave them power. “I don’t care what it costs me. Whether it’s my blood, my crown, or my life. I will avenge you, Jaehaerys. I promise you, they will suffer as you have suffered.”

The rage coursing through you felt like the only thing keeping you upright. It was no longer just grief—it was a mission, a purpose that would drive you forward no matter the cost.

You leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to his icy forehead, your tears falling onto his skin. “Rest now, my love,” you whispered. “I will not let this injustice stand. I will make them pay.”

The vow settled into your heart, cold and unshakable, as you stayed beside him, your hand never leaving his face. Though your heart was shattered, your resolve was forged in steel, and nothing—not the gods, not death itself—would stop you from honoring the promise you made to your beloved son.

Your steps echoed through the long corridors as you made your way toward the council chamber. The fire of grief and vengeance burned within you, your mind consumed with thoughts of your son. Every step you took felt heavier, yet you pressed forward, drawn by the voices echoing from the chamber ahead.

As you approached, their words became clear.

“They were vermin, nothing more,” Aemond’s sharp voice declared, calm yet cutting. “The rats in this kingdom must know there is no tolerance for disloyalty or treachery.”

Another voice, one of the council members, spoke hesitantly, “But, the display—hanging them at the gates—some might see it as excessive.”

And then, you heard your husband’s voice, steady and resolute, with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. “They killed my son,” Aegon said, his tone icy. “Excessive would have been feeding them to the dragons piece by piece. This kingdom will know what happens to those who betray the crown and harm my family.”

The words struck you like a hammer. You froze just outside the door, the image of the gates filled your mind—bodies dangling as a gruesome warning. Aegon had taken his grief and turned it into action, his vengeance swift and unrelenting.

You pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the room. The council members turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from surprise to discomfort. Aemond stood to one side, arms crossed, his eye narrowing as he observed you. At the head of the table, Aegon sat, his face unreadable until he saw you.

You locked eyes with him, the air in the room thick with tension. “Is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling but firm. “Did you hang them at the gates?”

Aegon rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “They took our son from us. They deserved worse.”

You searched his face, seeing the same pain and anger you carried in your heart. Yet, something about it unsettled you—the coldness, the finality of his actions. “And what justice have you found, Aegon?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Does it bring him back?”

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm gently. “No,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it ensures that no one else dares to harm what’s ours.”

You looked down, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Part of you wanted to rage, to scream at the futility of it all. Yet another part of you—the part consumed by your own need for vengeance—understood him all too well.

As the council chamber settled into a tense silence following Aegon’s admission, a sharp voice cut through the air. Otto Hightower, standing at the far end of the table, slammed his hand against the wood, his face twisted with fury.

“This was reckless, Your Grace!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Hanging the rat-catchers at the gates like common criminals? What will the realm think? What will this do to the crown’s dignity? Such actions—”

Aegon spun toward Otto, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dignity?” he snapped, his voice cold and filled with venom. “You think I care about dignity, Otto? They took my son! My son, who was barely old enough to speak his own name!”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon stepped forward, his voice growing louder, trembling with both rage and pain. “Do you know what dignity means to me now? Nothing! Dignity didn’t save him. Dignity didn’t stop his head from being torn from his body. So don’t you stand there and lecture me about what is too far.”

Otto’s mouth opened as if to respond, but Aegon cut him off, taking another step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I am the king,” he growled. “And as long as I wear this crown, no one—no one—will harm what is mine without paying for it in blood. Do you understand me?”

Alicent, standing near the door, placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mixture of sorrow and alarm. Even Aemond, ever composed, shifted slightly where he stood, his single eye flicking between Otto and Aegon.

“You have lost sight of the bigger picture,” Otto finally said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Revenge clouds your judgment. This will have consequences.”

Aegon’s expression hardened further, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then let there be consequences,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll bear them gladly if it means justice for my son.”

You stood there, watching the exchange, torn between the grief that mirrored Aegon’s and the unease Otto’s words stirred in you. In Aegon’s eyes, there was nothing but pain and vengeance, a fire that seemed unstoppable. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, grounding him for just a moment.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “Let’s not lose ourselves completely to this. Not yet.”

He looked at you, his anger dimming slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face. With a deep breath, he turned away from Otto, his grip on control tenuous but holding—for now.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, you turned and left the council chamber, your steps hurried and uneven as the weight of grief pressed down on you. The echoes of raised voices faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the corridors. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold your breaking heart together, and made your way back to your chambers.

When you arrived at your chambers, the sight that greeted you pulled you to a halt. The servants were moving quietly, laying out a gown of rich black and deep green across the bed. Beside it rested a matching hood, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

These were no ordinary garments—they were the colors of House Hightower, the mourning attire of the queen dowager’s line, meant to signify grief and strength in equal measure. Yet, to you, they only symbolized loss, a cruel reminder of the funeral you would soon endure.

One of the servants noticed your presence and turned, bowing their head respectfully. “Your Grace,” they said softly, their voice carefully measured, “the Queen Dowager requested these be prepared for you. She thought they would honor both your son and your house.”

You took a step closer, your gaze fixed on the heavy fabrics. Your hands trembled as you reached out to touch the gown. The black velvet felt cold beneath your fingers, while the deep green embroidery—a shade you once associated with pride—now seemed hollow, devoid of its former meaning.

The servant continued, their tone apologetic. “The procession will begin shortly. Queen Alicent thought—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. The servant fell silent, stepping back to give you space.

You picked up the hood, its weight seeming far heavier than its fabric should allow. Holding it close to your chest, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your tears spilling over as you clutched it tightly.

“Green and black,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “For what purpose? To parade my grief for the realm to see? To show the world the price I have paid?”

Your gaze drifted to the gown again, and the pain in your chest swelled, suffocating you. “None of this will bring him back,” you whispered, the words breaking as they left your lips.

You closed your eyes, pressing the hood to your face as tears fell freely. The room seemed to close in around you, heavy with the weight of your loss, as the preparations for the ceremony continued in quiet, dutiful silence.

You sat motionless before the mirror, staring at your own reflection as if it were a stranger staring back at you. The pale, hollow-eyed face that greeted you bore little resemblance to the woman you once were. Your hands rested limply in your lap, surrendering to the servants who worked silently around you.

One was carefully weaving your hair into an intricate braid, while another secured the black hood over your head, its heavy fabric draping over your shoulders. Every movement felt mechanical, detached, as though this wasn’t truly happening to you. You had stopped fighting. You had stopped resisting.

You had surrendered.

The weight of the mourning gown clung to your skin, and the air seemed thick, suffocating in the quiet of the room. The finality of it all settled over you like a shroud, and you sat there, staring, as the servants completed their work.

Then the door opened.

The sound drew your gaze, and your reflection shifted as you turned your head. Standing in the doorway was your mother, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, dressed in a dark green gown that matched the depths of her sorrow. Her black hood framed her face, highlighting the familiar resolve in her eyes—a look you had seen countless times.

Her presence filled the room, yet neither of you spoke at first. She took a step inside, her gaze sweeping over you. For a moment, the queen dowager and the grieving mother collided within her, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You are ready,” she said softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes back to the mirror. The servant adjusted the final pin in your hood and stepped back, bowing her head before retreating to the corner.

“I see you’ve decided to join the procession,” Alicent continued, stepping closer to you. Her green gown swayed slightly as she walked, the fabric catching the dim light. “This is as it should be. The realm must see your strength… and your grief.”

At her words, your fists clenched in your lap, but you didn’t turn to face her. Instead, you stared at your reflection, your expression unreadable. “Strength?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

Alicent paused, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. “It is what must be done,” she said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “for him. For Jaehaerys.”

Her words cut through you like a blade, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the tears that threatened to fall again. “Do you think he would want this?” you whispered. “For his body to be paraded through the streets while his mother sits silently behind it?”

Alicent sighed, stepping closer until she stood just behind you, her reflection now visible in the mirror alongside your own. “He would want the world to see the price of this treachery,” she said quietly but with conviction. “And so would you, if only your heart were not so broken.”

You turned your gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at her any longer. “My heart is broken, Mother,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I wonder if it will ever heal.”

Alicent rested a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but meant to be comforting. “It may not,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will endure. You are my daughter. You will endure.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of her words pressing down on you as heavily as the mourning garments you wore.

The creaking of the wooden wheels and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the funeral procession made its somber journey through the streets. You sat silently beside your mother in the dark confines of the carriage, the heavy mourning gown clinging to your body like a second layer of grief.

Your gaze remained fixed on the carriage ahead of you, where the small, still form of your son lay. Wrapped in the blanket you had lovingly made for him, his tiny body was carefully cradled on a velvet bier, his pale face framed by soft curls that once shone with life.

On his head rested the small crown you and Aegon had given him for his fourth nameday. You remembered how his eyes had lit up with delight when he first saw it, how he had run around the chamber declaring himself “a king like Papa.” The memory stabbed at your chest, and tears silently slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed by the world outside.

Beside you, your mother sat upright and composed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The dark green of her gown blended with the black hood she wore, her expression unreadable as she gazed straight ahead. But even in her stoicism, you could feel her grief—muted, controlled, yet no less profound.

The crowds lined the streets, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the sound of the procession. Some wept openly, others lowered their heads in respect, and a few simply stared, their faces etched with shock and sorrow.

Your eyes never left the small form ahead of you. “He’s so cold,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you broke the heavy silence in the carriage.

Alicent turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as they fell on you. “The blanket,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “It will keep him warm, even now.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at your gown. “It’s not enough,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “He needs to feel loved. He needs… he needs to wake up.”

Alicent reached out, placing a steady hand over yours. Her touch was firm, grounding you even as her heart ached alongside yours. “He knows he is loved,” she said quietly. “You showed him that every day of his life. That love… it does not end, even now.”

You turned your head to look at her, searching for comfort in her words, but the raw pain in your chest remained unyielding. “Then why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

She didn’t answer, only holding your hand tightly as the carriage carried you forward, the weight of your shared grief filling the air. Ahead of you, the small crown on Jaehaerys’s head glinted faintly in the light, a fragile, heart-wrenching reminder of what you had lost.

As the procession reached the Dragonpit, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the weight of grief and the whispers of the gathered crowd. You stepped down from the carriage, your body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow, but the moment your feet touched the ground, the atmosphere shifted.

Your mother following close behind. The crowd pressed closer, their faces filled with sorrow, but their hands reached out too eagerly, too insistently. The weight of their stares, their words, their touch became unbearable.

“Your Grace,” a woman said, gripping your hand tightly, her voice trembling. “The realm mourns with you. Prince Jaehaerys—”

You pulled your hand away, trembling as others replaced her, one after another, their voices blurring into an incomprehensible hum.

“Such a tragedy,” someone else murmured.

“Your strength inspires us all,” another said.

But their words felt like needles pricking at your raw grief. Your chest tightened, and your breathing grew faster, shallower. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you stepped back, your gaze darting around frantically.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as tears began to fall. “No, I—I can’t…”

You turned to leave, but the crowd surged forward, their outstretched hands reaching for you. It was too much—the noise, the faces, the pity. Your knees buckled, and you clutched your chest as your sobs erupted.

“I don’t want this!” you cried, your voice cracking as you stumbled back. “I don’t want to do this! Stop—please, stop!”

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, steadying you. Aegon was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern and anger as he glared at the crowd. “Back away!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, back away now!”

The crowd hesitated, murmurs rippling through them as they began to retreat. Aegon pulled you closer, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he guided you toward the nearest private space.

“It’s too much,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching at his tunic as though he were the only thing anchoring you to the world. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Aegon.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He turned his head, addressing a knight who had stepped forward. “Clear the area. No one approaches her again without my permission.”

The knight nodded and moved to carry out his orders, while Aegon held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as he whispered, “Breathe, my love. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Your tears continued to fall, but his presence grounded you, offering a fragile sense of safety amidst the overwhelming tide of grief and chaos.

The moment came, heavy and suffocating, as Aegon stepped forward to give the final command. You stood by his side, your knees trembling as your eyes remained fixed on the small, still form of your son.

Aegon’s voice rang out, steady but laced with pain, as he uttered the word that sealed your son’s farewell. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre roared, his golden scales shimmering as he unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat surged forward, consuming the bier in an instant. You watched, helpless, as the fire licked at the edges of the blanket you had made, the crown atop his head glowing briefly before it, too, was claimed by the flames.

The sight was unbearable. A strangled sob escaped your lips, and your body seemed to give out under the weight of your grief. The roaring fire blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks, your vision darkening.

“Aegon…” you whispered weakly, reaching for him before your knees buckled.

Aegon turned just in time to catch you as you collapsed into his arms, your body limp. “No!” he cried, his voice breaking as panic overtook him. “Someone—help!”

He cradled you tightly, his arms trembling as he lowered you gently to the ground. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice desperate as he stroked your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. “Please, my love, wake up!”

The attendants and guards rushed forward, but Aegon barked at them to stay back. “She’s my wife!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of fury and anguish. “Don’t touch her!”

Alicent appeared moments later, her face pale as she knelt beside her son. “What happened?” she asked urgently, her hands hovering uncertainly over you.

“She fainted,” Aegon said, his voice trembling. “She couldn’t bear it.”

Alicent’s expression softened with sorrow as she looked at you, then at her son. “She needs rest,” she said firmly. “Get her to her chambers.”

Aegon didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His heart pounded as he carried you away from the flames, the weight of the moment pressing down on him with every step.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I swear I’ll take care of you.”

tag list : @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)

[rose24207]

Omg loved your Mafia lando hookup turned having a baby together turned into a love confession 💕

Can I request something similar where instead of reader being pregnant they already have a son together and there not together but Lando wants to but reader is hesitate, and one day while Lando is with his son, lando asks why the reader looked so exhausted and tired and his son says something about how his momma is tight on money and has to work double shifts at the diner from what he heard making Lando go to reader and ask why she didn't come to him for money if she needed it but she didn't want to seam like she was using him. And lando can see how exhausted she is, arks foe her to stay with him so he can look after them both.

Second chances

Summary: After overhearing his son reveal how hard his mother works to make ends meet, Lando confronts his ex about her struggles and offers them both the stability and love they deserve

Genre: Dad!Lando, ex!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: None!

A/N: Finally!! I know you guys waited long but here it is!! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The laughter of your son echoes across the park as he kicks a soccer ball around with Lando. You watch from a distance, sitting on a bench, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion. It’s moments like these that make everything worth it—seeing Theo happy, his face lighting up with pure joy. Lando, as usual, is fully engaged, chasing after the ball and letting Theo score over and over, his own laughter blending with your son’s.

The two of you aren’t together anymore, haven’t been for a while. But Lando has always been a good father. He’s present, attentive, and Theo absolutely adores him. Still, it doesn’t change the ache in your chest whenever you see them together. It’s a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

“Mom! Watch this!” Theo shouts, his little legs pumping as he kicks the ball with all his might. It barely makes it past Lando’s feet, but Lando falls to the ground dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been defeated.

“You got me!” Lando exclaims, lying flat on his back. Theo runs over, his giggles infectious, and jumps onto his dad’s chest.

You shake your head, chuckling softly. “Careful, Theo. Don’t hurt your dad too much.”

“Mom, I’m strong!” Theo flexes his tiny arms, and Lando gives him an exaggerated look of awe.

“Super strong,” Lando agrees, ruffling his hair.

It’s these moments that keep you going, even when you feel like you’re running on empty.

Later that evening, you’re in the kitchen, trying to throw together dinner while keeping an eye on the clock. Your shift at the diner starts early tomorrow, and you already know it’s going to be another long day.

When Lando walks in with Theo, he pauses.

“You look tired,” he says gently, concern flashing in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you reply automatically, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “Just a lot to do.”

Lando doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push it. He kneels down to Theo’s level instead, helping him take off his shoes.

“Did you have fun today?” you ask, forcing a smile as you set the table.

“The best!” Theo exclaims. “Dad let me score, like, a million goals!”

Lando chuckles. “More like ten, but who’s counting?”

You watch them from the corner of your eye, a pang of guilt hitting you. You don’t want Theo to ever feel like he’s missing out, even though money’s been tight lately.

That night, after dinner, Lando and Theo are sitting on the floor, drawing with crayons. You’re washing the dishes, listening to their quiet chatter.

“Dad, can I tell you a secret?” Theo whispers, loud enough for you to hear.

“Of course, buddy. What’s up?”

“Momma’s always tired,” Theo says matter-of-factly. “She works a lot at the diner now.”

Your heart sinks. You turn your back, pretending not to hear as you scrub a plate harder than necessary.

“Yeah?” Lando’s voice is softer now. “Why do you think that is?”

Theo shrugs. “I heard her tell Auntie Sarah that she has to work double shifts to make more money.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel Lando’s gaze burning into your back. You don’t dare turn around.

“Thanks for telling me, Theo,” Lando says finally, his voice calm but serious. “Why don’t you go pick out a book for bedtime?”

Theo scampers off, leaving the two of you alone.

“Y/N.”

You stiffen, gripping the edge of the sink. “I don’t want to talk about it, Lando.”

“Tough, because we need to.”

You whirl around, defensive. “It’s not your problem, okay? I’m handling it.”

Lando crosses his arms, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “Clearly, you’re not. Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling?”

“Because I’m not!” you snap, though the tears pooling in your eyes betray you. “I don’t want your money, Lando. I’m not going to be that person who uses you just because you have more than I do.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t about you using me. It’s about you and Theo. If you’re working yourself to the bone, how can you take care of him properly?”

“I am taking care of him,” you insist, your voice cracking. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Lando steps closer, his tone softening. “I know you are. But you don’t have to do it alone, Y/N. Let me help you.”

You shake your head, tears spilling over. “I don’t want to depend on you. What if you change your mind? What if—”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he interrupts firmly. “I’ve never gone anywhere, have I?”

You’re silent, your chest heaving with emotion.

“Y/N,” Lando says quietly, “you’re exhausted. You’re trying so hard to be strong for Theo, but you don’t have to do it alone. Stay with me. Both of you. Let me take care of you—for him, and for you.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. Part of you wants to say yes, to let him shoulder some of the burden. But the fear of being let down, of relying on someone else, holds you back.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You can,” Lando says, his voice steady. “I know things didn’t work out between us before, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try again. For Theo. For us.”

You look up at him, his eyes earnest and full of determination. For the first time in a long time, you feel a flicker of hope.

That night, after Theo is asleep, the two of you sit down and talk. Really talk. About the past, about the future, about the family you both want to build for Theo.

By the time the sun rises, you’ve made a decision. Maybe it’s time to let go of the fear and let someone in.

Maybe it’s time for a second chance.

Thank you for reading!

[princessbrunette]

omg rafe walking in on bunny holding a gun to groff (like the scene where hollis is shot)

spoilers below !!!! mentions of death n violence too

i like this idea because i think it would result in rafe killing groff, leaving (cough, cough) certain people’s fate on a different path — keeping them alive and well.

rafe would stroll in, only to have his heart plummet to his ass, seeing you shakily holding up a gun, eyes trained on the older man.

“hey, hey hey woah! ‘the hell is goin’ on?” rafes loud and panicked voice fills the room, making you jump which makes everyone flinch. his hands are up in the air like you had the gun aimed at him.

“rafe, so glad you’re here.” groff greets him as calmly as he can, glancing toward him reluctantly as to not take his wide eyes off you. “why don’t you tell this little lady right here to put the gun down huh? we can all just talk.”

rafe licks his lips, stalking closer. “wh—why? what you do huh? why is she — why is my girlfriend holding a gun to your face huh?” he raises his voice a little, watching the tears prick your eyes as you tremble, stiff and unmoving as you stare at groff.

“nothing, nothing just a little misunderstanding!”

the cameron boy turns his attention to you, even bending at the knees a little to level with you. his hands are infront of him now, wild eyes trying to grab your attention.

“hey, look at me alright why don’t you hand that to me? not gonna let anything happen baby just — just lemme have it.”

you trust him, and only him — but the second you take your eyes off groff, extending your arm to hand the pistol to your boyfriend, groff is quick to suddenly knock it out of your hand, sending the room into chaos as he charges at you.

naturally, rafe swings at him and the two begin to tussle, flying into furniture. avoiding the chaos, you crawl in your little white dress — still somewhat conscious of the fact you’re messing up your outfit and reach for the fallen gun once more, only for groff to grab it just in time, aiming it right at you.

groff pulls the trigger, but by some insane stroke of luck — the gun jams, leaving him confused and disorientated for a moment, leaving your boyfriend the perfect opportunity to grab it once more, the gun shooting out a delayed bullet straight into groffs leg.

the older man falls to the floor now, yelling, wincing and clutching his wound.

“agh! son of a bitch!” he curses, curling up and backing away until his back hits the cool marble of the kitchen wall. rafe licks his lips, catching his breath as he stalks toward the man, now fearful and small on the ground. “look i snapped okay, it was a mistake that i wont be making again!”

“yeah, nah… little too late for ‘mistakes’ now, isn’t it?” rafe screws up his face, lifting the gun to aim it at him. “you tried to shoot my girlfriend.” he observes, now eerily calm.

you stand trembling behind him, heart thundering in your chest.

“in my defence, she was going to shoot me first.” groff tries, causing rafe to scoff and cock the gun, causing the man to cower.

“pro’lly within good reason too, bitch.” he takes a few breaths before calling your name, hoarse voice just that tad more gentle. he doesn’t take his eyes off groff as a safety precaution, yet he waits for some kind of response.

“hm?”

“face the wall n’cover your ears, alright?”

“rafey, you’ll go t’jail again and—” you go to whine, emotional but he cuts you off impatiently.

“hey. i’m a killer, alright. s’who i am. just like my dad. wouldn’t have to be that way but — but people keep pushing me so… i got no choice. do as i say, okay? now?”

he waits for the sound of your reluctant scuffling feet, and even through the palms of your hands — the sound of the single bullet piercing the air is deafening.

[7s3ven]

FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC. platonic! task 141

( short one shot of y/n and jonny as besties )

IN WHICH… there is never a dull moment in task force 141 with you and jonny, best friends since kindergarten, together.

Notes: not following plot

—

( literally y/n and jonny )

You knew sneaking out yet again was a bad idea, especially when Price was so strict about curfew. And yet, Jonny had convinced you to go out for a little snack run. He may as well have a period with all the weird cravings he’s ranting about as you walk towards the front door.

Your hand stalls on the door knob, biting softly on your lip as you turn it. It doesn’t budge. Your heart jumps and your eyes widen as you turn you head to glance at Jonny. “Did you bring the key?” You whisper, not wanting to wake Price, Gaz, or Ghost. You could deal fine with an angry Price or Gaz since it only took one flutter of your lashes to calm them but Ghost was not so easy to persuade.

The last time you snuck out and returned home late, having attended a party all across town, you woke Ghost up and he was waiting for you in the doorway, bunny slippers on, mask barely covering his face, and arms crossed over his broad chest.

The glare he gave you still made you shake.

You watched as Jonny felt around in his pockets before he paused, mouth agape. “I thought you had the key.” He hissed back at you. You click your tongue, smacking his shoulder.

“I asked you to grab it, dumbass.” You furrow your eyebrows. “How are we gonna get in now?”

Jonny’s gaze shifted to the balcony door that Gaz must have forgotten to close. He meets your eyes and you quickly shake your head. “Anything but that.” You mutter.

As tall as Jonny was, he could barely reach the balcony. He would no doubt throw you up instead.

“I’m not climbing.” You grumble as Jonny wraps his arm around a pillar.

“Hear me out.” Jonny attempts to reason with you but you wildly shake your head, a second away from pounding on the door to get away from the madman you call a friend. “I’ll boost you up.” He shows you a gesture with his arms to reassure you, “It’ll be perfect!”

You highly doubt that. You huff as you cross your arms over your chest. “No way.” You stand your ground but a low growl has you regretting your decision.

“It’s that damn coyote again.” Jonny mutters, peering through the darkness for the feral animal that keeps digging through your trash and biting Gaz while he mows the lawn. “I’m pretty sure it has rabies.”

You’re at Jonny’s side in a second. “Oh, fuck no. Boost me up.” Your stomach lurches as Jonny lifts you. Your fingertips brush the wood of the balcony before Jonny screams.

“That thing bit me!” He shouted as you lose your balance. The two of you fall to the floor with a loud thud and you hold your breath, praying it didn’t wake Ghost.

“Man up!” You yell, slapping Jonny once more. “It’ll be fine!”

“I’m gonna have to get my leg amputated!” Jonny cried out as he clutches his ankle. You roll your eyes at his dramatic antics.

“You’re gonna wake Simon! Shut it!” You clasp a hand over Jonny’s mouth, begging him to quiet down. He licks your skin and you screech, quickly recoiling back and frantically wiping your hand on the green grass below. “That’s disgusting!”

Jonny merely sends you a mocking grin.

Through the darkness, you can hear the coyote circling you, thinking what idiots the both of you are. The animal hisses, causing Jonny to flinch and scramble back. “Every man for himself!” He screeches.

You cackle as the coyote chases after Jonny, tackling him to the ground. “Karma, bitch!” You scream. You regret your words a second later as you feel sharp fangs sink into your ankle.

With the dim porch light, you can see Jonny silently wheezing, struggling to breathe as he laughs at you wildly shaking your leg.

Between dealing with the coyote that currently had a hold of your leg between its fangs or possibly waking up Ghost, you chose the latter. Ghost would forgive you… this coyote would not.

“Get it off me, Jonny!” You scream, pulling at the animal’s tail. “It hurts! Fuck, ow! Jonny!” You manage to pry the coyote off, throwing it at your friend.

Gaz always said how there seemed to be a shared, dysfunctional brain cell shared between the two of you whenever you were together. You were starting to agree with his words now.

Jonny finally got rid of the coyote by throwing a half eaten sandwich from the trash can a couple yards over, the animal eagerly following it.

“When we get inside, you’re dead meat.” You harshly prod his chest, glaring at him.

“Let’s just knock on Gaz’s door. He’ll let us in, surely.”

You roll your eyes. “Nah, he’s gonna wake Price up to annoy us. Just lift me up again, will ya? I almost had it before that damn coyote bit ya.”

Jonny did so without hesitation, not wanting to become the victim to your bubbling anger.

You were so busy reaching for the balcony that you didn’t notice the doorbell camera turn a faint red, a sign that someone was watching.

“How long should we wait until we open the door?” Gaz asks from his position on the couch as the rest of your dorm mates watch the scene unfold through the camera.

“Just a little bit longer.” Ghost replies, lifting his mask over his mouth to sip on his tea. “I want to see one of them fall again.”

[maxtermind]

Congrats to my favorite writer for 3k!!! I’d like to request an oscar fic with the prompt ᯓ★ “why did you have to come back? why? i was doing so well without you.”. I’m a sucker for angst 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

“why did you have to come back? why? i was doing so well without you.”

( event masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ★:summary:: the one who got away or the one who came back? depends on him. ★:feat:: doctor!oscar piastri x ex!reader ★:genre:: fluff and uh hurt/comfort; loved incorporating texts in this

You hum softly, swaying your hips as you slice the vegetables, the rhythm of your body completely at odds with the frantic pace of your hands. They work quickly, hasty and dangerously, the blade flashing with each chop.

The process continues as you pick up different vegetables, chopping them carelessly while moving your body to the slow music playing in the background.

"Baby," a groan interrupts the calm as you feel Oscar's hands slide against your waist, his touch firm and grounding. "How many more times do I have to remind you?"

You immediately relax, letting out an exaggerated huff as your lover attempts to take the knife from your hand. "What if you got hurt, huh?"

You feel his warm breath against your neck, the warmth from his body comforting and familiar. His fingers pinch the skin of your arm when you stubbornly hold onto the knife.

"Be careful," Oscar murmurs again, resting his chin on your shoulder. "I just got home, and I’d rather not be in the ER again tonight." His voice is teasing, but the stern edge in his tone is unmistakable.

You laugh softly, nudging him with your elbow before pressing a quick peck to his lips, earning a throaty hum from him. "This isn’t my first time cooking, Osc."

"Uh-huh," Oscar says with a smirk, his arms tightening around your waist in warning. "Wouldn’t be your first time cutting your hand either. So, excuse me if I’m a little—"

You cut him off with a roll of your eyes, your tone playful. "Well, if I do cut myself, at least I’ve got the best doctor in the world here to fix me up."

He gently turns you so you're facing him, his hand setting the knife safely aside. "Yeah, no," he says seriously, his eyes locking onto yours before flicking to your lips.

Oscar's lips curl into a soft, boyish grin as you gasp at the way he kissed you softly. "I’d prefer you not get hurt at all."

"Okay, fineee," you tease, ignoring the warmth blooming in your chest at his words. You reach up for another kiss, your lips finding his insatiable ones for the third time. "No ER trips tonight."

"Thank goddd," your lover mocks your tone, letting out an exaggerated 'oof' when you smack his chest. Then, with a similar undertone, he pouts, "Now, before you test my medical skills—"

"Y/N L/N!" a sharp voice cuts through, yanking you back into the present. Shaking your head to gain concious.

You blink, the frustration in the nurse's tone making it clear that this wasn’t the first time she’d called your name.

You flush in embarrassment, clutching your hand tightly in a kitchen towel stained deep red. The stinging pain is sharp, but the numbness in your chest is more overwhelming.

You rise, cradling your injured hand, and follow the nurse down the hospital corridor. Your eyes flit across the walls, the fluorescent lighting casting an unflattering glow on the familiar surroundings- the very hospital where Oscar works.

It didn't even register to you that you were driving to this hospital in your panic induced state. Months after he walked away from your life as if you were nothing. Nothing to him.

The nurse leads you into a small examination room, handing you a clipboard with paperwork. You sigh, juggling the clipboard awkwardly with your injured hand, wincing as the pain flares up again.

The door swings open behind you, and you glance up, only to freeze.

What the fuck. Genuinely.

Your ex-boyfriend stands in the doorway, clipboard in hand, wearing his white coat and a look of professional composure that falls apart a bit the moment he raises his head, freezing as his eyes land on you.

Oscar's gaze flicks to your hand, and the worry is instant, etched into every line of his face as he immediately springs into action.

“What happened?” he asks, stepping closer, his voice soft but urgent, reaching forward to touch your hand.

You stammer, caught off guard. “I- uh, cut myself? Cooking.”

His jaw tightens as he gently takes your injured hand, his touch as careful as ever. You stop breathing at the contact.

His fingers graze yours, and for a fleeting second, the sterile white room feels like that night in the kitchen- like you’re still his, like he’s still yours.

“You didn’t think to be careful?” he murmurs, echoing his words from that night. His tone is heavier now, layered with hurt and something you can’t quite name as he's pushing you to sit down.

You try to joke, to lighten the suffocating weight in the air. “I was just fancying a trip to the ER.”

He doesn’t laugh. His stoic face makes your weak smile drop. Of course, he wouldn’t laugh. This wasn’t your boyfriend standing here- it was a doctor treating a stranger.

Fuck, that hurt.

Oscar’s focus is entirely on your hand as he examines the wound. “You need stitches,” he says quietly, his voice steady but his brow furrowed. “You’re lucky it’s not worse.”

The tenderness in his care makes your throat tighten. He hasn’t changed- not in the ways that mattered right now anyway.

“Oh,” you manage, your voice softer than you intended.

He glances up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There’s a storm of emotions there- worry, pain, and something achingly familiar. For a moment, it feels like he might say something more, but instead, he turns away to grab supplies.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, as he stitches your hand. You feel his familiar warmth, but the distance between you feels insurmountable. Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” you say roughly, your voice trembling slightly, irritation masking your vulnerability.

Oscar's eyes flicker to yours, holding your gaze for a moment before returning to the wound. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says softly, his tone laced with a kind of sadness that makes your chest ache.

It hurts- the thought that he’s just acting out of duty, the same way he would for any other patient. Still, you swallow hard, drowning in your unnecessary feelings. “It’s just a cut.”

“No, it’s not,” he counters, louder and sharper now, pausing his work to look at you fully. “You could’ve done some serious damage. What were you even doing?”

“Cooking,” you reply again, your voice small. Surely, he doesn’t get mad at other patients like this, right?

A sick satisfaction blooms in your chest that makes you cringe. This man is just doing his job, and here you are, analyzing him like a lovesick fool.

His jaw clenches, and he lets out a soft, humorless laugh. “Of course. You didn’t throw away that stupid knife, did you?”

His words make your eyes narrow. He has no fucking right to ask that- not after he’s the reason behind your lonely nights.

Fuck him.

God, you really wanted to fuck him. Ugh.

Oscar clears his throat, his own eyes narrowing when they meet yours. It stokes your anger.

“Why do you care?” you whisper-shout, your voice hoarse.

His hands still for a moment, hovering over your stitched hand. He doesn’t look at you when he says, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Your breath catches, and the room feels too small, too heavy. “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” you say quietly, tears welling in your eyes. “We broke up, remember?”

He finally meets your gaze, and the hurt there is raw, unguarded. You don’t know why he’s hurt over you speaking the truth.

“I remember,” Oscar snaps, his voice barely above a whisper as he takes a shaky deep breath. “I remember holding you in the kitchen and telling you to be careful with that fucking big knife, day after day, because I was so afraid of it hurting you.”

Tears sting the back of your eyes, but you blink them away. “It didn’t hurt me like you did,” you say, your voice breaking. How the hell was your chest hurting more than your hand?

Oscar looks like you’ve punched him, and it makes you ache worse. The fact makes you furious with yourself.

Why the fuck are you aching over the man who dropped your heart on the floor of your apartment like it was garbage?

“I know,” he murmurs, taking a deep, shaky breath, his composure breaking. “But that doesn’t mean I stopped caring. It doesn’t mean I don’t still- ”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “Don’t say it. You don’t get to fucking say it.”

Oscar lets out a breath, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, and his voice cracks in a way that shatters you. “For everything. For letting us fall apart. For not fighting harder. For not- ”

“I don’t care,” You cut him off again, your own tears spilling over now.

His expression softens, the walls he’s been holding up crumbling fully. “Baby,” he says, and the vulnerability in his voice spreads like electricity through your tired body, making you shudder.

“Stop, please,” you gasp, your voice barely audible. “You don’t get to call me- ” You can’t even say it out loud, and it makes you feel pathetic. “Not after you just fucking left.”

Oscar clears his throat as he nods and looks down at your hand, his professional mask slipping back into place. “The stitches are done. You’ll need to keep them clean, and don’t- ”

“I know,” you cut him off as he wraps your hand in gauze. As soon as he steps away to take his gloves off, you stand.

“Y/N,” he sighs. “At least let me drive you home pl- ”

But you’re already out the door, tears streaming down your face, the ghost of his touch burning on your skin.

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

★:a/n:: thanks for the request love! feedback and reblogs are appreciated :3

[soulofapatrick]

We have time - Azriel x female reader 

Summary: Azriel’s not long gotten back from training and seeing him there while waiting for the inner circle to get home has you wanting him 

Words: 2.9K

Warnings: smut; pinv; fluffy; oral ⇢ female receiving

Y/N’s POV

Azriel is lying on the couch, his body stretched out as though it belongs there, his wings draped lazily off the sides. The firelight dances across his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline, throwing shadows over his carved features. His chest rises and falls steadily beneath the soft, dark tunic he’s wearing, the fabric pulled snug over his broad shoulders. One arm is flung over his face, and his messy, dark hair falls in disarray, as if he’s just come back from training and didn’t bother to fix it.

He looks devastatingly beautiful. My heart squeezes in my chest just watching him like this, so unguarded and utterly mine. I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.

“Az,” I call softly, but he doesn’t stir.

My bare feet tread quietly across the room, and before I even realise what I’m doing, I’m climbing over him. Carefully, I straddle his hips and slide my hands beneath his tunic, fingers trailing over the hard planes of his stomach. His skin is warm to the touch, the hard lines of muscle flexing beneath my palms.

“Azriel,” I whisper, pressing a soft kiss just above his navel. His wings twitch, and a soft hum escapes his lips.

I tilt my head up, my breath fanning over his skin. “I want you, baby.”

He shifts, lowering his arm to reveal hazel eyes smouldering with golden warmth as they meet mine. A sleepy grin curls his lips as he reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time,” he murmurs, his voice rich and gravelly, but the way his thumb brushes across my cheek says otherwise.

“Please,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss his stomach again, my lips grazing teasingly over his sensitive skin.

Azriel groans softly, and in a blink, his large, scarred hand cups my chin, tilting my face up toward his. His lips crash against mine, and I sigh into the kiss, warmth blooming in my chest. It starts tender, his lips slow and sweet, but quickly turns heated, both of us giving in to the pull we can never seem to resist. His tongue teases along my lower lip, and my fingers tangle in the silky hair at the nape of his neck.

“Lay back for me, baby,” he whispers against my lips, his voice soft yet commanding, full of love and promise.

Before I can even process the words, his hands are on my hips, flipping us with effortless grace. My back sinks into the plush cushions of the couch, and Azriel slides to his knees between my legs, wings flaring slightly as he adjusts his balance.

My breath catches as I take him in—the way the firelight gilds the planes of his face, how his long lashes cast shadows on his high cheekbones, the soft swell of his lips curved into a smirk. His hands, calloused and scarred from centuries of battles, rest lightly on my thighs, grounding me.

“You’re stunning,” he says, his voice low and reverent, and my heart stumbles in my chest.

He leans forward, pressing soft kisses along my stomach, his lips trailing a path of heat that has my fingers clutching at the fabric of the couch. His nose brushes against my skin, and I feel his breath against me as he works his way lower.

When his fingers hook into the waistband of my pants, his hazel eyes flick up to meet mine, dark and full of adoration. “Is this okay?”

I nod, too quickly, and he huffs a low chuckle against my hip.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, tugging the fabric down with ease, leaving me bare to him in a matter of seconds. His hands skim along my thighs, soothing and teasing all at once, his thumbs brushing over my skin with an aching tenderness.

The moment feels intimate and unhurried, like we have all the time in the world. My chest swells with the love I feel for him, my fingers finding his cheek as he leans forward again, his lips finding mine in a kiss that is equal parts sweet and sinful.

And when he presses his forehead to mine, murmuring my name like it’s the only thing grounding him to the world, I know I’ll never love anyone the way I love him.

A wave of self-consciousness washes over me, unbidden, and I instinctively close my legs, heat rising to my face as embarrassment takes hold. I avert my gaze, though I can feel the weight of Azriel’s eyes on me, heavy and intense.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, his voice like velvet, drawing my gaze back to his. His umber eyes are dark, almost black in the firelight, but there’s nothing but love and adoration in them. The corner of his mouth curves upward in a gentle smile, and his tongue darts out to wet his pink lips.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers, his voice low and reverent, like it’s the most sacred truth he’s ever spoken. His hands glide up my thighs, warm and steady, and he pauses just long enough for me to nod, letting me know I’m in control.

When I don’t stop him, he gently pries my legs open, his touch firm yet soothing, like he’s unraveling my doubts with every brush of his fingers. His gaze never wavers from mine, his steady warmth grounding me.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the inside of my knee. “Every part of you, sweetheart.”

I relax under his touch, the tension in my body melting away as I realise I feel nothing but safe with him. My heart swells, and I let him guide me, trusting him completely.

His focus shifts then, his gaze darkening as it trails down my body to the ache he knows I feel. He kisses the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his lips soft yet teasing. His teeth graze lightly, and the sensation has me gasping, my hands fisting the couch cushions beneath me.

“Az,” I whisper, a plea I can’t hold back.

He chuckles low and dark, the sound rumbling through me, and presses another kiss higher up my thigh, so close yet still so achingly far.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. His hands tighten slightly on my thighs, holding me steady as he continues his slow, deliberate path upward, kissing and nipping in a way that sets my nerves alight.

A soft whimper escapes me, and he hums in approval, the vibration sending a shiver through my entire body.

“You sound so pretty, baby,” he says, his tone thick with affection and desire. “I want to hear everything—don’t hold back on me.”

His words unravel me further, my body arching toward him as though my very soul aches for his touch. By the time his lips finally reach where I need him most, I’m a trembling, pleading mess beneath him, utterly lost in the overwhelming tenderness and passion of the male I love.

My whole body jerks, wriggling to get away from this new sensation when he experimentally licks bold stripe up my folds. It has him pulling away with concern in those beautifully dark eyes but I’m shaking my head so hard I think I get whiplash. Unable to formulate the words I need I tangle my hands through his silky locks and push him back towards my aching core. 

He takes the hint, scarred hands gripping my thighs to keep me in place before he flicks his tongue over my clit, arms around me tightening as I wriggle and whine again, hands tugging almost painfully at his hair. 

It seems to give him more confidence in his actions and I can feel my belly warming with anticipation as the that familiar feeling begins building. Fingers begin circling my weeping folds has me clenching on air until one cautiously slips inside and rips a gasp from me. He curls it, eyes flicking up to catch my reaction and I can feel him smirking when my head falls back and I think my eyes roll into the back of my head. 

Another finger joins the first and the mixture of him hitting my bundle of nerves with every thrust as well as the focus on my clit has me trying to close my thighs against his head too soon. He manages to keep them open, picking up his pace and without warning my hand is tugging at his hair and my back is arching off the sofa. 

Azriel stays between my legs, his hands gripping my thighs to steady me as the aftershocks roll through my body. The waves of pleasure seem endless, leaving me trembling and breathless beneath him, my soft whines breaking the quiet of the room when it becomes too much.

Finally, he eases back, his wings shifting slightly behind him as he kneels upright. His lips are flushed, his hair tousled from where my fingers had been tangled moments ago. With a satisfied smirk, he wipes his face on the edge of his sleeve, his hazel eyes sparkling as he watches me try to collect myself.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe and tenderness, and it makes my cheeks flush.

But when my breathing steadies, the ache between my legs returns, sharper this time, as I take in the sight of him. His broad chest rising and falling, his muscles taut beneath his shirt, and—Mother above—the noticeable strain in his trousers.

My eyes flick to the clock across the room, and I bite my lip. Az notices the movement, his head tilting in question just as I meet his gaze.

“You’re insatiable,” he chuckles, his tone teasing, but there’s a rasp to his voice that betrays his own need.

I smile at him, slow and deliberate, and lean forward. He exhales a soft curse when my hands move to his belt, fingers deftly undoing the clasp before tugging his pants and underclothes down in one smooth motion. He lifts his hips without hesitation, helping me push them past his knees before I climb onto his lap.

Azriel’s hands find my waist instantly, his grip firm yet reverent, his scarred fingers splaying across my skin as if he’s trying to memorise every inch of me. His wings shift behind him, the soft rustle of feathers filling the space as I settle over him, my thighs bracketing his hips.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against mine as his hands slide up to cradle my face.

I can feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in his body as I align us. A low groan leaving both of us when I sink down in one quick motion, knowing we have to be quick before my older brother - Cassian - and the others return from training. But before we move, I pause, cupping his jaw and brushing my thumb over his cheek. His eyes soften at the touch, the raw emotion there stealing my breath all over again.

“I love you,” I whisper, my voice unsteady but certain.

Azriel smiles—small, tender, perfect—and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “And I’ll spend every day proving how much I love you.”

“Shit,” I gasp, letting my forehead fall against Azriel’s broad shoulder as he takes control, his hands gripping my hips to guide me. The stretch of him inside me is almost overwhelming, his thick length filling me perfectly with each lift and drop of my spent body. My thighs tremble against his, the pleasure coiling tighter with every movement.

Azriel’s grip on me tightens, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin like he’s grounding himself in the sensation. A low growl rumbles in his chest, vibrating against me, and he leans in to capture my lips in a messy, desperate kiss. His free hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head back slightly, and the tug draws a moan from deep within me.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my lips, his breath ragged. “So good for me. ‘M not gonna last much longer.”

His teeth graze my neck, his lips trailing fire along my skin as I arch into him. The tension in my core builds impossibly tight, my body responding to every rough, deliberate movement.

“Azriel—” I whimper, my voice breaking as I clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into the hard muscle beneath. I bury my face in the curve of his neck, my cries muffled against his warm skin as the pleasure consumes me, my walls fluttering around him.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, his voice hoarse and full of need. “Just like that, my love. I’ve got you.”

He pulls me down harder, his hips snapping up to meet mine in a way that has me crying out, the sound raw and unrestrained. The coil within me snaps, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me shaking against him.

Azriel’s grip on me falters as he follows, his body shuddering beneath mine as he groans my name, the sound reverent and broken. His wings flare behind him, trembling with the force of his release, and he pulls me tightly against him as if he can’t bear to let me go.

We stay like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, our breaths mingling as we come down together. His fingers trace soothing patterns along my back, and when I finally lift my head to meet his gaze, the tenderness in his eyes steals what little air I have left.

“I love you,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to my temple.

“And I love you,” I reply, my voice soft but steady as I lean into his touch

Azriel's hands stay steady on my hips, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against my skin as he rocks me gently, helping me ride out the aftershocks. My body trembles with every shudder that rolls through me, but his touch anchors me.

The world outside feels so far away as we soak in each other's company, the warmth of his body against mine a cocoon of comfort. The worry of time melts away, replaced by the soft sound of our mingled breaths and the occasional hum of satisfaction from Azriel.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His wings flex behind him, their movement as natural as the rise and fall of his chest, as he draws me closer against him.

But the moment is shattered by the sudden creak of the door opening.

Azriel stiffens beneath me, his hands halting their movements as his head snaps toward the intruders. Before I can even process what’s happening, his massive wings unfurl and wrap around us both in one swift, protective motion, shielding my still-partially-naked body from view.

“Mother above,” comes Cassian’s deep, horrified voice, followed immediately by a bark of laughter he clearly can’t contain.

Rhysand’s amused chuckle follows. “Well, this wasn’t on my itinerary for the day.”

My face burns with embarrassment as I bury it against Azriel’s chest, groaning softly. “Azriel, kill me now,” I mutter, my voice muffled by his skin.

“Not a chance,” Azriel replies, his tone low and calming as his wings tighten their hold, creating an impenetrable barrier between us and the others. “Give us a moment, would you?”

“You didn’t lock the door?” Cassian’s voice is incredulous, his tone somewhere between disbelief and teasing anger.

“Cassian, shut up,” I snap, peeking out from Azriel’s chest just enough to glare in the general direction of my older brother, though his face is mercifully obscured by Azriel’s wings.

“Oh, come on,” Cassian says, exasperated. “You’re my sister, and you’re—you’re—”

“Happy,” Rhys interjects smoothly, his tone dripping with humour. “She’s happy, Cassian. Let them have their moment.”

Cassian grumbles something unintelligible, but I can hear his boots retreating, accompanied by Rhysand’s lighter steps.

“Five minutes,” Cassian calls over his shoulder. “And lock the door next time!”

When the door finally shuts, Azriel lets out a long breath, his wings loosening their hold slightly as he looks down at me.

“Well,” he says, his lips twitching as though he’s trying not to laugh. “That’s one way to start the day.”

I groan again, slumping against him. “I’m never going to live this down.”

Azriel’s laughter rumbles through his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll handle Cassian.”

His wings remain partially unfurled, a lingering shield against the world outside, as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze. “But right now, all I care about is you. My mate.”

And with that, he kisses me, his lips soft and reassuring, making the rest of the world fall away once more.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222 @illyriassweetheart

[j23r23]

That's my wife!

tangerine x wife reader

Waring: Violence and Fluff

BTW: Thank you @little-miss-dilf-lover for being my muse and making me write again 🍊🫶🏻🧡

Tangerine had never been one to keep his temper in check, especially when it came to you. The two of you had been in far worse situations, but today was different. The local police force had no idea who they were dealing with, and it didn’t help that they were handling you both like a pair of thugs.

The officer shoving you into the back of the police car had already crossed a line, his grip too tight, his attitude too arrogant and his hands touching you. But when the other one got rough with you, pushing you toward the vehicle with far more force than necessary and making you trip, something snapped in Tangerine.

“Oi, that’s my wife!” His voice cut through the commotion like a knife, fury lacing every word. Before anyone could react, he lunged forward, headbutting the cop who’d been forcing him into the car. The crack of bone against bone was unmistakable, and the officer staggered back, blood pouring from his nose.

Tangerine didn’t stop there. He turned with a wild intensity in his eyes, his curly hair disheveled, one strand falling across his forehead, giving him a feral look. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t do much, but that didn’t stop him. He barreled toward the cop who’d been rough with you, and with another fierce headbutt, sent him sprawling to the ground, clutching his face in pain.

Blood now dripped down Tangerine’s forehead, his hair a mess of curls and sweat. He sniffed, a drop of blood running down to his upper lip before he spit, his saliva tinged with red, at the cop writhing on the pavement. There was a terrifying calmness about him as he turned to you, the fiery rage melting into something softer, more tender.

“You alright, love?” he asked, his voice gentle, as if he hadn’t just taken down two cops with nothing but his head. His eyes searched yours, worry etched in every line of his face.

Before you could respond, the other officers started to move in, their shouts filling the air as they surrounded the two of you. But in that moment, all that mattered was Tangerine. Despite the chaos, despite the fact that your hands were cuffed behind your backs, you stepped closer to him. He leand in as close as he could, and you buried your face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his body on your cheek. His chin rested on top of your head, his breath coming in soft, reassuring huffs.

“I’m alright,” you murmured into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

His kissed the top of your head, as if reassuring himself that you were really there, that you were safe. You look up wanting to kiss away his worry.

Just as your lips were about to brush his, the moment shattered. Rough hands yanked you backward, pulling you away from Tangerine before you could taste his lips. The separation was brutal the world that had narrowed to just the two of you expanded back out into chaos.

His eyes widened in fury as you were torn apart from eachother, and before either of you could protest, a cop shoved him roughly toward a separate squad car.

“Tangerine!” you called out, your voice cracking with desperation as he was pulled away. But before his name fully left your lips, a hand clamped down on your arm, yanking you back so brutally it felt like your shoulder might tear from its socket.

The violent pull sent you stumbling, nearly crashing to the ground. The cop jerked you upright, twisting your arm more with such force that pain shot through your entire body.

"Get the fuck off of her!" Tangerine roared, thrashing against the officers holding him, as he tried to get back to you. But they were too many now, and even he couldn’t fight them all off with his hands cuffed. You struggled too, your heart pounding in your chest, the grip on your arms unyielding, forcing you further away from him.

The last thing you saw before they shoved you into the back of a squad car was Tangerine being kicked into another vehicle, his eyes locked on yours with a look that promised he wouldn’t stop fighting until he got back to you. But then the door slammed shut, cutting off your view. The cold metal of the cuffs dug into your wrists as the car pulled away, the flashing lights reflecting off the windows as the city streets blurred by.

Your mind was spinning, back to Tangerine. You could only imagine what he was going through in the other car, his fury probably pushing him to the brink. You hoped he wouldn’t do anything too reckless—though, knowing him, that was probably a lost cause.

When you finally arrived at the precinct, they dragged you out of the car, your shoulder aching from the rough treatment. You were led through the fluorescent-lit corridors, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The air thick with the scent of sweat and cheap coffee. The officers, still on edge from Tangerine’s outburst, were rough as they took your fingerprints, mugshot and your personal belongings.

They put you in a holding cell, the bars cold and unwelcoming as they locked you inside. As you paced the small space, minutes felt like hours as you waited, your heart thudding with every creak of the building around you.

Then, finally, you heard a familiar voice outside the cell.

“What the hell have you two gotten yourselves into this time?”

Lemon’s tone was half exasperated, half amused, though there was an underlying concern that warmed you just a bit. A moment later, the door swung open, and there he was, looking far too calm for someone about to bail his brother and sister-in-law out of jail. His bright yellow jacket stood out starkly against the drab surroundings, like a ray of misplaced sunshine.

Lemon's exasperation clear on his face as he surveyed the mess that was your situation. His eyes softened when they landed on you, taking in the bruises forming on your arms and wrists.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here,” he sighed, pulling some strings with the Sergeant and sliding a few bills across the counter.

“They’re releasing him now,” Lemon said as he guided you out of the cell. “You’re lucky I got here when I did. Tangerine was about to start a riot in his cell...”

You followed Lemon through the station, the tension in your chest easing with each step. When you reached the front desk, you saw Tangerine standing there, still cuffed but very much alive, a bandage hastily slapped across his forehead and his shirt stained with dried blood. His curls even more disheveled than before, but you’d never been happier to see him.

“Lemon, about time, mate,” Tangerine grumbled, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for later,” Lemon replied, rolling his eyes but clearly glad to see his brother in one piece. “You two are bloody hopeless, you know that?”

Tangerine ignored the jab. The moment his eyes met yours, his entire demeanor softened. He jerked his arms, clearly eager to get to you, but the officer behind the desk held onto his cuffs until the last possible second, as if hoping for one more reason to keep him locked up.

Finally, though, the metal restraints fell away, and Tangerine was free. He crossed the distance between you in a few quick strides. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms. He held you tight, like he’d never let go again, his lips brushing the top of your head in a silent promise.

“You alright?” he murmured, repeating the question he’d asked before everything went sideways.

“Now I am,” you whispered back, leaning into him as much as you could.

Lemon cleared his throat, making a show of looking anywhere but at the two of you. “Right, well, let’s get out of here before these idiots change their minds. We’ll deal with this mess later.”

With Lemon leading the way, you and Tangerine made your way out of the precinct, your fingers holding his as you walked side by side. As Tangerine pulled you closer, his arm slung protectively around your shoulders.

The cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, the city buzzing around you as if nothing had happened.

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

Chapter eleven

Summary: After a tense moment, you and Joel find the perfect moment to be alone, to clear the air—and, well, to explore other things too. It seems he enjoys teasing you. In other words—he cannot contain himself anymore. WC: 23.5k A/N: OKAY. WHAT. THIS IS LONG AF. I got sick and all i could do was THIS lol sorry!! I hope you like this part <3 LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK. Love u all!!! <3 Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notis!

The drive to the hospital was brief and quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel intentional but rather borne out of mutual focus. Joel’s hand rested on your knee, grounding you, though you could feel the tension in his grip—the only outward sign of his worry.

He relayed what Irina’s mom had told him. The girls were playing in the treehouse, lost in their own conversation, when a bee buzzed through the open window. Irina screamed, startling Sarah, who stepped back too close to the edge.

She fell—eight feet to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her unconscious for nearly a minute. Now she was awake, pale and shaken.

"She's okay," Joel said, his voice firm but tight. "They said it’s not as bad as it sounds."  

When you arrived at the hospital, Sarah was sitting up in a bed, a neck brace holding her small frame upright as a doctor shone a small light into her wide, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her lips trembling, her hands balled into nervous fists. She looked so much smaller than usual, her spirit diminished, and the sight of her like this made your chest tighten.  

The diagnosis was straightforward—a fractured humerus and a mild concussion. Nothing life-threatening, the doctor reassured Joel, though the fall had clearly terrified her. Maybe the worst part wasn’t the injury but the fear that lingered, thick and immobilizing.

Joel moved to her side without hesitation, scooping her up gently, pressing his lips against her temple, whispering reassurances you couldn’t quite make out. Sarah clung to him, her little fingers clutching his shirt, her face buried in his chest.

When he walked into the room, a wave of absolute relief washed over her—the kind only her dad could bring.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you now.” His voice cracked, but only slightly.

Irina’s mother waited just outside the room, wringing her hands, her face pale and guilt-stricken. The moment Joel had arrived, she’d apologized, over and over, her words tumbling out in a rush. He’d waved her off, his focus entirely on Sarah, but after seeing that she wasn’t in critical condition, his anger had softened into something closer to gratitude. He’d told her, gently but firmly, “It’s not your fault. These things happen.”

Later, after the doctor finished his evaluations and explained the treatment plan, you felt the tension in Joel’s shoulders ease, if only slightly. Painkillers, rest, home monitoring—nothing more. The doctor assured Joel that kids Sarah’s age were resilient. She’d bounce back faster than either of you expected.

“I’m happy you came with my dad,” Sarah said softly, her voice almost lost in the sterile hum of the hospital room. Joel had stepped out to handle the paperwork, leaving the two of you alone. She was nestled against the pillows, her small frame looking even more delicate against the stiff white sheets.

You reached out, your fingers brushing through her hair in gentle strokes.

“Of course I came, baby,” you said with a smile that you hoped looked relaxed, though you were still shaken from the chaos of the past two hours.

“Did he talk to you?” 

You nodded. “He did.”

“Cool,” she murmured, her head tilting against your chest when you pulled her closer. You were careful to avoid jostling her injured arm, adjusting her so gently it felt like you were holding glass. After a moment, she said, “Please tell me that now things will go back to the way they were.” Her voice cracked slightly, and you could hear the weight of the day pressing down on her. You knew this kind of vulnerability didn’t come easily to her, even as a child. 

Your chest tightened, the ache of guilt mixing with something softer, more protective.

“You have my word,” you said, your voice low but certain. “I promise you, no more ugly arguments.”

Sarah shifted, lifting her head to look at you with wide, serious eyes.

“You have to swear it,” she said, her tone firmer now, as if making sure you understood the gravity of her request.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Okay, well,” you began lightly, trying to ease her tension, “I’m not sure we’ll never argue again. That’s just being human, right? But I can promise you this: this horrible situation? The one we put you through? It’s over. No more of that. I swear.”

She squinted at you, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, her words carrying a hint of playfulness despite the exhaustion in her face.

“Well, fair enough,” you replied, grinning back at her.

It wasn’t long before Joel returned, his footsteps soft but calculated as he crossed the threshold. He looked calmer now, his shoulders looser, his face no longer drawn tight with worry. As he stepped beside you, his hand found the small of your back. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm and deliberate against your skin. It wasn’t much—a small gesture, fleeting—but it sent a ripple of nervous energy through you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Joel had always been like this—touching your back, your arms, your hands. He was naturally affectionate with you, even before… before everything had changed. But this was different. The way his thumb brushed softly against your skin wasn’t just a casual gesture. It was conscious, intimate, a quiet declaration. And it filled your stomach with that familiar, fluttering sensation, like you were a teenager on the cusp of her first real crush.

Sarah, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Her head rested heavily against your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she relaxed.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel. His eyes met yours, a quiet understanding passing between you.

Your cheeks burned, the flush creeping up your neck as you looked up at him with a shy smile you couldn’t quite suppress. It felt ridiculous—how bashful you’d become under his gaze, like a teenager unsteady in her own skin.

Joel tilted his head, his lips curling into a small, sideways smile. His eyes lingered on your face, clearly amused by your reaction. He thought it was adorable.

Then, his attention shifted. His gaze moved to Sarah, who was watching the exchange with an exaggerated grimace, her face scrunched in mock disapproval.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Joel asked, breaking the moment as he leaned down to gently touch the cast encasing her arm.

“I’m okay,” Sarah replied with a sigh, like she was already bored of the concern, pretending to be over it. “I just wanna go home.”

He nodded, the smile on his face tinged with relief, though his eyes still carried traces of the fear that had gripped him earlier.

The drive home was unhurried, the car bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Unlike the trip to the hospital, the tension was gone now, replaced by the sound of Sarah’s voice as she filled the car with a running commentary. From the backseat, she recounted everything about the day—the bee that had sent Irina into hysterics, the moment she’d felt herself fall, the brief confusion when she woke up.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, shaking her head with dramatic exasperation. “Like, nothing. I thought when people lost consciousness, they saw something, you know? Like a light, or maybe they dreamed.”

Joel turned in his seat slightly, glancing back at her with an amused expression.

“What did you want to see?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, shrugging. “God, maybe?”

You and Joel both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes easily after a day so heavy it felt like a release. Before either of you could respond, Sarah pivoted to a new topic with the abruptness only a child could manage.

“So, what, are you guys dating now or something?”

For a beat, the car went quiet—not because the question was particularly shocking, but because neither of you had an answer ready. You hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t put a name to what this was, not yet. 

Joel cleared his throat, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Hey, don’t be nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real reproach.

“I’m just asking,” she said, her voice rising defensively. “I mean, it’s obvious—”

“We haven’t discussed it yet,” you cut in, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Well, okay,” Sarah said, sitting back as if satisfied with your answer. “I get it.”

When you arrived home, Cassie didn’t waste a second. She practically flew out the door to greet Sarah, her face lighting up as soon as she saw her. You’d let her know you were at the hospital, keeping it brief, and mentioned you’d left a key under the flower pot—an old trick, a bit worn but reliable. And of course, it had worked.

Sarah's excitement was palpable, and she wasted no time making her promise to have a girls' sleepover. Cassie, grinning at the enthusiasm, agreed immediately, her eyes sparkling with the same energy.

“Tonight!” Sarah added, grinning from ear to ear.

Joel, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the door, intervened gently.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest tonight, okay?” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of concern, his protective instincts still sharp from the scare earlier. “We can do the sleepover another day, when you’re feeling better.”

Sarah looked at him for a moment, her excitement deflating just slightly. After a beat, she nodded, understanding but not entirely satisfied. She still wanted the sleepover—tonight—but she accepted it.

It didn’t take long before she was curled up on the couch, almost swallowed by the cushions. The rhythmic sound of her breathing filled the quiet house, a sound that seemed too calm after the chaos of the day. Joel stayed close, his eyes flicking to her every few minutes, still watching with that careful, uneasy vigilance. You could see it in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze didn’t quite relax, even as Sarah slept peacefully.

Cassie stayed with you for a while, chatting quietly, though it didn’t take long before she stood, stretching and yawning.

“I’m so tired,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna shower and then just collapse in bed.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar warmth of her presence slowly fading as she moved toward the door. But before she left, she winked at you, a playful spark in her eye. You watched her go, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation as the door clicked shut behind her.

Minutes later, your phone vibrated on the counter. You picked it up, unlocking the screen to find a message from Cassie:

“You have to tell me  E V E R Y T H I N G”

It was frantic, a burst of energy that made you smile despite yourself.

You quickly typed back, promising her you’d share everything as soon as you could. Her reply came in a rush, the excitement practically jumping off the screen:

“Oh yeah don’t worry, are u kidding? stay with him. Tomorrow tho... all the damn details"

You were halfway down the stairs when you saw him stir from the couch. His broad frame moved toward you with that purposeful stride, his hand gesturing toward the kitchen, a silent invitation to follow.  

“Are you hungry?” Joel’s voice was low, but it carried the kind of warmth you had come to associate with him, his eyes already scanning the fridge as he opened it, ducking his head to peek inside.  

You approached him slowly, moving toward the counter and leaning back against it, your hands resting lightly on your lower back. You turned slightly to look at him, the cool, soft light from the refrigerator casting a glow on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his profile. The fatigue was evident in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze drifted without quite focusing, as though the day had worn him down more than he cared to admit.  

“Yeah, what do you wanna eat?” you asked, peeling yourself off the counter, sliding to stand beside him, your body instinctively wanting to close the distance between you.  

“I dunno,” he muttered, his eyes gliding over the sparse contents of the fridge. Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “But I could eat a horse right now.”  

You laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll order something. What are you craving?”  

He closed his eyes then, letting his head tilt back slightly as if he were savoring the very idea of the meal.

“Pizza. Full of melted cheese.”

You took care of the order with quick, efficient ease, dialing the number and rattling off the specifics in less than two minutes. Two large pizzas—one with extra cheese and pepperoni, the other with extra cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and olives.

When the call ended, you placed your phone on the counter with a soft click, leaning back once again, your hands casually resting on your hips. Joel was angled across from you, his side against the fridge, arms crossed. The position made his biceps look even larger, emphasizing his strength in a way that was almost too natural. He had taken off his shirt earlier, and now only a thin, faded t-shirt clung to his torso, the smooth expanse of his skin exposed and catching the soft light of the kitchen.  

He was watching you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, a playful smile tugging at his lips, as if there were something he knew that you didn’t.  

You couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks as you met his gaze.  

“What?” you asked softly, unable to hide the slight flush that had taken over your face.

He blinked slowly, his gaze flicking down the length of your body before rising back up, a playful, flirtatious glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile wider, feeling the shift in the air between you two.

“You and I have some things to discuss,” he said finally.

“That’s true,” you replied, your voice quieter, teasing. You tilted your head to mirror his posture, a slow, deliberate movement. Your eyes skimmed down his body, the briefest of pauses at his chest before they lifted again, traveling up to his lips, lingering for a moment too long before meeting his gaze once more.  

A soft pink flush spread over his neck and cheeks, the hint of a blush creeping up as he caught your gaze. The sight made something inside you flutter, and you had to fight to keep your chuckle at bay, knowing the effect you were having on him. It was silly—almost too easy—but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying this.  

“What's up, Miller?” you asked, stepping away from the counter. Your voice was laced with amusement, but you made sure to keep the playful edge intact, your posture still flirtatious, just enough to draw him in.  

When you were only inches from him, you reached out, resting your hands lightly on his broad shoulders. The moment your skin touched him, you fought the instinct to pull back, to mask the undeniable warmth that his presence stirred inside you. You tried to maintain your composure, to not let him see how his steady gaze and quiet intensity were making your heart race.  

Joel remained still, his eyes locked on yours, silent for a moment longer than you expected. There was amusement in his eyes, but it was tempered by a subtle nervousness. His breath was slow, measured, as if he were trying to read you, to figure out what came next in this strange little dance you were both playing.

It felt almost absurd to him, this moment. He was a grown man, someone who had known you for years, yet here you were—standing so close, your hands resting on him, that look in your eyes. It should’ve been ordinary, shouldn’t it? But instead, it unraveled something in him, leaving him completely unsettled, as if every instinct in his body was suddenly awake and alive in a way he hadn’t expected.  

His arms moved, almost instinctively, and before you could adjust to the sudden shift, he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer. It was a subtle change in the balance, a quiet power shift that took a little of the control from your hands and placed it in his.  

His hands didn’t stop there, though. They trailed up your back, fingers brushing the soft fabric of your shirt, but the touch was different now. It wasn’t just playful or teasing—it was tender, gentle, full of something deeper than either of you had allowed to surface before. The playful, mischievous grin that had been on his face moments earlier melted into something softer.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.” His hand moved behind your back, threading through your hair, and he tugged a lock gently, pulling it upward until his fingers rested at the nape of your neck. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”  

The words hit you like a wave, and you could feel your face warm, the rush of heat spreading across your skin. You looked away, your gaze dropping to his chest, as if the weight of his compliment was too much to bear.  

“Joel…” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, nerves creeping into your tone.  

He noticed immediately, his smile deepening with that familiar amusement.

“What? Do I make you nervous?” His laughter came softly, a rumbling sound that made your heart skip, as if it resonated deep within you. It vibrated beneath your hand on his chest.

“You don’t have to say all that!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You lifted your eyes to look at him, only to find that familiar teasing glint in his gaze. “You’re just trying to make me nervous on purpose.”  

“No, of course I’m not,” he replied, his voice laced with sincerity, though there was a glimmer of something mischievous behind his words. He pulled you even closer then, wrapping his arms fully around your waist, his face sinking into the crook of your neck as if he couldn’t quite get close enough. "I’ve always felt that way about you. It’s just... now I can finally say it."

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, and it made your pulse race.  

“And I like making you nervous too,” he murmured, his voice husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “God, you smell so good.”

You smiled to yourself, a soft, satisfied curve of your lips. Of course you smelled good. The coconut and vanilla blend Cassie had gifted you worked its magic, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful. You made a silent promise to thank her later for that little touch of indulgence.

“I know,” you whispered. The smile stayed on your lips, unshakable, as your hands moved instinctively to his neck, pulling him closer in a gentle embrace.

“Mhm,” Joel murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin before he kissed your cheek, a fleeting, tender gesture. He followed it with a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “Be careful what you say to me, I might just eat you.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Joel’s laughter rumbled through him, his throat vibrating with it.

“A premonition."

You grinned, your heart racing with a mix of affection and excitement, as you stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, and your lips met his with a quiet urgency. His hands found their way to the nape of your neck, fingers tightening in your hair as he gently pulled your head back, kissing you deeper, as if savoring every moment of the intimacy between you. 

You smiled against the kiss, and Joel pulled back, his eyes still warm, a playful gleam in them. 

“Does this mean you like me?” he jokingly asked.

It used to be that when you saw couples lost in their own little worlds, giggling and staring at each other like idiots, you felt embarrassed. How could they look so ridiculous, so wrapped up in each other? You’d watch them with something like amusement, maybe even mild distaste.

But here you were now, caught in the same web—completely, utterly lost in each other. And somehow, it didn’t seem silly at all. It felt so good.

You laughed softly, the sound escaping you more freely than you expected.

"Yeah, I like you."

Joel’s eyes softened, a warm, tender look settling there as he nodded, a quiet satisfaction in his expression.

“Great. You’ve never told me that before. I like it.”

“What, that I like you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Joel. I like you," you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. "I have the world’s biggest crush on you. You’re very hot, and I think you're amazing.” You paused then, realizing that no matter how lighthearted you sounded, you’d never quite said those words aloud. They felt heavier now, more real, and your chest fluttered slightly. "But don't let your ego get any bigger, okay?" You reached up to gently pinch his cheek, a teasing gesture, but the warmth in your touch was unmistakable.

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching into that familiar grin, but there was something a little softer about it now, something more assured.

“Like that’s even possible. I think you and Sarah do a pretty good job of keeping me humble.”

“Oh, Sarah keeps us all humble."

“True,” he agreed with a laugh. His hands found their way to your waist, gentle yet steady, and he squeezed the soft skin there. "Thank you for being with me today."

You met his gaze, your smile softening into something more serious, the air between you suddenly quieter, more sincere.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Even if things are bad between us, you can always count on me, Joel. I would never leave you alone during times like today.” 

“I know,” Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked away for a moment, as if sorting through his feelings. “But still, thank you. I got really scared today. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.” His voice lowered slightly, the vulnerability in it clear. “And she’s growing up so fast. It’s hard to accept sometimes.”

You could hear the tenderness in his words, the quiet ache of a father watching his daughter change before his eyes. You nodded sympathetically, your lips curving into a soft, understanding smile.

“Yeah, but she’s such a smart kid. So capable. Sometimes she surprises me with the things she says.”

Joel furrowed his brows slightly, the familiar glint of pride in his eyes as he spoke again.

"This morning, she gave me this whole talk about how I had to accept that she’s growing up, that I had to let go of her a little at a time—like she was preparing me for something, even though, honestly, it was all just a strategy to leave me alone for the entire day." He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "She had a plan."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “A plan?” 

Joel let out a short, affectionate sigh and looked away for a moment, as though recalling the whole scene. 

“Yeah. She was planning on going to Irina’s to sleep over so she could get me to leave her alone all day and force me to talk to you. She heard everything Travis told me this morning, and was pretty clear about what she wanted. But I told her she had to come back for dinner.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You should’ve listened to her. She really knows how to manipulate me.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to tell me anything. She’s been working the same magic on me too.”

Joel’s smile grew wider at that, his face lighting up. Then, he cocked his head to the side, his gaze teasing but warm.

“Oh, yeah?” 

You raised an eyebrow, unable to ignore the mischievous glint in Joel’s eyes. It was a look you had come to recognize, the one that meant he was up to something—something just a little bit dangerous, and entirely charming.

“Again with that sly look, Miller. What do you really want to ask me?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion.

Joel’s smile widened briefly before his head turned instinctively toward the living room, drawn by the faint sound of a small sneeze. When he looked back at you, his expression had softened into something tender, almost boyish. Without thinking, you mirrored his smile and took a step back, creating a sliver of space between you.

Just as you turned toward the sink, intending to get a glass of water, his hand closed gently around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sparked something electric under your skin, a slow, thrilling hum that coursed through you. Before you could fully process it—before you could form a word—Joel leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft but searing, a kiss that left no room for breath, only for the way his lips fit against yours.

“I’ll check on her, okay?” he murmured when he pulled back, his voice low and rasping.

You nodded, your lips still curved into a smile you hadn’t realized you were wearing.

Half an hour later, the three of you were gathered around the kitchen table, devouring slices of pizza that were too hot but too good to wait for. When Joel had stepped into the living room earlier, Sarah had been awake, though she kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep in a way that was almost convincing. Joel hadn’t pressed her about it—he suspected she’d overheard at least some of the conversation in the kitchen—but he let it slide. Instead, he scooped her up in his arms, and it didn’t take much to coax her awake once the promise of food filled the room.

Now, she sat cross-legged in her chair, a slice of pizza balanced in one hand. Her gaze flicked to the red-and-white logo on the pizza box—an old-timey man with a twirled mustache and a tall hat, forever winking.

“I wish Cassie stayed for dinner,” Sarah said between bites, her words slightly muffled. “How long is she going to be here?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” you replied, trying to hide your smile as Joel, across from you, stuffed nearly half a slice into his mouth in one bite. “But I have a feeling she’s not leaving anytime soon.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “When can I have a sleepover with you?”

“When you’re feeling better,” you answered, leaning forward like you were letting her in on a secret. “Then we’ll have a proper recovery night—movies, treats, the works.”

“I feel better already,” she said, grinning wide enough that her eyes disappeared behind her cheeks.

Joel, now holding a glass of water, raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe next weekend,” he offered cautiously, glancing at you for confirmation. “If you’re up for it.”

“Out of the question,” you replied, feigning seriousness. “I’m in desperate need of a girls’ night.”

Joel chuckled softly. His eyes found yours, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.

From her seat, Sarah cleared her throat dramatically.

“Uh-huh. Girls’ night,” she said, shooting Joel a pointed look. “No boys allowed.”

Joel snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“My own daughter,” he muttered, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

You laughed, your hand brushing against the edge of the table as Sarah’s expression shifted suddenly, as if struck by inspiration.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Can we have dinner together tomorrow? Like, a barbecue? Dad hasn’t grilled in ages. We could celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?” Joel asked, his brow furrowing.

“Everything,” Sarah replied, as if it were obvious. “Cassie being in Austin, me not being dead, and you two finally stopping the whole... whatever that was.” 

You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together. 

Joel shook his head, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“It’s not funny,” he said, looking pointedly at Sarah, though his voice had softened. “You scared the shit outta me, kid.”

Sarah just smiled, unfazed. “Good thing I’m still here, then. Right?”

Joel sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. 

*

After two more slices of pizza and a handful of pointed remarks—most of them carefully aimed at her father—Sarah stretched dramatically and announced she was heading to bed. Joel stood, ever dutiful, to walk her to her room. You stayed behind, gathering plates and wiping down the counters, feeling the quiet settle over the house like a warm, familiar blanket.

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, the living room was dim and still. You sank into the couch, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Without thinking, your fingers opened the chat with Cassie, like muscle memory.

Everything’s okay. Sarah’s feeling sooo much better. Already asleep, she was really tired. She was happy, though—said tomorrow she wants us all to have dinner together, you included.

You paused, re-reading the message, realizing too late that you were smiling.

Cassie’s reply came almost instantly.

I’d love to!

By the way...

How are things going with Joel? 👀

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. What were you even supposed to say? You started typing, then erased the words, then typed again.

All good🫶💕 we haven’t really had time alone yet tho

There’s still... stuff we need to talk about.

You hesitated over “stuff” but left it there. It felt vague enough to be safe.

Cassie’s response was exactly what you’d expected:

Boring.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Love you.

You snorted, shaking your head.

??

What do u mean?

Love you too!!!

"That girl is out cold," Joel said, walking into the room with a soft, almost amused smile that seemed to smooth the worry lines on his face. "I was talking to her, and when I turned around, she was completely knocked out. You think I should wake her?"

You set your phone down on the coffee table, tilting your head at him.

"Wake her up? Why?"

"You know, because of the contusion." He dropped onto the couch next to you, his knee brushing lightly against yours as he leaned forward, frowning in thought. "Do you think we should be worried?"

"I don’t think so. Her scans came back fine, remember? And the doctor said not to stress. She was in good spirits, don’t you think?"

"She was," Joel murmured, almost to himself, leaning back into the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest, just behind your head. "Before she fell asleep, she told me she had a lot of fun today."

You laughed, short and surprised, a sound that made Joel’s gaze flicker to your mouth and linger there for a moment too long.

"She said that?" you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, private smile.

"I was really scared today," you admitted, your voice quieter now as you shifted closer. "How many emotions can a person go through in two minutes? Because it felt like I was on a roller coaster or something. You Millers are going to drive me completely insane."

"Sorry," Joel said, his smile softening into something almost sheepish. His hand found your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently, as if to anchor you both. The touch felt warm, familiar, unspoken reassurance. "I promise you, on behalf of both of us, we’ll calm down. But I can’t make too many promises for Sarah. She’s a wild card."

You let out a small laugh, your head tipping onto his shoulder. His scent—faint soap, a hint of cedar—wrapped around you.

"I love her, and I like how quick she is, how clever."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice low and warm. 

The flickering light from the television bathed both your faces in soft, uneven glows. An old episode of The Sopranos played in the background. It was just noise, a placeholder for words that neither of you had spoken yet.

Your eyes burned from exhaustion, the weight of the day settling into your body, but the sensation vanished in an instant when Joel’s hand shifted on your thigh. He squeezed gently—not enough to hurt, but enough to wake you up in a different way. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just a subconscious movement. Then he did it again.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “How are you feeling? About today... about us?”

The tenderness in his tone made something in your chest soften. You moved your hand, placing it over his and threading your fingers through his. A small smile tugged at your lips, one you didn’t let him see. There was something endearing—almost vulnerable—about the way he spoke, as though the words themselves were fragile.

“I feel happy,” you said, your voice light and firm. “Calm, finally. I missed you so much.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching your face. When you met his gaze, the intensity in his expression made your breath catch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words heavy with regret. “I promise I’ll be better.”

Before you even realized it, your hand had lifted to his face. Your fingers brushed against the rough scruff of his cheek, a tender gesture he loved. His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of pain there, the kind that came from knowing an apology could never fully undo the hurt. It was as if he didn’t believe he deserved your forgiveness—or your touch—but he was desperate for both.

Your thumb brushed over his lips. Then, closing the distance, you pressed your mouth to his.

Joel responded instantly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. His touch was firm but gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. The kiss deepened, his lips warm against yours, but it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough.

His other hand slid up to your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. Still, he wanted more—needed more. The taste of you, the feel of you, was intoxicating, and the quiet hunger in his movements made it clear that no amount of closeness would ever feel like enough.

Joel moved swiftly, shifting down the length of the couch and pulling you on top of him in one seamless motion. His arms wrapped tightly around you, grounding you in his hold as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The suddenness of it made you let out a small, breathy whimper, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. You leaned back just enough to adjust, settling against him more comfortably.  

He rolled onto his side, bringing his face so close to yours that your breaths mingled in the small space between. His eyes, bright but laced with exhaustion, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He smiled then, a soft, unguarded smile that revealed those dimples on either side of his mouth, the ones that never failed to make your heart flutter. He was so achingly beautiful it felt almost unfair.  

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to one cheek, right over a dimple, then the other. The affection in the gestures made his eyes soften even further. Finally, your lips found his.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmured. Your fingers toyed with the curls at the side of his head while your other hand rested on his chest, tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his shirt. “And I forgive you. You don’t have to keep apologizing to me—I don’t want you to feel like you need to.”  

“I’m sorry, I—ah, shit, I really am,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Fuck."

“Oh my God,” you laughed, biting your bottom lip to stifle the sound.

His lips quirked into a grin, and his voice softened.

“I love you too, sunshine.”  

Your heart swelled at the nickname, and you nodded gently.

“That’s the way I like it,” you teased, clicking your tongue playfully. “Now, I know you’re sorry. But instead of saying it all the time, just show me, okay? Before anything else, we’re best friends. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything all the time—you’re an adult, and you’re entitled to have things that are just yours and—”  

Joel shook his head, his expression growing serious as he interrupted,

“No. I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’ve always known everything about me. The Sienna thing...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing under your touch as his voice dipped lower. “That was a one-time situation. And I swear, it’ll never happen again with anything. It was... it was bad. I know that. But it’s over. It’s done.”  

You studied him for a moment, his face so open, so earnest, and you could feel the weight of his words. You let your thumb stroke over the crease in his brow, smoothing it away as a small, knowing smile crept onto your lips.  

“It won’t happen again? What’s that supposed to mean—are you giving up on dating altogether, Joel?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going celibate now?”

He stifled a laugh, the sound low and warm in his chest.

“It’s not that, no. I actually think I’m looking for something serious now.”

“Something serious?” you repeated, your tone dripping with mock skepticism.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” you asked, tilting your head as your fingers idly traced down the curve of his neck. “I always thought you were more of a lone wolf.”

“Not at all. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want.”

“Well, since you mention it,” you said, grinning slyly, “I think I might have someone for you. You’re going to love her.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

You leaned closer, feigning a conspiratorial tone.

“It’s kind of like fate, actually. I was on my phone earlier, and this Facebook post came up. I couldn’t believe it—it was Brianna! I thought; ¡No way! And now here you are, saying this. It’s fucking perfect.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head as he laughed.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m warning you, though,” you continued, straight-faced. “She’s married. You’ll have to sneak around. Climbing out windows, that sort of thing. Although, judging by the sounds your knees make, I wouldn’t recommend it. Doesn���t seem safe.”

“Oh, she was crazy about me,” Joel interjected, cutting through your playful monologue with a smug grin. He leaned back, his expression exaggeratedly self-satisfied. “Couldn’t get enough of me. Always on top of me.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your mouth falling open in mock disbelief.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, his grin widening, clearly enjoying your reaction. “My knees are just fine, by the way. Not a problem.”

You squinted at him, shaking your head.

“I never pictured you as the type to get involved in an affair, Miller.”

“Neither did I,” he said with a casual shrug. “But this is Brianna we’re talking about, I mean.”

You shook your head, narrowing your eyes at him, and said with mock seriousness, “Okay. That’s it. I’m done.” You started to shift away, pretending to leave, but he was faster.

Joel wasn’t having it. With a laugh, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back against him in one smooth motion, laying you flat on your back, over his chest. His mouth found the spot between your neck and shoulder, leaving playful kisses that sent shivers up your spine and made you squirm.

“Come on,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of amusement. “We’re too old for this shit.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to tease you.

“Speak for yourself. My knees don’t pop.”  

Joel let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Shut up.” 

For a while, neither of you said anything more. The air between you thickened, the silence soft and heavy. Joel stayed close, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, the curve of your jaw, trailing to your shoulder with a deliberate slowness. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hand at your waist. And, though you tried not to focus on it, the unmistakable pressure of him, half-hard, pressing against you.  

“I'm serious,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the quiet but holding onto its gentleness. “I want to be with you. Only with you.”  

His words hung in the air, sinking into you like a weight you hadn’t realized you were craving. Your smile came unbidden, immediate and impossible to suppress.  

Joel didn’t stop. His mouth pressed lightly to your shoulder as he continued, his voice low, like he was confessing something secret.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve already been without you, and I don’t ever want to feel that again. And I know what it’s like to just be your friend, and yeah, I fuckin' love that too—but it’s not enough. I want everything.”  

Your heart swelled in your chest, so full it almost hurt.

“Me too.” 

Joel stilled for a moment, his breath hitching.

“Yeah?” 

You reached down and placed your hands over his where they rested on your waist. Your fingers laced together, holding on tightly, grounding him in your touch.

“Yes,” you whispered.  

The smile that broke across Joel’s face was something you didn’t want to forget. You wanted to hold onto it, to remember the exact way his features softened, the exact way his dimples deepened.  

Without thinking, you shifted, turning to face him in one fluid motion. His smile lingered, and you leaned closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of him.

“What are we, Joel?” you teased, your voice light, your grin playful as your hand slipped under his shirt. Your palm brushed against the firm plane of his stomach, and you felt the way his muscles tensed at the contact. You would never get tired of this: the feeling of his skin under your touch, the way his body responded to you so effortlessly.  

You fucking loved it.

*

Saturday. That morning, it was official.

You woke up on the couch, wrapped in your boyfriend's arms, his warmth anchoring you to the quiet serenity of the moment. At some point in the night, after he’d pulled you close and draped the blanket over both of you, sleep had claimed you effortlessly. The faint memory of his steady breathing and the way his hand had rested protectively on your hip lingered as you stirred awake.

Sarah had slept in, leaving the two of you to share a rare moment of solitude. The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, the air carrying the faint hum of the world outside through the open window. There was something about mornings like this—unhurried, gentle—that reminded you of the way things used to be, before everything got complicated. That harmony, that unspoken ease, had found its way back to you.

Joel sat beside you, his coffee cup in one hand, the other resting casually on your leg. His fingers pressed into your skin with a gentle familiarity, an unconscious gesture that felt like it belonged exactly where it was. His hair was damp from the shower he’d just taken, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

And it was too much.

Something wild stirred inside you, something uncontainable that you weren’t sure you could keep from surfacing much longer.

The first moment you saw him come down the stairs, you’d nearly choked on your breath. The way the T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the way the soft fabric of his sweatpants hung low on his hips, hinting at every solid line of his body—it was maddening.

You felt like a feral animal, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him.

It didn’t matter what Joel was saying—something about the weather, or the coffee, or maybe asking if you wanted more toast. His words barely registered because your attention was completely hijacked by him.

The way his lips moved when he spoke. The subtle flex of his biceps every time he reached up to open a cabinet. The way his fingers curled around the handle of his mug, big and thick, and how your mind betrayed you, fixating on how those fingers would feel on you.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat as he turned to look at you mid-sentence, a faint smile playing on his lips. You were convinced he could see the heat rising in your cheeks, feel the way your gaze lingered too long.

And still, you didn’t care.

“Tommy’s coming today,” Joel said, his voice pulling you out of the increasingly vivid direction your thoughts had taken. You blinked, focusing on his face as he glanced at you with an amused smile that suggested he had some idea where your mind had been. “I texted him a while ago, after I got out of the shower.”

You nodded, barely processing his words because now you were thinking about him in the shower. Water sliding over his broad shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he reached for the soap, how the steam would cling to his skin.

“He seemed excited when I told him Cassie was in Austin,” Joel continued, his casual tone slicing through the haze in your mind.

You rolled your eyes, trying to refocus.

“Sure,” you said, shaking your head to clear it. “Did you even know our relationship was a frequent topic of conversation for the two of them?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his face settling into a thoughtful expression, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said with a grin. “Apparently, they talked all the time about which one of us would make the first move. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if there was a bet involved at some point.”

Joel’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“Well,” he said, his voice teasing, “I guess we’ll find out today. If I see any suspicious money changing hands, I’ll let you know right away.”

You let out a soft, involuntary laugh as you rose from your chair, coffee cup in hand, and the sound of it lingered in the air as you crossed the room toward the sink. The familiar weight of the mug, still faintly warm from the coffee, felt grounding against your palm. You turned the faucet on, the hum of water filling the quiet kitchen as your movements shifted into the mindless rhythm of washing the cup.

“Hey, leave that,” Joel���s voice interrupted from behind.

You turned your head just as he came up beside you, his own mug in hand. It was only half-full, a dark swirl of coffee still clinging to the sides, but he set it down on the counter without much thought. His eyes, however, stayed on you.

“Come here,” he murmured, his hands already reaching for your hips.

The gesture was fluid, practiced even though this—all of this—was still so new. He guided you around, one swift, calculated motion that left you pressed between the solid counter behind you and the even more solid presence of him in front of you.

His hands didn’t leave you, palms settling firmly against your sides as if to anchor you, or maybe to ground himself. He leaned in, close enough that you felt his breath skim your skin. You caught your own breath, felt it catch somewhere in your throat, an almost embarrassing giveaway of how much his nearness affected you.

Your cheeks warmed—no, burned, really—and you knew he could see it, the flush creeping over your neck and jaw like a slow tide. At the same time, your eyelids dipped, your gaze meeting his with a softness that you couldn’t hide, no matter how much you might have wanted to. Honeyed, you thought vaguely, the way your eyes must look now, like you’d been caught in some dreamy, sunlit haze.

This was the part you hadn’t yet gotten used to: the closeness, the unapologetic intimacy. And the desire. Unfiltered, unrestrained, and so startlingly mutual. You’d spent so long wanting him from a distance that now, having the freedom to act on it, felt almost dizzying.

If you wanted to kiss him, you could. If you wanted to trace your fingers over the line of his jaw, you could. There was nothing in the way now, no reason not to. The knowledge settled deep in your chest, warm and thrilling, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Joel’s gaze flickered, like he caught the thought behind the curve of your lips. What would he say if he knew the places your mind had wandered since the moment you saw him that morning? If he knew that this—his closeness, his hands on you—was exactly where your thoughts had been circling all day?

Would it undo him the way it was undoing you?

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand drifted to rest lightly on his abdomen, the firm warmth of him radiating beneath your palm. Slowly, your fingers began to move downward, the motion unhurried. “I really like these sweatpants,” you added, the corners of your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, though his pupils were already wide, his dark eyes fixed intently on yours.

“Mmm?” he hummed, the sound low and almost distracted. His attention shifted as your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband of his pants, teasing the elastic of his underwear.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice softer now, as though the moment demanded a certain quietness. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his—once, quickly, the briefest of kisses that left him chasing after your mouth when you pulled away. His lips parted, his breath warm against yours, as if drawn to you by some invisible force he couldn’t resist.

“And I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, actually,” you added.

“What things?” he asked, his voice rougher now, as though the words had caught in his throat. He bent his head, his mouth finding the soft curve of your neck. The kiss he placed there was gentle but deliberate, lips brushing the delicate skin just over your pulse. You felt the rush of your blood beneath his mouth, the heat spreading outward, your legs suddenly unsteady beneath you.

You closed your eyes and instinctively gripped his shoulders, your fingers curling against the firm breadth of them. He was solid, grounding you as much as he was unraveling you. Joel’s body pressed harder against yours, the cool edge of the counter biting into your back in sharp contrast to the heat of him in front of you. 

Warm, firm and hard.

“What things, baby?” he asked again, his voice dropping lower, his breath warm against the line of your jaw as he kissed his way upward.

Your hand slid up to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, unruly curls there. You tugged lightly, and the sensation drew a quiet sound from him, a low, satisfied hum that sent a thrill through you.

A soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips as one of his hands moved down, his palm gliding over your thigh before curving firmly around you. His fingers squeezed, hard, his grip grounding yet electric all at once.

You couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across your face. Tilting your head back slightly, you let the moment linger, savoring the way his hands fit against you, the heat and weight of him pinning you there.

“You’re impatient,” you murmured, your voice laced with a quiet tease as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“I’m impatient?” Joel echoed, his tone almost incredulous, though the rough edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Yes.” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering with mischief, a playful challenge. For half a second, the two of you hung in that charged space, your words hanging between you like a dare.

And then his mouth was on yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no half-measure. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back until now. One of his hands stayed where it was, firmly gripping you, while the other slid upward, his fingers finding the back of your neck.

He tugged gently at your hair, the movement tilting your head back, giving him better access to you. You let him, the sensation sending a fresh rush of heat through you, the tension unraveling in slow waves as he kissed you.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped you, muffled against his lips, the sound reverberating through him as though it had been made for him alone. His tongue brushed against yours, savoring your mouth, a careful yet desperate dance, and the juxtaposition of tenderness and urgency sent a shiver down your spine.

Something inside you shifted, a spark igniting into a flame. Your breath caught sharply, your chest rising and falling as if trying to keep up with the intensity. Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, the strands thick and soft beneath your fingertips. You held him there, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Joel broke the kiss, his breath coming in uneven bursts as his lips found the side of your neck, pressing there for just a heartbeat before reclaiming your mouth. The brief reprieve only heightened your awareness of him, the way his presence seemed to surround you completely.

His hand drifted down, fingers trailing along your side before settling firmly on your thigh. With a quiet motion, he lifted it, shifting your weight so that your leg hooked over his hip. The movement pressed your bodies together more intimately, and the sensation was so overwhelming, almost too much; his cock pressing hard against your core through the fabric.

Your hands roamed restlessly, sliding over his head, down the strong column of his neck, and across his broad shoulders. Every touch was filled with a kind of desperate, unspoken need, your fingers tracing him as though you were trying to commit every detail to memory.

Joel’s hand left your thigh, his palm gliding upward to rest against your throat. He didn’t grip, didn’t press—just let his thumb stroke gently over the soft skin there, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

“Um,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless, tinged with the smallest hint of humor. His mouth lingered for a moment longer, kissing you softly, reluctantly, as if he were trying to savor the last taste of you. Then, inch by inch, he began to pull back, his forehead resting against yours briefly before he looked at you.

“We’d better get started on our day, don’t ya think?” he asked, his tone casual in a way that made you almost laugh if you weren’t so undone. “We’ve got a lot of things to do.”

Before you could answer—before you could even process the sudden shift—he stepped back, the warmth of his body disappearing so abruptly it left you cold. The space he left felt vast, too vast.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath still catching in your chest, your body still humming with the ghost of his touch. The abruptness of it all felt almost unfair, like you’d been woken from a dream before the best part. And yet, you couldn’t help but watch him, trying to make sense of the way he could pull you apart and put you back together all at once.

Joel moved to the table with a casual ease, gathering the empty crystal glasses in his hands. His movements were natural, almost unremarkable, but there was something in the simplicity of the act that made your breath hitch. You stayed where you were, your hands braced against the counter, the smooth surface cool beneath your palms. You felt anchored there, as though moving might break the tension crackling in the air.

Your gaze followed him. Confusion fluttered in your chest—at him, at yourself, at the pull between you that seemed impossible to ignore. Your breathing was uneven, and your eyes betrayed you, shimmering with the kind of spark you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to.

When Joel returned, he set the glasses down beside you, the faint clink of crystal meeting counter slicing through the charged silence. He didn’t touch you, not even the briefest brush of fingers, but his presence was almost unbearable, heavy. And then there was his expression—the look in his eyes, the slight quirk of his mouth.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. That was clear. And yes, he was hard. So fucking hard it was almost obscene. He’d done it on purpose.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. You straightened, peeling yourself away from the counter’s edge, and turned toward the table to retrieve your phone. “That’s right. I need to see Cass.”

When you turned back, Joel was leaning against the archway that framed the kitchen. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. He looked at you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his eyes sweeping over you slowly. The grin that tugged at his lips was mischievous, infuriatingly so, as though he knew exactly how he was affecting you.

“Say hi to Sarah for me, okay?” you said, trying to sound casual as you stepped toward him. “I’ll be back later.”

When you reached him, you leaned in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips—simple, restrained. But as Joel bent slightly to meet you, your hand moved without thinking. Your fingers found him, cupping him firmly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, your fingers squeezing him with just the right strenght.

The groan that escaped him was immediate, low and guttural, and it sent a thrill through you. His lips parted, a quiet, breathless chuckle slipping out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

You smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you released him. Stepping back, you moved toward the door.

“So impatient,” you said over your shoulder.

*

After you had spilled everything to Cassie—every detail, every moment—you slipped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you like a protective veil. The rhythmic pounding of the water filled the small space, drowning out the noise in your head, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Inevitably, they drifted back to Joel. They always did.

You moved your hands over your body absentmindedly, lathering the soap and rinsing it away, but it was him you were thinking about, him you were feeling. As you ran your fingers along your skin, you imagined his hands in their place—strong, deliberate, exploring every curve, every soft part of you. The thought was maddening, the memory of his touch etched so deeply into you that even the water couldn’t wash it away.

Each stroke of the loofah became a stand-in for him, for the way his fingers would trace your skin, lingering in ways that made you shiver. Your body felt like a live wire, humming with an energy you couldn’t contain. Desire coiled tightly inside you, building with every passing moment, every thought of him.

You tilted your head back into the stream, closing your eyes as the water ran down your face and neck. This isn’t sustainable, you thought, biting your lip against the flood of sensations threatening to overtake you. 

But you didn’t want to make it easy for him, either. No, he’d been cruel to you that morning, hadn’t he? Leaving you like that, strung out and wanting, while he stood there looking so smug, so maddeningly composed. The memory made your stomach tighten, heat blooming in your chest.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he’d walked away unscathed. You’d seen the way he looked at you, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had gripped the wall like he was holding himself back. He wasn’t immune to this. You’d made sure of that.

But what choice did you have? The practical part of your brain—the part that always seemed louder in the light of day—reminded you of Sarah, sleeping just upstairs. She was the reason you couldn’t let yourself give in, not fully. What if she woke up? What if she came downstairs? You’d hate for her to see something she couldn’t unsee, to feel even a flicker of discomfort because of you.

The thought cooled you, just slightly, enough to keep you grounded. But it didn’t erase the ache, the way your body seemed to rebel against your restraint. Joel had set this fire, and now you were left with the smoldering embers, trying to keep them from flaring up again.

“So, what, what are you going to do when you get married?” Cassie asked two hours later, her voice cutting through the comfortable quiet of the living room.

The question caught you mid-thought, and you let out a soft, amused laugh, glancing at her from where you sat cross-legged on the floor tying your shoelaces.

“What?”

“What if, don’t give me that nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were alight with mischief. “I’m already planning it all out in my head.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Absolutely. I’m very detail-oriented, you know.” She leaned back into the cushions, folding her arms across her chest like she’d just made an airtight argument. “I mean, someone has to start thinking about these things. You’re not exactly in a hurry.”

“You just want to be someone’s maid of honor. I’ve seen how you watch those wedding shows,” you teased, pulling the knot tight on one sneaker before moving to the other.

“That’s not true,” she said, feigning offense, though the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “I’m just honest. And a visionary. I always knew you and Joel would end up together—it was only a matter of time.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there was warmth in your voice.

Cassie shrugged with an air of nonchalance, though you could see how much she was enjoying this.

“It took longer than I thought it would, I’ll admit that. But all the drama? Totally worth it. I mean, if you’re going to take your sweet time, at least you made it entertaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at her.

“Oh yeah? So now what, you’re going to start placing bets with Tommy again?”

“Maybe,” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

You reached out to swat her knee playfully, and she let out a dramatic yelp as if you’d actually hurt her. Rising to your feet, you grabbed your purse from the coffee table and slung it over your shoulder.

“Get off your ass, Cass. Let’s go,” you said, heading toward the door, your voice carrying a note of mock authority.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, dragging herself off the couch with exaggerated effort, but the grin on her face remained as she followed you out.

When Sarah opened the door, her face lit up with the kind of radiant, unguarded smile that made you pause for a second. It was the sort of smile that could only come from her father, and it tugged at something tender inside you. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, your fingers brushing gently through her hair.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said warmly. Sarah beamed at you, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look that made you feel like you were sharing some secret.

Behind you, Cassie stepped forward, wrapping Sarah in a gentle hug.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s the arm?” she asked, careful to avoid touching the sling.

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, her tone casual but proud. “I barely even notice it anymore.”

“You’re such a trooper,” Cassie said, ruffling Sarah’s hair lightly before stepping back.

Inside, the house smelled of fresh coffee and something faintly smoky—Joel must have been at the grill. It felt warm, lived-in. Your gaze swept the room and immediately found Joel and Tommy in the kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Whatever they were discussing seemed fun, but it came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you.

Both men turned, their faces breaking into wide grins. Tommy was the first to move, crossing the room in a few easy strides toward Cassie. He pulled her into a hug, his hand resting on the small of her back as he murmured something that made her laugh softly.

“Are you free now, Cass?” Tommy asked when they parted, his tone teasing. “A little birdie told me Rome is ancient history.”

Cassie smirked, stifling a laugh. “Who’s this little birdie? Because they sound a lot like you.”

“I never said that,” Joel chimed in from the kitchen, his voice low but amused as he leaned casually against the counter. 

You moved toward him, your hand instinctively reaching out to tap his stomach in a playful gesture.

“No one mentioned you,” you laughed.

His hand was on you instantly, sliding around your waist and pulling you into his side with a practiced ease that felt both natural and thrilling. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a greeting so sweet it made your heart flutter.

“I can’t believe it,” Cassie said, her voice mock-serious as she nudged Tommy’s shoulder. “They kissed!”

Tommy turned, feigning shock as he raised a hand to his chest.

“What? Really? Here? In front of all of us?”

Joel rolled his eyes, a small, indulgent grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened?” Sarah’s voice cut in, and you turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. She had her phone in one hand and a pair of headphones draped around her neck.

Tommy chuckled, clicking his tongue as if she’d just stumbled upon some juicy gossip.

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” Joel said, his tone dry as he ruffled Sarah’s hair. She scrunched her nose in exaggerated annoyance but didn’t bother hiding her smile.

“What happened?” she asked again, stepping closer to you.

“Babe, they kissed!” Cassie exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up as though she were announcing the news to the world.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but her grin widened. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Joel smirked, glancing down at her. “You’re just jealous,” he teased, reaching out to tug gently on her shirt.

Sarah crossed her arms, pretending to think.

“Hmm, no. I think I’m just glad I wasn’t here to witness it.”

Everyone laughed, the sound filling the room with a kind of easy warmth. Joel leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear as he murmured, “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

You tilted your head up to him, smiling. “I think we can handle it.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

Cassie clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough romantic comedy. Who's hungry? Oh, I brought beers!”

Joel raised his hand like a schoolboy, and even Sarah nodded enthusiastically. You laughed, stepping back to let the chaos of the moment unfold, your heart feeling full in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

*

The late afternoon sun poured over Joel’s patio, softening the mild autumn chill with a warm golden hue. The air smelled faintly of delicious grilled food and freshly cut grass, a perfect backdrop for the lively conversation happening at the table. Cassie, Tommy, Sarah, and you were gathered around, full glasses and opened cans scattered between you, as Cassie regaled Sarah with the story of the time she’d met Robert Pattinson at an airport.

“I’m serious,” Cassie said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “He was wearing this beanie, sunglasses—clearly trying not to be noticed. But I noticed, because, you know.” She gestured vaguely to her face, grinning. “It’s Robert Pattinson.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way. What did you do? Did you say something?”

Cassie waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course not. I played it cool. Just casually texted everyone I know while standing three feet away from him.”

“You didn’t talk to him?” Sarah gasped, leaning back in her chair like she’d been personally betrayed.

“Nope. I just let him exist in peace. But I swear, the man has an aura.”

“A Robert Pattinson aura,” you added, chuckling.

Sarah shook her head, her expression still incredulous.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve been in love with him since I saw him in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Cedric Diggory was the perfect guy. And then, you know…” She mimed an explosion with her hands.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Oh, just wait until you see Twilight.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That movie… it was an awakening. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been the same since.”

Tommy groaned audibly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Come on. Vampires are supposed to be grotesque. Evil. You know, scary. What’s with the glitter skin? It doesn’t make any sense. If you want vampires, Sarah, you’ve gotta watch 30 Days of Night. Now that’s a vampire movie.”

“Tommy,” you interjected, placing your hand flat on the table for emphasis. “You’re missing the point entirely. Twilight isn’t about scary vampires. It’s about vibes. It’s an experience. I love grotesque, evil vampires—trust me, I’m a fan—but Twilight is something else. It’s special.”

“Special how?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassie jumped in before you could respond.

“It’s not about realism, Tommy. It’s about longing. It’s about standing in the rain in a forest and declaring your undying love to someone who might kill you at any moment.”

“Yeah, sounds healthy,” he deadpanned, taking a sip of his bear.

“Listen,��� Sarah said, her voice rising with enthusiasm as she gestured dramatically, “if Cedric Diggory is in it, I’m watching it. I don’t care if he’s sparkly or scary or made of actual glitter.”

“See?” you said, pointing at Sarah with a grin. “She gets it.”

Joel’s voice cut in from the doorway, where he’d been quietly watching the scene unfold. “What exactly are we getting?”

“Twilight,” you said, turning to him with mock seriousness. “We’re educating Sarah about the cultural phenomenon that is Twilight.”

Joel walked over to the table, grabbing an empty chair and sitting down beside you.

“I’ve seen it. I’m pretty sure it’s just two hours of people staring at each other dramatically.”

“Don’t forget the running through the forest,” Cassie added, laughing.

“And the baseball scene,” you said, grinning. “You can’t forget vampire baseball.”

Joel shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m not sure what’s worse—vampire baseball or glitter skin.”

“Neither,” Sarah said decisively. “The worst part is that none of you appreciate cinematic brilliance when you see it.”

The table dissolved into laughter, the warm sound filling the patio and blending with the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Joel leaned closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he said quietly, “You’re really defending this, huh?”

“Always,” you replied, smiling at him. “Someone has to.”

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the patio as the conversation at the table meandered through topics, laughter punctuating the air. Joel sat beside you, his beer bottle in hand, absently turning it by the neck as his gaze shifted toward the horizon. Something about the sky had caught his attention, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were reading the clouds. He loved to do that.

Without a word, he stood and walked toward the grill, the sound of his shoes scuffing lightly against the patio stones. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, his body relaxed but purposeful. Your eyes followed him, and you noticed how the soft plaid of his gray-and-black lumberjack shirt shifted with the broadness of his shoulders. Beneath it, the snug black T-shirt clung to his torso in a way that made your pulse quicken. The dark jeans and worn black Converse completed the look, effortlessly rugged and so distinctly him.

You swallowed, trying to tune back into the conversation at the table, but the sight of him at the grill was distracting in the most infuriating way. He flipped a couple of pieces of meat with a practiced ease, one hand gripping the bottle of beer, the other wielding the tongs. His head tilted slightly as he examined the food, his focus so precise it felt unfair. He looked...hot. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly hot. His hair was neater than usual, like he’d taken an extra moment to tame it, and his beard—God, his moustache—was perfectly trimmed, the edges sharp and intentional. His lips, soft and full, curved into a barely-there smile as he took a long, slow sip of beer.

The conversation around you had continued, but you realized you hadn’t heard a single word. Joel was all you could see, all you could think about.  

When you finally tuned back in, it was clear everyone else was engrossed in a debate about something trivial, their attention elsewhere. Seizing the moment, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as you made your way toward him.  

His eyes met yours immediately, dark and warm, and his lips tugged into a soft smile that made your knees feel weak. You reached him, the air between you buzzing with something unspoken. Without hesitation, his free hand slid to your waist, a gentle but possessive gesture that sent a thrill through you.  

“How are you, beautiful?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “What about you?”  

“Couldn’t be better,” he murmured, leaning in so his breath tickled the shell of your ear. The closeness made your heart stutter. “I love what you’re wearing.”  

A shiver ran down your spine, his words and the way he said them settling low in your stomach. His hand on your waist gave the faintest squeeze, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.  

“Yeah?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse roaring in your ears.  

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes dipping briefly to your lips before meeting yours again. “You look incredible.”  

You smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that came from being perfectly aware of the effect you had on him. It wasn’t just the dress—it was that dress. The one you’d worn on his birthday, the one that had made his eyes soften and linger on you for just a beat too long. You’d noticed, of course. Joel didn’t have the best poker face, not with you. He had always found excuses to touch the fabric when you wore it, his fingers brushing against the light, soft material as you passed by him, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Today, you’d paired it with a denim jacket, the kind thick enough to ward off the gentle Austin autumn chill but casual enough to downplay the deliberate choice of the dress. A little armor, a little effort—it was all a balance.

As you stood in front of him now, his hand slipped up your back, fingertips grazing the fabric before settling on the base of your ponytail. He gave it a gentle tug, a playful motion that sent a little thrill through you.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light as you gave him a soft punch to the stomach, the flat of your hand connecting with his firm abdomen.

Joel laughed, a deep, warm sound that spread through the air and settled somewhere low in your stomach. He brought the beer bottle back to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again.

“I love this dress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. His lips curved into a smile, but this one was mischievous. “I've missed it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, he added, “And don’t think I forgot about this morning.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head at him, your smile widening.

“You started it, Miller,” you teased, leaning in just enough to make your point.

“Ooh, I love it when you call me that,” he said, squinting at you in mock challenge, his grin deepening into something boyish and utterly irresistible.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. Your hand came to rest on his bicep, your fingers pressing lightly against the muscle there, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll go get more snacks,” you said, using the excuse to step back from him, though your smile lingered.

As you made your way toward the sliding door, you heard his footsteps following you. Without turning fully, you stopped and glanced back over your shoulder, a flirtatious smile tugging at your lips.

“Stay right there, Miller,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm, playful yet full of intention.

Joel halted in his tracks, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his lips quirking in amusement.

“As you say,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice laced with warmth, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared inside.

Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of warm spices and freshly chopped herbs, the remnants of the day’s earlier cooking. Sarah had joined you at the counter, her movements precise and calculated as she tipped the bags of chips and Doritos into bowls with one hand, each small tilt of the bag executed with care, ensuring no crumbs or stray pieces fell on the counter. It was something you’d always noticed about her: this quiet attention to detail, the way she moved through the world like it deserved her reverence.  

She was like that—careful, gentle. A quiet kind of sweetness radiated from her, as if she were always making sure everything was in its proper place, just so.  

Standing behind her, you watched her delicate moves, and for a brief moment, you let the noise of the world fade into the background. You felt your heart swell with something soft, something protective.  

“You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder, fingers brushing against the softness of her skin. 

She stiffened slightly under your touch, a sigh escaping her lips before she turned to face you, her expression tinged with a mixture of guilt and uncertainty.  

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice low, almost apologetic. “It was unintentional. I just wanted Dad to talk to you. And I'm not even afraid of bees,” she added, rolling her eyes as if to dismiss the whole thing with an almost self-deprecating laugh. 

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of the worry that had hung over her all day. You stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm.

“Of course it was unintentional,” you reassured her, brushing your thumb gently across her skin. “I know that much.” 

She nodded, her lips turning down at the corners, still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t her fault.  

“Irina felt really bad,” she continued, her words coming a little more quickly now. “She says it was her fault. I told her that’s not true, that it was just an accident.”  

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“She’s afraid of bees?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sarah replied with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and disbelief. “She's terrified of them!” 

“Well, all the more reason,” you said, the corners of your lips turning up in a gentle smile. “Fear often paralyzes you. You don't know what to do or how to react in the moment. It was an accident, sweetheart, nothing more.” 

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head once more, a soft brush of your lips against her hair, and then pulled back with a playful look in your eyes. “But for the love of everything good, please don’t climb on tall things again.” 

Sarah laughed, the sound light and easy, as though the weight of the situation had finally begun to lift.

“Okay,” she agreed, popping a chip into her mouth with a dramatic crunch that echoed in the still kitchen.  

The sudden, sharp noise made you laugh, too, as you threw the empty bags into the trash and rinsed your hands under the cool water. You turned back around, wiping your hands on a towel, and found Sarah looking at you, her gaze softer now, almost wistful.  

There was something in the way she was looking at you, like she had something to say but wasn’t quite sure how to start. The silence hung between you for a few seconds before she finally spoke, her words wrapped in the kind of sweetness only she could manage.  

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as if afraid her question might break something.  

You paused, your heart suddenly lighter in your chest. You had no idea why the question made your pulse quicken, but it did. There was a tenderness in it, a care that spoke volumes.  

“Yeah, sweetheart,” you responded, approaching her again, your smile growing softer. “What is it?”  

She hesitated, her fingers tapping the side of the counter nervously.

"I... I know that now that you and Dad are together, some things are going to change," Sarah said, her voice quiet but firm, as if she was trying to convince herself of it. She paused for a moment. "And... and I'm happy about that. I mean, I love you, and I love that you're always here. And if you're with him now, I mean, as a couple, that means you're going to be here even more, doesn't it?"

You paused, absorbing her words, trying to place the depth behind them. There was something tentative in her tone, something that told you she was still figuring out exactly what all of this meant. You offered her a soft, reassuring smile, trying to make sense of her nervous excitement.

“I think so,” you replied with a light laugh, sensing her need for reassurance. "I think you're right. I'll definitely be around more."

Her eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly, as if the idea of you being there more—of you becoming a permanent fixture in her life—was something that brought her comfort. She let out a small sigh, like she’d been carrying this weight on her shoulders for too long and could finally let go of it. 

“Well, that,” she continued, her voice softening, as though the very idea of it was still sinking in. “I love being with you. You really are the most amazing, fun, and cool girl, and my dad is lucky to have you... and so am I. I'm so glad you're here." 

Her words tumbled out in a rush, the sincerity in them so raw, so real, that it hit you like a wave. You felt a sudden swell of affection for her, for how easy it was to be with her, to feel her warmth and openness so effortlessly. But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted, her smile fading as a new, softer vulnerability crept in.

"I was so scared when you guys fought," she said, her voice quieter now, her gaze lowering slightly, as though the memory of it was still too fresh. "My dad was... bad all the time, and I seriously thought you were going to go off and leave me."

The confession, the fear in her words, made your chest tighten. You moved closer to her, instinctively placing a hand on her cheek, brushing your thumb over the softness of her skin. 

"I would never do that, baby," you reassured her. "You’re stuck with me, alright?"

Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. She leaned into your touch, seeking something—comfort, maybe.

“I know,” she said softly, her voice more certain this time, but then it dipped again. “But it still scared the hell out of me, because I love spending time with you, and sometimes, almost always, I wish you were my mom.”

She pouted slightly, a small, almost childlike gesture, and your heart fluttered with a mixture of tenderness and sadness.

Your heart tightened at the look on Sarah’s face. It was fleeting, barely a blink, but it was enough. Just a fraction of vulnerability slipped through before she masked it with a smile. But you saw it, and it pierced something deep inside you, a quiet ache that you couldn’t ignore. 

For a moment, she seemed younger than her years, the way her eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite name, some quiet sadness that she didn’t often show. She never spoke about her mother. Never. The absence of that conversation hung in the air like a shadow, one you could feel even when it wasn’t mentioned. 

You didn’t know much about of she felt before —how things had been before you entered her life, she never told you about it—but you had learned that she never spoke of her mother, not even in passing. The silence around it was telling. It was as if there had been a permanent erasure of that part of her history. 

But you, you had always been there for her. You had seen Sarah grow from a shy girl into someone who could light up a room with her smile. You had been the one she turned to when she needed someone to go with her to her school functions, the one she took with her to every event that called for a mother figure, even though you knew the absence weighed on her. 

You remembered the mother-daughter day at her school. It was one of those moments where you had tried so hard to be what she needed, to fill a space you knew wasn’t yours to fill, but that she still wanted filled nonetheless. You had spent the entire morning trying to reassure her, to make sure she didn’t feel too different, to make her feel like she wasn’t missing something that everyone else had. But Sarah? She’d been absolutely radiant, grinning from ear to ear, as if she were the happiest girl in the world. When she told Joel about it that evening, her voice was full of excitement, her eyes sparkling with pride. 

Joel had tried to talk you out of it at first, telling you that you didn’t need to put yourself in that position if it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t, not really. What would have made you uncomfortable was not being there for her. You adored Sarah from the moment you first met her. The way she fit so seamlessly into your life, as if your heart had already known her before you ever met. 

You were lucky. She was incredible, and you had the privilege of watching her grow, of being a part of her life. 

But in that moment, as you held her, you could feel the weight of everything she had been carrying—the quiet fears, the quiet grief, the things she had never voiced. And it broke your heart all over again.

You reached for her, your hands trembling slightly as you wrapped her in your arms. You held her close, smoothing a hand over her hair, letting her feel the steadiness in your embrace. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. We’re adults, but sometimes we get it so wrong, don’t we? I promise... I promise we’ll never put you through anything like this again.” 

She pressed her cheek against your chest, her body shaking with the soft tremors of her sobs. Her words were muffled, but you heard them clearly. 

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to leave you, you know that, right?” You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart in your throat. “You’re my special girl, baby. My favorite girl. I love you too much for you to ever doubt that.”

Her eyes were glossy with tears, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips, a small, fragile thing. She pulled back slightly, looking up at you.

“I know,” she said, her voice still thick, but with a softer, more vulnerable quality. “And you’re my favorite girl, too.” Her smile flickered, but it was sincere. “Please don’t trade me for my dad, though.”

The seriousness in her tone was almost too much to bear, and despite the tears that still lingered in her eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your chest tightening with affection.

“Never."

*

“Oh, I’m so full. I’ve never eaten so much before,” Tommy groaned dramatically, stretching out in his seat, his hands settling protectively over his belly as if it might burst at any moment.

“You always say that,” Joel replied, his smirk almost too smug for the moment.

“And it’s always true, man,” Tommy shot back, raising his brows in mock indignation, “but don’t worry, I get over it. I’ll be eating again in like, two hours.”

The kitchen and dining area were finally in order, everything cleared and wiped down. Tommy, much to everyone’s surprise, had volunteered to clear the dishes after Cassie had jokingly called him a slob. The patio now had a tranquil, almost magical atmosphere. The warm lights Joel had strung up above flickered softly against the growing darkness, casting a golden glow over the space, while quiet music vibrated through the air in the background, a perfect close to the evening.

Sarah, having finished her ice cream, set the empty bowl down on the table with the same serious face someone might give after finishing a marathon.

“Done,” she declared, eyes wide with accomplishment as if she’d conquered an Olympic event.

Cassie, shaking her head with laughter, shot a glance at Sarah. “What a champ."

Sarah just shrugged and grinned. “It’s a talent,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hey, speaking of talents,” Cassie continued, still amused, “I was thinking, how about we watch Twilight tonight? What do you think?”

Sarah’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“Definitely!” she answered with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought she was agreeing to a life-changing event.

“I’m so excited for you to see it,” you chimed in, grinning. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Oh no, no... No, this is between me and Sarah,” Cassie interrupted, draping an arm over the back of Sarah’s chair, her voice taking on that dramatic, teasing tone she was so good at. “Besides, you look tired. Joel, you better keep an eye on my friend tonight.”

Joel raised an eyebrow but smiled, nodding gently.

“I can handle it,” he said, glancing over at you with that half-smile that only he could pull off.

You groaned in mock despair.

“Hey, I feel left out!” 

Cassie rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, we can watch it again when you’re feeling better. Promise.” She stood up, grabbing a few stray dishes—just a bowl and some empty glasses, which she began carrying toward the kitchen.

She paused at the edge of the table and turned to Joel.

“Is that okay with you, Joel? I’ll just borrow your little girl for the night. I promise I’ll take good care of her.” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Analgesics every eight hours. She took them at five, so she should take them again at one in the morning. Do you have your alarm set, honey?”

Sarah nodded, eyes wide as she took her responsibilities seriously.

“Yes,” she said in her most mature voice.

Cassie beamed and added with a grin, “I’ll set one too.”

You watched the exchange, amused. Had they coordinated this already? Was this some kind of pre-established routine? Did Sarah know? It felt like a well-oiled machine.

Tommy, clearly not feeling like he was getting enough attention, sighed dramatically as he stood from the table.

“Okay, I see everyone has plans but me,” he said, feigning offense as he adjusted his hoodie. “So I think I’ll go home. Alone. And watch 30 Days of Night. You know, real vampires, kids.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but not without punching him lightly in the arm. Tommy made a theatrical groan, acting as though he had been mortally wounded.

“Ow, that hurt!”

Cassie didn’t let up. “You can come watch Twilight too,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock contemplation. Then she turned to Sarah with a teasing glance. “Well, are you okay with that, kiddo?”

Sarah, always eager to please, nodded with the same enthusiasm she’d shown earlier.

“Sure,” she said, not even questioning it.

“Perfect,” Cassie said, grinning as she made her way toward the kitchen, but not before giving you a playful wink. 

After the three of them gathered their things, the house filled with the sound of their chatter as they made their way to the door. Sarah clutched her bag tightly, its contents bulging with snacks and her medications, her cheeks pink from excitement. You followed her, smiling as you stepped closer to say goodbye.

She turned to you, her small frame leaning into your embrace as you wrapped her in a warm hug. You kissed her on the cheek, catching the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she joked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a great time with Cassie, and tomorrow, I want to hear all about the movie.”

Sarah grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I promise to watch it with you too, though. Cassie said you’d want to see it again."

Before you could respond, Tommy appeared beside her, his large hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He glanced at you briefly, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Take me to Robert Pattinson,” he deadpanned, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You bit back a laugh as he guided Sarah out, pausing just long enough to murmur a quick, “Good night,” over his shoulder.

Cassie lingered behind, stepping closer to you with her usual energy. Her hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you in the moment, before she leaned in and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

“Goooood night,” she said, her tone light but her eyes carrying something softer. Then she added with a wink, “Sleep well.”

You smiled at her, a quick, reflexive gesture, though no words came. By the time your brain caught up with your mouth, the door had already clicked shut behind her.

You stared at it for a moment, the faint sound of her footsteps receding on the other side. Then the quiet settled in.

Turning on your heel, you walked into the kitchen. The soft glow from the overhead lights cast a golden hue across the space, warm and inviting. Joel was there, leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting for you—or like he simply belonged there, effortlessly a part of the room. His hands rested on either side of him, gripping the edge of the counter, fingers splayed.

His posture was relaxed, but there was a charge to his stillness, a barely-contained energy that made your pulse quicken. His dark blue t-shirt clung to the broad planes of his chest, and his hair was damp, though almost dry now, messy in a way that suggested he hadn’t given it much thought after his shower. And then—those damn gray sweatpants. 

“I had to wash off the smoke,” he’d said earlier, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You hadn’t fully bought it then, and you still didn’t. But you weren’t exactly complaining.

Now, his eyes met yours, firm and unflinching. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and calculated, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Is it just me,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, “or are we the only ones left in this house?”

You took a step toward him, and then another, closing the distance between you.

“I think so.”

When you stopped in front of him, you let your hands drift upward, settling on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your palms made you feel reckless. Your fingers trailed over the fabric of his shirt, and then up to his shoulders, as if you needed the excuse to touch him. You looked up at him, your eyes tracing every detail of his face: the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark intent in his gaze.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” you asked, the hint of a smile playing at your own lips.

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands left the counter and found your waist, his grip firm, grounding you as he pulled you closer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur.

“Not a chance.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his face burying in the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his arms wrapping around you made you feel momentarily weightless. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation of him—his solidity, his heat—anchor you.

“Take me to bed,” you said, your voice quiet.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with something equal parts playful and lustful.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, his tone light, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking that question.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he pushed off the counter, taking you with him. His hands stayed on you, guiding, insistent, as he walked you backward, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“Are you going to show me all those things you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, his voice dipping, teasing.

In one smooth motion, he turned you around, his chest pressed against your back now, his hands steady on your hips. His lips found your shoulder, brushing lightly before trailing up toward your neck. His touch was both grounding and electric, his grip possessive but not unkind.

“That’s right,” you whispered, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder, exposing your neck to him. Your voice was breathless, barely audible, as his mouth moved against your skin. 

Joel leaned in close, his lips pressing softly against your cheek, the briefest pause making the touch feel heavier than it was. When he pulled back, there was something unhurried in the way his hand slipped from your waist, like he was giving you time to notice the absence. Without a word, he turned in direction to the stairs, his eyes flicking upward.

You climbed the steps quickly, your movements unthinking but purposeful, every step creating a subtle sway in the fabric of your skirt. You were hyper-aware of Joel behind you, of the weight of his gaze on your body. When you paused at the landing and turned, expecting to meet his eyes, you realized he hadn’t followed. 

Joel stood frozen on the first step, his hand gripping the banister like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. His eyes were locked on you—not just you, but the sway of your hips, the taut curve of fabric stretched over the soft flesh of your ass. It wasn’t subtle, the hunger in his gaze, and it wasn’t kind. It was primal, raw, like he’d been stripped of language entirely and left with nothing but the aching weight of desire.

His breath had slowed, deepened, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check. But his expression betrayed him—he didn’t just want to touch you; he wanted to claim you, to mark you, to press his hands into the softness of your thighs until his fingertips left indents in your skin.

The thought of it made his jaw clench. He could imagine the give of your body beneath him, the warmth, the way you might shudder if he let himself take what he wanted. His desire wasn’t just to hold you—it was to devour you, like something sweet and delicious. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin against his lips, to sink his teeth into you, to taste you fully, selfishly. You were a dessert he’d never been allowed before all of this, and the ache of it—of you—was driving him mad.

Then he started to climb. You turned instinctively, flashing him a knowing smile before continuing upward, each step deliberately slow, each sway of your hips almost a dare.

Joel was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his breath catching as his hand found you. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your underwear with a teasing familiarity. For a fleeting second, he played with it, tugging just enough to make you gasp, to let you feel his intent before he moved.

By the time you reached the second floor, he was no longer pretending at patience. He caught you by the waist, pressing you back against the wall with a force that was more need than control. His body pinned you there, hard and unyielding, and his hand claimed you again, squeezing the curve of your ass like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. The other hand traveled upward, tracing the line of your body—your waist, the curve of your ribs, the softness of your breasts—until it rested at your neck, his thumb brushing over the delicate pulse that betrayed your excitement.

You tilted your head back to look at him with a sweet smile, and that smile—God, that smile—was the final blow to whatever scraps of restraint he had left. With you, there was no self-control, no measured response. There was only this.

His mouth found yours, not in a rush, but with a softness that startled you, the contradiction of it almost undoing him. Your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and when your teeth grazed the soft flesh, biting just hard enough to leave a memory, the sound he made was something between a groan and a plea, weak and broken.

With a subtle shift of his weight, Joel used his leg to nudge yours apart, his knee pressing gently but insistently until you gave in, letting him part you. He stepped closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable, and lifted you effortlessly against him. Your feet barely grazed the floor, leaving you suspended between him and the wall. His thighs held you steady, and his hands, rough and sure, gripped you.

Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, tangling in the damp strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. You kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, your lips claiming his, your breath uneven against his mouth. But even as you touched him like you were desperate, you refused to give him control.

Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss. Your hips moved against him in lazy circles, teasing, testing, drawing a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Joel groaned against your lips, his breath catching as you felt him harden beneath you. Impatient.

You broke the kiss abruptly, the wet sound of it lingering in the charged air between you. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running. You let the silence stretch, your breath warm against his cheek as you leaned in just enough to whisper, “No.”

The word slipped from your lips like a challenge, accompanied by a devilish smile that made his jaw tighten. Your palm pressed against his chest, just enough to create distance, and you slid down from his thighs until your feet found the ground again. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was trying to decide whether to let you go or pull you back into him.

“You said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you reminded him, your voice soft but laced with mischief.

Joel smiled, though his breath hitched halfway, the sound uneven. His flushed neck betrayed him, the blush creeping higher as he nodded.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice rough and low.

“Okay,” you murmured, taking a deliberate step back, your fingers trailing down his chest, then his abdomen, as you pulled away. His muscles tensed under your touch, his body reacting as if even the absence of your hands could break him.

“Then behave yourself,” you instructed, your tone playful but firm, “and do as I say.”

His smile vanished, replaced by something raw, a look so intent it left no room for words.

Joel nodded, his obedience immediate, though there was nothing passive about it. It felt like restraint—barely held, dangerously close to snapping.

You spun on your heels without waiting for more, walking toward his room with a confidence that made his chest tighten. When you reached the door, you extended your hand behind you, and he was there in an instant. His palm slid into yours, warm and firm, and his other hand found your waist as if he couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop himself from grounding you to him, needing to feel the curve of you beneath his fingers.

Inside the room, you guided him without a word, leading him toward the edge of the bed.

When you turned to face him, your hands slid up his arms, tracing the muscles there as if committing them to memory. You kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, coaxing him closer with the press of your lips. His need was palpable in the way he moved, how his fingers twitched like they wanted nothing more than to grab you, to pull you to him completely. But you didn’t let him.

Each time his hands wandered, you gently pushed him away, your touch firm but teasing, a silent reminder that this was on your terms. His frustration mingled with desire, but he obeyed, his breath uneven as he let you take the lead.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up slowly, watching as his skin was revealed inch by inch. The sharp lines of his abdomen, the faint freckles scattered across his chest—all of it made your pulse quicken. But before you could finish, Joel took over.

With one sharp movement, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the room without looking, his focus entirely on you. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the tension in his body evident in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

With a sly smile, you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer, closing the gap he’d been aching to erase since the moment you walked into the room. His body yielded immediately, drawn toward you like gravity itself demanded it.

Joel leaned forward, his lips searching for yours, but you pulled back just enough to keep him chasing. The mischievous curve of your smile sent a flicker of frustration across his features, but it was fleeting, replaced by a raw, almost pleading desire.

“You looked so good this morning,” you murmured, your voice low and edged with something tender. “All I could think about was feeling you, all of you.” Your hand slid beneath the fabric of his pants, and when you discovered the absence of anything underneath, you let out a soft sigh. “Just like this.”

Your fingers wrapped around him, warm and firm, tracing the silken skin that stretched over his hard, heated cock. You brushed your fingertips over his swollen tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and glistening, completely consumed. 

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a kiss to his jaw, your lips trailing upward with deliberate slowness until they found his mouth. This time, he met you eagerly, his kiss filled with hunger but tempered, restrained in a way that showed he understood your game. He knew that if he pushed too far, too fast, you would pull away, and the knowledge seemed to both frustrate and excite him.

When you finally broke away, your breathing was shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your chest. You slipped your hand from his pants, your fingers tingling from the lingering heat of him, and took a step back.

“Take everything off,” you commanded, your voice trembling slightly, though whether from emotion or need, you couldn’t say. “And lie down on the bed.”

Joel stared at you, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed with color. For a moment, it seemed like he might resist, might challenge you just to see what you’d do. But then he nodded, his obedience laced with something deeper, a quiet devotion that made your thighs tremble in response.

Joel obeyed without hesitation, stripping off his sweatpants and shoes. When he stood before you, completely bare, the sight knocked the air from your lungs. Your gaze raked over him, tracing every line, every plane of his body, and the sudden rush of heat pooling in your stomach was almost overwhelming.

Your lips parted involuntarily, your mouth watering at the sheer, unapologetic beauty of him. Joel’s body was solid and soft, every muscle taut, and his skin flushed with a faint warm pink.

He moved to the bed without a word, lying back as you had instructed, his body stretching out across the sheets. His cock stood thick and proud, resting against his stomach, hard and swollen. The sight made your pulse quicken, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. He was completely, devastatingly yours to devour.

You kicked off your shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor barely registering as you climbed onto the bed, and the mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled toward him.

Joel propped himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes fixed on you like you were some kind of vision. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to—his expression was enough. It was desire laid bare.

Your hands found his thighs first, your fingers spreading wide to press into the soft, warm skin. You let your thumbs drag along the length of his muscles, kneading gently, savoring the way his body tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the slight tremor in his legs as you moved closer.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above him, so close that you could feel the heat of him against your lips. Then, slowly, deliberately, you dragged your tongue along the length of his cock, savoring the taste of his skin and the sharp inhale of breath it drew from him.

Joel’s head fell back immediately, a low, ragged sigh escaping him, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. But the moment didn’t last—he was looking at you again within seconds, his gaze burning with an intensity that pinned you in place.

No, he wasn’t going to miss this. He’d be insane to look away.

Without warning, you dipped lower, your lips wrapping around the delicate curve of his testicles. The softness of the skin there was warm against your mouth, and you sucked gently, your tongue pressing in teasing circles as your hand found his length. Your fingers wrapped around him with just enough pressure, sliding slowly, deliberately, up and down, as if testing the limits of his restraint.

Joel let out a sound that was more than a sigh, something raw and unguarded slipping past his lips.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, the words breaking apart under the weight of his breath.

You released him with a deliberate slowness, your mouth leaving him with a wet, audible pop that seemed to echo in the charged air between you. The sound hung there and you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved your lips as you glanced up at him.

Your hand stayed on him, stroking with a rhythm that made his head tip back for just a second before his heavy-lidded eyes found yours again. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him as you spoke.

“I want my mouth full of you,” you said, like a promise. “But you can’t touch me. Do you understand?”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed closed, as if keeping them open might be too much, the desire too sharp to look at you directly. His eyelashes cast shadows against the flush of his cheekbones, and his voice, when it came, was low and rough.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt like an offering more than a challenge. “I wanna touch you.”

You leaned closer, your breath warm against him, and his eyes flickered open, meeting yours with a helpless kind of longing.

“'Cause you said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you replied, your tone tinged with playful authority. “And this is exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed the weight of his surrender. He nodded, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face as his gaze locked on you.

“Of course, baby, do what you want with me,” he said, his voice a little shaky, a little wrecked. “And I’ll do whatever you say.”

You smiled, a small crack in the veneer of control you’d been wearing, and Joel’s lips curved into something sweet in response, so genuine it almost made you falter. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that felt out of place amid the heat coursing between you. But you allowed it, leaning into the touch, savoring the contrast of his warmth against your skin.

The moment didn’t last long. Joel, with visible reluctance, withdrew his hand and let it fall back to his side. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, his knuckles tense as though he was fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, his voice soft, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it aloud. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat as a groan escaped him. Your hand had resumed its slow, deliberate movements, stroking him with just enough pressure to keep him teetering on the edge of composure.

You licked your lips deliberately, watching him intently, your eyes following every flicker of tension in his body, every barely controlled breath. He was utterly undone in your hand—so ready, so hard, his need for you written across every muscle, every exhale.

Leaning forward, you let your lips wrap around the head of his cock, the taste of him warm, salty and intoxicating. You moved slowly, letting your tongue trace lazy patterns over him as your mouth took him in.

Joel moaned, low and broken, the sound sending a thrill through you. His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the sight of you, your lips and tongue working against him with calculated precision. His hands shifted restlessly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling into the sheets as if he was clinging to the last shreds of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost hoarse. The way he looked at you—awed, overwhelmed—was enough to make your pulse race. And still, he didn’t move, didn’t touch, even though you could see how much he wanted to, how hard he was holding back.

Your hand began to move faster, your strokes gaining a steady urgency as your mouth took him deeper, inch by inch. Your lips formed a tight seal around him, gliding up and down in a rhythm that was both deliberate and merciless. Your tongue teased him with flicks and swirls, tasting him fully, the heat of him filling your mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filled the room, a raw, unfiltered symphony of desire. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, dripping down his length and soaking your fingers as you worked him.

Joel’s breathing grew uneven, every exhale sharper than the last. You glanced up at him, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His eyes were open, heavy-lidded and glazed, but still focused on you, as though he couldn’t bear to look away. He was determined, it seemed, to take in every detail—the way your lips stretched around him, the way your hand tightened and twisted in sync with your mouth.

With your free hand, you moved lower, cupping him gently, your fingers tracing the soft skin of his testicles. You massaged them with care, applying just enough pressure to make his hips shift, his thighs tensing under your touch. The coordination was effortless—your hands, your mouth, your tongue—all working in perfect, relentless harmony.

Joel let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of noise that came from deep within, and you knew you had him. His head fell back, his throat exposed as he surrendered completely. His eyes fluttered closed, his body arching slightly, seeking more of you.

Then his hand rose, trembling slightly, hovering just above your head as though drawn there by instinct. Before it could rest against you, you pulled back, slowing your movements to a near halt. His cock slipped from your lips, glistening and swollen, throbbing visibly as you left him wanting, teetering on the edge.

Joel let out a weak, broken moan, his chest flushed a deep pink, every muscle in his body radiating heat. He looked like he was coming apart in slow motion, and the sight of him like this—undone, vulnerable, entirely yours—sent a thrill coursing through you.

You ran your tongue along the length of him, the motion deliberate and unhurried, savoring the way his body seemed to tremble beneath your touch. When you reached the tip, you cupped the base of his arousal with one hand, anchoring him as you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against him.

Then, in one slow, fluid motion, you took him into your mouth, sliding down his length until the swollen head of him bumped against the back of your throat. You paused, steadying yourself, and then pushed further, letting him fill you completely, your lips meeting the base.

“Baby,” Joel hissed, his voice ragged, the word barely more than an exhale. His eyes flew open, and he propped himself up on his elbows as if the intensity of the moment had drawn him back to consciousness. His gaze found you, dark and heavy with pleasure, and the sight of you like this—your mouth stretched around his cock, your nose brushing against his skin—seemed to undo him further.

You pulled back slowly, the motion precise, controlled, before taking him again, and again, each time deeper, smoother. Your movements built into a rhythm, your lips and tongue working in tandem, your nose bumping against him with every descent.

You surprised yourself with how easily your body accommodated him. Once or twice, with boyfriends in the past, you’d tried something like this, and it had felt impossible. They hadn’t even been as big as Joel. But with him, it was different—effortless, almost as if your body had been waiting for him.

Your pace quickened, the suction stronger, the hollow of your cheeks pulling tighter as you worked him. Joel’s breathing became erratic, his chest heaving, his whimpers breaking apart as he struggled to contain himself.

When you sensed him teetering on the edge, you slowed, pulling back until just the tip of him remained in your mouth. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head in a playful, deliberate motion, a quick, teasing lick that made him shudder. Then, with a soft, audible sigh, you released him completely, pulling back and meeting his gaze with a knowing smile.

Slowly, with deliberate patience, you settled on top of him. Your palm pressed lightly against his chest, keeping him anchored to the mattress as though you needed to remind him who was in control. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your hand felt grounding, a contrast to the heat sparking between your bodies.

You shifted, positioning yourself so that your thin underwear brushed against him, wet and slick against the hardness pressing up beneath you. Joel’s gaze followed every movement with unflinching intensity, his lips slightly parted, his chest flushed with color.

Taking his hands, you guided them to your thighs, and he followed your lead willingly, his touch reverent. His fingers spread over the soft skin, squeezing gently before sliding down to cup the curve of your ass. He traced the same path back up, his hands moving as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to linger most.

When you reached for the hem of your dress, lifting it with ease, his hands stilled briefly, the air between you charged with his anticipation. You slipped the fabric over your head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.

Joel’s expression softened as he took in the sight of you, his lips curving into a small, unguarded smile. His eyes lingered on your bare breasts, the tender curve of your skin illuminated in the soft light of the room. You could see the restrained hunger in him, the way he longed to sit up and take your hard nipples into his mouth, but he didn’t move. His hands remained where you’d placed them, his obedience surprising you.

You leaned forward, your hands finding their place on his chest, steadying yourself as you began to move your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was electric, the fabric of your soaking wet underwear brushing against him, creating a sweet, torturous sensation that sent a shiver through you. Joel’s hands tightened on your thighs in response, his breath catching, but he still didn’t move beyond what you allowed.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping back slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. A flush spread across your skin, a warm bloom of heat that seemed to radiate outward, pooling low in your belly.

Joel’s hands tightened on your ass, guiding your movements as your hips ground harder against him. The sound of the bed shifting beneath you, the quiet creak of wood and mattress, felt like a rhythm, a melody carrying you both closer to something inevitable.

You opened your eyes slowly, drawn to the point where your bodies met, the place where your need was most visible. Your core moved against him with urgency, dragging along his length through the damp fabric of your underwear. It wasn’t enough—it couldn’t possibly be enough. Without thinking, your fingers moved to the side of your panties, tugging them away to reveal the slick heat of your cunt, glistening and ready.

The sensation shifted instantly, impossibly more intense. The soft, hot skin of his cock pressed directly against you, his swollen tip brushing your clit with every movement. A choked moan escaped you, your hands finding purchase on Joel’s thighs as you arched your back, your head tilting to the side as your body chased the feeling.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the words spilling out unbidden, your voice trembling. Your hips rocked against him, every motion sending sparks skittering up your spine. You couldn’t look away from him—his gaze locked on you, dark and focused, alternating between the slick heat of your center and the flushed expression on your face.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving behind the promise of bruises. His restraint, so palpable moments ago, seemed to dissolve entirely. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, his need unraveling in real-time.

“On my face,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like a secret meant only for you. His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and when you looked up, his dark, desperate eyes locked onto yours.

“Sit on my face,” he repeated, this time a little louder. The intensity of his gaze, the hunger in his expression—it was impossible to refuse him.

You nodded, a silent affirmation, and let Joel guide you. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, their strength undeniable as he pulled you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The warmth of his breath on your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and then his mouth was on you.

The first touch of his lips and tongue came with a guttural moan that reverberated through your core, primal and hungry. It unraveled you instantly.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot down to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling tight.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against you, his arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place. His fingers hooked the fabric of your underwear to the side, his mouth moving with intent and precision. He kissed your cunt as though worshipping, his tongue gliding in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. His eyes fluttered shut, his focus entirely on the taste of you, like you were his favorite meal.

Then his rhythm shifted, alternating between soft sucks and teasing flicks, the motions perfectly tuned to your body. The room filled with the wet, intoxicating sounds of his mouth and your uneven breathing. You couldn’t stop the soft cries spilling from your lips, each one punctuated by the heat building low in your stomach.

You were so close, the edge of release within reach, your body trembling under the weight of it. Almost instinctively, you began to move, rolling your hips against him, seeking more.

Joel smiled against you, the curve of his lips unmistakable even as his tongue worked its magic. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, grounding you, but his voice, low and wrecked, sent you spiraling.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his words hot against your skin, breaking only to drag his tongue across you again. “Ride me. Ride my face.”

The command was all-consuming, as though it was etched into your very bones. Your hips moved faster, a rhythm driven by need, and you threw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulders as your body surrendered entirely.

“Joel, I’m going to—” The words tumbled out, but before you could finish, the sensation overtook you, a shattering wave of pleasure crashing through you. It consumed every nerve, your body vibrating with release, your voice caught in a broken cry as you clenched around the ecstasy Joel had pulled from you.

Your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as Joel’s mouth continued its devoted work, tasting every shiver of your release. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you steady even as your movements slowed, your body trembling from the aftershocks.

It was too much—your sensitivity heightened to a point of near-pain, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You tried to lift yourself away, but Joel’s hands stayed firm, his mouth lingering, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you just yet.

When he finally relented, his lips releasing you with a soft, wet sound, you exhaled a shaky breath, shifting your hips lower to rest against his waist. Your eyes found his, and the sight of him stole what little air you had left.

Joel looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and longing. His beard glistened with traces of you, a visible reminder of his devotion, and when he smiled—a slow, tender curve of his lips—it wasn’t just desire; it was love.

You leaned down, unable to resist him, and pressed your mouth to his in a kiss that spoke of both gratitude and need. It was slow but full of intent, your hands cradling his face, your fingers brushing against the scruff of his jaw and curling behind his neck.

Joel’s hands shifted to your waist, his touch gentler now, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into your skin. Even so, there was tension beneath his tenderness, a barely restrained hunger that made his fingers tighten slightly as if reminding himself not to pull you closer just yet.

When you broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

“Okay, cowboy,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Joel’s grin was slow and crooked. His eyes glinted with mischief, but there was something deeper there too, something darker and hungry.

He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulled you closer, keeping you perched on top of him as his mouth found your breast. The warmth of his lips was immediate, the gentle pull of his tongue sending a ripple of pleasure through you. His hands gripped you firmly, one kneading the soft curve of your ass, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound turning into a moan as his tongue flicked over your nipple, teasing and circling. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly in encouragement.

“Joel,” you whispered. He moved to your other breast, his mouth just as eager, as if he were discovering a secret he couldn’t bear to leave untouched. The wet, rhythmic sound of his lips meeting your skin filled the room, and you felt the edges of your control begin to fray.

Then, without warning, Joel shifted. In one swift movement, he laid you flat on the bed beneath him, the sudden change making you gasp. He hovered over you, his breath warm against your neck as he began to kiss his way downward, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your sternum, then the soft curve of your stomach. Each kiss felt deliberate, reverent, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory.

Joel’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and you lifted your hips instinctively, a silent invitation. He slid the fabric down your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he moved. The garment joined the growing pile on the floor, completely forgotten.

He knelt between your legs, his hands warm and firm as they pressed into your thighs, guiding them apart. The way he looked at you—unwavering, almost in awe—made your heart race.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words washing over you like a confession.

He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in the lightest kiss, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered against your skin, “Let me show you how much.”

Your hands framed his face, your fingertips brushing the rough stubble on his jaw as you pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was consuming, your mouths colliding with a desperation that neither of you could hide.

Joel’s weight shifted over you, pressing you deliciously into the mattress. The heat of his body settled against yours, his chest flush with your own, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The angle was perfect, the pressure achingly close, and the promise of what was to come made your breath hitch.

His tongue swept into your mouth as the blunt tip of him brushed against your entrance. The tease alone had you gasping into the kiss, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice trembling, your gaze locking onto his. Your eyes searched his face, wide and full of something raw, something vulnerable. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His expression softened, his features melting into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“I love you too, baby,” he said, grounding you as he pushed into you with aching slowness. His eyes never left yours, and the stretch of him inside you stole the breath from your lungs. “So fucking much. I’m so in love with you.”

A smile curved your lips, but it was short-lived as his mouth found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that escaped when he moved deeper, filling you completely.

Joel’s rhythm started slow, calculated. Every thrust was controlled but steeped in need, his body pressing into yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, to dissolve the space between you entirely. You felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, the tension in his muscles under your palms.

The wet, rhythmic sound of him moving in and out of you filled the room, each stroke slick and purposeful. It made you shiver, and when he let out a guttural groan, his head dropping to bury his face in your neck, it was as if something inside you unraveled.

His teeth grazed the delicate skin at your throat, his lips brushing over the mark he left behind. The sharpness of it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine, and his pace quickened, his hips colliding with yours harder, deeper.

“Yes yes yes— Oh, God—J-Joel,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, his name breaking apart on your lips. He was everywhere—inside you, around you, consuming you.

The rhythm of his movements grew frantic, unrestrained, and his moans became muffled against your ear, a wrecked symphony of desire that made you melt beneath him. Every thrust pulled you closer to the edge, your body arching into his as his name fell from your lips in a litany of surrender.

You bit into his shoulder, your teeth grazing the firm muscle as if to anchor yourself to the moment. Your nails left faint crescents in the skin of his back, a soft contrast to the unrelenting force of his body pressing you into the mattress. The sound of your bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, a rhythm in perfect time with the erratic beating of your heart.

Joel shifted, bracing himself on one arm beside your head, the other wrapping firmly around your thigh. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive and sure, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The angle changed, sharper, deeper, and the intensity of his thrusts became something primal, something unrestrained, like he was staking his claim.

His gaze fell between your bodies, and you felt it as much as you saw it—the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you taking him, the slick evidence of your need coating his big swollen cock. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his focus unshakable, as though the act of watching you like this was driving him just as mad as the sensation of being inside you.

Your hand reached up, shaky but insistent, pulling him back to you.

“S-so fuck-ing good,” you gasped, your voice fractured, the words tumbling out as if you could barely hold them together. “S-so good, baby. Please don’t stop—don’t stop.”

Joel’s lips curved into a smile, something rough and beautiful, his cheeks flushed with effort and desire.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you briefly, the heat of his mouth a quick reprieve before he was pulling back, thrusting harder. “Come for me again. Come all over my cock. All fucking yours.”

His hand shifted, pushing your legs higher, opening you up to him in a way that had you gasping. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that devastatingly tender spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your back arched involuntarily, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you tipped your head back, your hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase against his shoulders.

Joel pressed his mouth to your neck and bit down softly, the sting of it swallowed by the overwhelming pleasure radiating through you. His movements grew wilder, faster, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

His hand slid against you, his thumb moving in deliberate, smooth circles over your clit. The sensation caught your breath, dragging a choked gasp from your lips. You opened your mouth, soundless, helpless, as the tension in you coiled tighter, your orgasm cresting just out of reach.

"Joel," you whispered, the name breaking out of you like a plea. Your eyes met his, and you found him already watching you. His face was undone, raw and aching. He looked wrecked, like he was hanging by a thread, his chest heaving, his skin flushed a deep red that spilled down his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. That sound, the way he said it, was all it took to tip you over the edge.

Your head fell back, and the moan that broke from you wasn’t something you could contain. It ripped through you, sharp and desperate, splitting you open as Joel’s movements quickened, harder, deeper, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

He watched you, unblinking, his gaze full of something that felt like worship. His voice was a low, guttural sound, raw with want and need, as he thrust into you, chasing his own undoing. You felt it in the way his rhythm faltered, his body trembling.

And then, with a shuddering groan, he came, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you, spilling into every inch of you like he was giving you everything he had.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body flush against yours. His weight pressed down, heavy and grounding, knocking the breath out of your lungs in the most exquisite way. For a moment, he let himself rest there, his warmth sinking into you. 

When he pushed up slightly on his arms, the loss of him—his weight, his closeness—made you moan softly, an involuntary sound. His smile spread slow and lazy across his face as his hand came up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked on yours.

Then he kissed you. Slow, tender.

Your hands moved to his curls, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You looked up at him, your gaze betraying just how deeply you were lost in him. Irrevocably, helplessly in love.

“Stay on top of me.”

His smile deepened, dimples flashing in the dim light. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I’m going to crush you.”

“I don’t mind. I like it,” you said, your fingers trailing along the curve of his lips, tracing the shape of him like you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Fine,” he relented, dropping his weight just a little more, still not enough. His mouth brushed your cheek, then your jaw. “But only if you let me taste you again.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, playful.

“See? Impatient.”

His grin widened, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his face.

“Darlin', I’m not rushing anything,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours with every word. “We’ve got all night.”

[onebadassunicorn]

The Way We Were

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pining, angst, despair, death, suicide

word count: 4.1K

Taglist: @motheroffae @demon-master-zero @tele86 @batboyslutt @salvatoresister1 @callsign-midnight @angiieguevara @kk191327 @rcarbo1 @jennigsonl

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please leave me a comment!

Image owned by Cece’s Bookart Chronicles.

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

********

Chapter 6

Azriel POV

The pain hit Azriel like a physical blow, sharp and searing, as if someone had driven a blade into his chest and twisted it. One moment, he was standing in Rhysand’s office, listening to your last message through the bond, and the next, it was gone—you were gone.

The bond snapped violently, leaving a hollow, aching void where it had once been. His knees buckled, and his screams echoed through the halls of the House of Wind, raw and unrelenting, each one a visceral cry of anguish that seemed to shake the very walls.

He was on his knees in Rhysand’s office, his wings limp and his hands clawing at the bond that no longer existed. His shadows flailed around him, wild and uncontrolled, as though they, too, were mourning the loss of something they could never retrieve.

“NO!” he wailed again, his voice breaking as he slammed his fist into the floor. Tears streamed down his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “No, no, no! She can’t be gone!”

Rhys was beside him, his hands gripping Azriel’s shoulders tightly in an attempt to ground him. “Azriel,” he said, his voice firm but thick with his own grief. “You have to breathe. You—”

“I CAN’T!” Azriel roared, shoving Rhys’s hands away as his entire body trembled with the force of his despair. “She’s gone, Rhys! She’s gone!”

The door to the office burst open, and Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta rushed in, their faces pale and etched with alarm. The sound of Azriel’s cries had drawn them from every corner of the House, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight before them.

Azriel was crumpled on the floor, his usually composed and stoic demeanor completely shattered. His wings dragged limply behind him, his shadows a chaotic storm around his trembling frame. He clutched at his chest as though trying to hold himself together, but it was clear he was falling apart.

“Azriel?” Feyre’s voice was soft but trembling as she stepped closer, her violet eyes wide with concern.

Rhys glanced at her, his expression grim and heavy. “She’s gone,” he said quietly, the words seeming to weigh down the entire room.

“What do you mean?” Cassian demanded, his hazel eyes darting between Rhys and Azriel. “What the hell is going on?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he prepared to deliver the news. “Y/n was on a mission,” he began, his voice low but steady. “A dangerous one. Undercover in the Hewn City. She volunteered because...” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to Azriel, who let out another broken sob. “Because she thought she had the least to lose.”

Feyre gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “Why didn’t we know? Why didn’t she—”

“She asked me not to tell anyone,” Rhys said, his tone filled with regret. “She wanted it to be her mission, and she didn’t want anyone else involved. I respected her wishes.”

Nesta’s usually stoic face crumpled as she took a step back, her hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. “She was my friend,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “She didn’t even say goodbye.”

Cassian staggered, his hand gripping the back of a chair as he tried to process the words. “Like a sister,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “She was like a sister to me. And now—” He broke off, shaking his head as tears streamed down his face.

Feyre knelt beside Azriel, her own tears falling freely as she reached out to him. “Azriel, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t seem to hear her. His entire world had narrowed to the overwhelming, suffocating pain that consumed him. “She was my mate,” he choked out, his voice barely audible. “And I didn’t tell her. I didn’t... I let her think she didn’t matter.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and crushing.

Nesta turned away, covering her face with her hands as silent sobs wracked her body. Cassian moved to her side, his expression torn between his own grief and the need to comfort her.

Rhys stayed close to Azriel, his hand resting on his friend’s shoulder even as Azriel continued to wail and sob, the sound raw and unending.

“She didn’t know,” Azriel whispered brokenly, his head falling into his hands. “She didn’t know how much I loved her. How much I needed her. She thought... she thought she wasn’t enough.”

Feyre’s tears fell harder, and even Rhys’s composure began to crack as he looked down at the male who had always been their steady, unshakable spymaster.

But Azriel was inconsolable.

Each passing moment only seemed to deepen his despair, the bond’s absence a constant, agonizing reminder of what he had lost. He had waited too long, taken too much for granted, and now he was left with nothing but regret and the hollow shell of what might have been.

Hours passed, but Azriel didn’t move from the floor of Rhys’s office. His sobs gradually quieted into a haunting silence, but the devastation in his eyes remained.

He was a shadow of himself—broken, lost, and hollow.

The Inner Circle tried to help, tried to pull him from the depths of his grief, but Azriel remained unreachable, his heart and soul shattered beyond repair.

The days that followed were a blur. Azriel withdrew completely, retreating to his room and refusing to see anyone. His once-pristine appearance became disheveled, his usually sharp amber eyes dull and lifeless.

He stopped training, stopped flying, stopped eating unless someone forced him to. His shadows, once lively and alert, now moved sluggishly around him, as if they, too, were mourning.

A few days later, Rhys approached Azriel in his room, his usual commanding presence softened by grief. In his hand, he held a sealed letter.

“She left this,” Rhys said quietly, holding it out to Azriel before turning and letting Azriel read the letter in private.

Azriel hesitated, his hands trembling as he took the letter. The parchment was soft under his fingertips, your handwriting familiar even before he broke the seal.

He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words as tears blurred his vision.           

_________________________________________________________

Azriel,

If you’re reading this, then it means I didn’t make it back.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry for the pain of the physical break in the mating bond will cause you, even if you might believe I wasn’t worth that grief. I don’t know how to start this letter, because there’s so much I want to say, and I never had the courage to say it when I was alive.

The bond snapped for me years ago. I felt it, clear as day, like a thread tying me to you in a way I couldn’t explain, a way I never expected. I wanted to tell you so many times, Azriel. But how could I, when I saw how happy you seemed with her? How could I stand in the way of something that brought you even a flicker of light in the darkness I know you carry?

I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. That my feelings didn’t matter. You were smiling, laughing more than I’d ever seen you, and I thought I could be content just watching you find that happiness—even if it wasn’t with me.

But then everything started to change.

Slowly, so slowly, I began to lose you.

Do you remember how we used to go down to the Sidra and people-watch for hours? You’d tell the most ridiculous stories about strangers’ lives, and I’d try to one-up you with something even more absurd. It always made me laugh, even on the hardest days. And flying—Azriel, those moments meant everything to me. Feeling the wind rushing past us, knowing you were the one carrying me. I felt safe with you in a way I never felt with anyone else.

But you started doing those things with her. I’d catch glimpses of you and Elain by the Sidra, her laughter ringing out like it belonged in another world. I saw the way you looked at her when you took her flying, the way your shadows wrapped around her protectively. I tried to convince myself it didn’t hurt, but it did. Every time I saw you with her, it felt like another piece of me was slipping away.

And yet, I couldn’t be angry at you. You were just being you—kind, thoughtful, devoted. I couldn’t hate you for loving someone else, even as it tore me apart.

I missed you, Azriel.

I missed us.

I missed the way you used to look at me, the way you used to confide in me. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being the person you turned to, and that was the hardest thing to accept. You were my best friend, my anchor, my everything, and I didn’t know how to tell you that without making it all worse.

I thought if I could just bury my feelings deep enough, if I could put on a brave face, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

But it did.

It hurt more than I can put into words.

And then, that night in Rhys’s office... when I saw you at the door, and I felt the bond snap for you... Azriel, I wanted to believe it would change something. That maybe, just maybe, it meant I mattered to you the way you’ve always mattered to me.

But you didn’t say anything.

You just walked away, and I told myself it was because I wasn’t enough.

I’m sorry if that sounds cruel. I don’t mean it to. But it’s the truth I’ve lived with for so long—that I was never enough for you. Not as your friend, not as your mate, not as anything.

I hope you find someone who makes you truly happy, Azriel. Someone who gives you all the love you deserve, who stands by your side in a way I never could. I hope you fly with them, laugh with them, and find the peace you’ve always been searching for.

And maybe, in another life, things will be different.

Maybe then, I’ll have the courage to tell you all of this in person.

Maybe then, you’ll see me the way I’ve always seen you.

But for now, this is goodbye.

Please don’t blame yourself for what happened.

I made my choices because I wanted to protect the people I love—you most of all.

Be happy, Azriel.

For me.

With all my love,

Y/n

______________________________________________

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, the letter trembling in his hands as he read it again.

And again.

The words blurred as tears filled his amber eyes, but he couldn’t stop himself from tracing every line, every word, as if reading it enough times might bring you back.

But you were gone.

The bond—his bond—was gone.

That thread, that fragile, miraculous connection he hadn’t even realized he wanted so desperately until it was too late, had been severed.

And with it, the one person who had truly seen him, understood him, was lost forever.

He felt it like a gaping wound in his chest, an emptiness that nothing could fill. He had never truly believed in the idea of a mate completing someone until that moment, when your absence hollowed him out entirely. It wasn’t just grief—it was despair, sharp and suffocating, pulling him under like a riptide.

At one point, Azriel had thought it made sense—the idea of three sisters for three brothers. Feyre and Rhys were perfect for each other, bound by a love so fierce it was almost enviable. Nesta and Cassian had a bond that burned just as brightly, full of fire and passion. It had seemed logical, hadn’t it? That the third Archeron sister, quiet and gentle Elain, would fall to him, the shadowed and silent brother.

He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that the Mother had crafted a perfect symmetry in their lives. He had tried to convince himself that the softness of Elain would soothe the darkness inside him, that her kindness would balance the weight of his shadows. But now, sitting in the suffocating quiet of his room, he saw how stupid, how utterly foolish, that idea had been.

The letter crumpled slightly in his fists, and he clutched it tighter, his wings curling around him as if he could shield himself from the pain. His shadows writhed around him, erratic and desperate, searching for something they couldn’t find.

Searching for you.

He hadn’t realized how much he relied on you until now, when you were gone and the memories came crashing down, one after another, like daggers.

He thought of the mornings by the Sidra, sitting with you in the sunlight as you both sipped tea and watched the city come to life. Your laugh had been brighter than any star, your smile the only thing that could pull him out of his darkest thoughts. You’d nudge him with your elbow, challenging him to come up with the most ridiculous backstory for the people passing by. And he always did, just to hear that laugh again.

He thought of the times he’d taken you flying, the way you’d grip his shoulders tightly at first but then relax as you trusted him to keep you safe. You’d shout at him to go higher, faster, your joy infectious, and he had never felt more at peace than when you were with him.

He thought of your training sessions, your sharp wit and competitive spirit pushing him in ways no one else could. You’d smirk when you managed to best him, and he’d laugh, genuinely laugh, because with you, he could let his guard down.

And then, slowly, those memories began to twist.

He hadn’t even realized when he started to pull away from you. It had been so gradual, so unintentional, that he hadn’t seen it until it was too late.

The mornings by the Sidra became mornings with Elain. He thought of all the times he had taken Elain to the Sidra, convincing himself it was right, that it was fate. And yet, those moments had felt hollow, empty. They had lacked the spark, the warmth, that came so effortlessly with you. He hadn’t noticed, at the time, how he’d stopped inviting you to join him.

The flights he once cherished with you became flights with Elain. He thought of the flights he had shared with her, how her timid grip on his shoulders had never felt like home the way yours had. How he had been so blind, so lost in a fantasy of what he thought his life should look like, that he hadn’t realized what he was sacrificing. It hadn’t felt the same, but he’d told himself it didn’t matter.

Even the training sessions shifted. He had tried to convince Elain to train with him, his gentle coaxing a stark contrast to the fiery banter he had shared with you. He thought he was helping her, thought he was doing something good, but now he could see how he had pushed you aside without even realizing it.

And the whole time, you had been there, watching him, hurting silently while he drifted further away.

Yet - it had always been you.

His perfect match.

His mate.

The thought hit him like a physical blow, and he doubled over, clutching the letter tighter to his chest as his shadows writhed in agitation around him. He saw it now with agonizing clarity—the way you had always been there, the way you had made him laugh when he didn’t think he could, the way your presence had brought him a comfort he had never been able to put into words.

He had spent so much time chasing a dream that wasn’t real, blind to the fact that the thing he had always hoped for—the thing he had needed—had been right in front of him all along.

The one thing he had dreamed of since the darkest days of his youth, since those endless nights of pain and loneliness, was a mate to call his own. Someone to choose him, to see him, to love him despite the scars on his hands and soul. And when the Mother finally gave him that gift, she ripped it away before he could do anything about it.

His hands shook as he read your letter again, your words cutting into him like a blade.

“The bond snapped for me years ago.”

Years.

You had known for years, and he hadn’t seen it.

He hadn’t seen you.

He had been so caught up in the idea of Elain, so consumed by his own insecurities and fears, that he had let you slip away without even realizing it.

Azriel’s chest ached as he remembered the last time he saw you in Rhys’s office, the way your eyes had met his when the bond snapped for him. He had been so shocked, so panicked, that he had done nothing. He had been too much of a coward to act. Too afraid of what it would mean, too unsure of how to fix what he had already broken.

Now, he would never get the chance.

The Mother had taken you from him before he could tell you how much you meant to him. Before he could say that he loved you—not as a friend, not as a partner in battle, but as the one person who had ever truly mattered to him.

Azriel let out a broken sob, his wings drooping as his shadows curled tightly around him like they were trying to hold him together.

But they couldn’t.

Nothing could.

Azriel leaned back against the wall, clutching the letter to his chest as tears streamed silently down his face. The memory of your laughter, your smile, your voice played over and over in his mind like a cruel echo. He could almost hear you teasing him, could almost feel the warmth of your presence beside him.

And now you were gone.

The thought was unbearable, and a choked sob escaped his throat as he doubled over, clutching the letter to his chest. His shadows surged around him, frantic and chaotic, as if they, too, were mourning.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice trembling and broken. “I’m so sorry.”

But his apology would never reach you.

You would never hear the words he had been too afraid to say.

You would never know that you had been his everything, even when he was too blind to see it.

Azriel sat there for hours, the letter still clutched in his hands, as memories of you played over and over in his mind. He thought of your laughter, your smile, the way you had always been there for him, even when he didn’t deserve it. And he thought of your words, the way you had poured your heart into that letter, even as you prepared to face the possibility of never coming back.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The words haunted him, wrapping around his heart like a vice.

Azriel didn’t know how to live without you.

The bond was gone, and with it, the piece of himself he had only just begun to understand.

He felt incomplete, untethered, and utterly alone.

And in the darkest moments of the night, when the world was silent and his shadows were still, Azriel whispered your name into the void, hoping—praying—that somehow, somewhere, you could hear him.

But you didn’t come.

And the emptiness inside him grew.

Azriel stood on the balcony one night, the cold wind whipping through his hair and biting at his skin. The city below was peaceful, the lights of Velaris glittering like stars. It should have comforted him, but it didn’t.

Nothing did.

He reached out to the bond, or what remained of it—the frayed, severed edges that had once tied him to you.

There was nothing there now, no warmth, no spark.

Just silence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, his voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. For everything. For not choosing you when I had the chance. For not being there when you needed me. For failing you.”

His wings trembled as he stared into the vast expanse of darkness beyond the city. He thought of you—your smile, your laughter, the way you had always looked at him like he was more than the broken boy he saw in himself. You had given him everything, and he had given you nothing but pain.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He couldn’t live in a world where you didn’t exist, where every breath felt like a reminder of the love he had lost.

Azriel stepped to the edge of the balcony, as the wind howled around him. He closed his eyes, his mind filled with memories of you—your voice, your touch, your light.

The cold night air rushed past Azriel as he stepped off the edge of the balcony, the wind tearing at his hair and wings as he fell. He didn’t open them. He didn’t even try.

For centuries, his wings had been his salvation, carrying him above the pain and shadows that weighed on his soul. But now, they remained tightly folded, useless against the crushing despair that consumed him.

The city below blurred into darkness, the glittering lights of Velaris fading as his tears streamed down his face, freezing against his skin. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything but the emptiness where you used to be.

The bond was gone.

You were gone.

And with you had gone the last piece of himself that mattered.

His shadows swirled around him, frantic and restless, as if trying to catch him, to slow his descent. But even they seemed to falter, as if they, too, understood that nothing could save him now.

The world around him seemed to fade, and all he could think of was you. Your laugh, the way it used to fill the silence and make him believe, for a fleeting moment, that he wasn’t so broken. The way you’d look at him during your walks by the Sidra, your eyes bright with life and mischief. The way you had always been there for him, always seen him, even when he had been too blind to see you in return.

He clutched the memory of you like a lifeline, his mind replaying the words of your letter over and over again.

“Maybe in the next life, things will be different.”

The wind screamed in his ears, but it couldn’t drown out your voice, couldn’t erase the ache of your absence.

“In the next life,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he let his body fall faster, surrendering to the pull of the darkness below. “I’ll find you. And I’ll choose you. Every time.”

The stars above seemed to blur into streaks of light, and his tears mixed with the wind as he let the weight of his grief consume him. He didn’t try to stop it, didn’t try to fight.

Because a world without you wasn’t a world he wanted to live in.

As the ground rushed up to meet him, Azriel’s final thought was of you—your smile, your warmth, your love.

The love he had ignored, the love he had only just begun to understand when it was ripped away.

As the darkness closed in, and with it came the faintest flicker of hope.

The hope that somewhere, in the next life, he would find you again.

And this time, he would choose you.

Every time.

*********************

Y'all - It hurt me to write this but I’ve always wrote happy endings and wanted to try my hand at writing some tragedy and expand my writing beyond just the “happily ever after.”

I hope you all enjoyed it and I will definitely have more Azriel, Cassian and some Lucien coming within the next day or so. I promise they will be happier endings with some smut…although I may try another tragedy as well.  :)

Thanks for reading my fics and leaving your comments and re-blogs! 

I truly appreciate all you!

[storiesforallfandoms]

kneel ~ loki laufeyson;mcu

word count: 3541

request?: no

description: after finally being fed up with loki’s pranks, she finds out something about her friend’s little brother, something that intrigues her greatly

pairing: loki laufeyson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (masturbation, oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v)

masterlist (one, two, three)

I had known Thor since we were both kids, and that meant I had known Loki just as long. Loki was always Thor’s annoying little brother who lived up to his “God of Mischief” title a little too much. He had always loved to pull pranks on Thor and his friends, and he was the only one who enjoyed any of those pranks.

They started when we were kids - small, innocent pranks that were annoying, but not terrible. It was when they continued into our teenage and young adult years that they became a problem.

It was no use talking to Thor about it. He loved his little brother too much, even if he didn’t like the pranks either. He’d always just say, “He is the God of Mischief. It is just within his nature.”

I was pushed to the edge one day when I returned to my quarters to find a surprise waiting for me in my bed. Everyone knew of my fear of snakes. This information had unfortunately reached Loki as well. I had been waiting for him to use that information against me, but eventually I managed to forget he even knew. Until I got back to my quarters, kicked off my boots, and pulled back the covers to flop onto my bed, only to find it was full of snakes.

I shrieked and fell flat onto my ass. My heart was pounding as one of the snakes stretched its body out to put its face in mine. My fear was quickly replaced by anger as I realized exactly who put them there. I got to my feet and stormed out the door.

Loki was in the palace garden by himself. He was lucky I didn’t have any of my weapons, even though I could do just as much damage without them. I stormed up to him and, when he turned to face me, I swung. My fist connected with his cheek, knocking him to the ground. He had the audacity to look up at me in shock as he cupped his cheek.

“I have had enough of your bullshit, Loki!” I sneered. “Your tricks are going too far. Now you will pay!”

He tried to stutter something out, but I cut him off with a kick to the gut. I heard him wheeze as he fell onto his back, clutching his stomach. I knew I’d be in huge trouble if anyone were to catch us. Whether I was Thor’s friend or not didn’t matter when I was beating the shit out of the Asgardian prince. But I was far from caring at that point.

I drew back my leg and kicked him again, sending him rolling across the ground again. He quickly scrambled to his knees, holding his hands up to stop my assaults.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I’m sorry. The snakes were too far, you’re right.”

“Why should I accept your apology?” I asked. “Nothing has ever stopped you before. Why should I believe you won’t put more snakes in my quarters once I’ve forgotten about this?”

“Please, I promise you I will never pull any pranks on you ever again. I have learned my lesson. You have my word on that.”

His word often meant nothing. He was the trickster god after all. I wouldn’t trust his word as far as I could throw him.

But there was something about the way he looked right now; on his knees, looking up at me with his big, blue eyes, his chest rising and falling with every panted breath as he tried to recover from my attack. His words were lost as I just looked at him. The thoughts that started to fill my mind were not ones I would’ve ever thought I could have about Loki.

When I realized what I was thinking, I quickly snapped out of my trance wans said, “I believe you” before turning to rush back to my quarters.

I closed my door and leaned back against it. I had completely forgotten about the creatures Loki had left in my bed, but now they were gone. I guess he had used his magic to get rid of them sometime between my attack and hasty departure. I tried to channel that anger back as I was reminded of what sent me to Loki to begin with, but my mind was now clouded with the image of Loki on his knees.

I decided to get a quick, cold shower to try and cool myself down, but it only made things worse. As the cold water cascaded over my body, I found myself envisioning that I wasn’t alone. As my hands moved over my body, I found myself imagining they were Loki’s hands. Soapy hands running over my arms, my shoulders, cupping my breasts. I let out a moan as I squeezed them, imagining Loki stood behind me, his lips on my neck as his hands toyed with me.

I gasped as I came to my sense. What is wrong with me?!

The minute the water shut off, my body felt hot to the touch again. The thought alone of having to put clothes back on made me feel claustrophobic, so I decided just to slip under the covers. my mind was still playing images I desperately wished would stop. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was Loki. It’s not like I hadn’t noticed Loki like that before. When the two of us were going through puberty and starting to “notice” the opposite sex more, I saw how handsome he had become. But even then I never thought of him like this.

There was a dull ache between my legs that was starting to become too much to ignore. Maybe...maybe I just take care of it and these thoughts will finally go away.

I let one hand move down my body again, skimming over my breasts and stomach until I reached the heat between my legs. I gasped as I applied light pressure to my clit. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to picture Loki. I imagined him on his knees again, his blue eyes watching me as I stand over him. I pictured him pulling me closer and his lips teasing the host skin of my lower stomach. I whimpered as I applied more pressure to the circles I was rubbing on my clit. In my imagination, Loki was lifting my leg over his shoulder to get better access to my dripping pussy.

Before I could stop myself, Loki’s name slipped from my lips followed by a string of moans. Despite the fact that my brain was too lust clouded to really think about it, I knew I had no reason to stop myself from saying his name while I pleasured myself. The walls were essentially soundproof, so no one was going to hear who I was fantasizing about.

Or so I thought anyways.

Because as I came closer and closer to the edge, I heard a noise in my room. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I was not alone.

Loki was stood there, looking at me with wide eyes and pink tinted cheeks.

I screamed and sat up. The blanket fell to my lap, so I collected it again and used it to cover my bare body.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” I snapped. “How did you get in?!”

“I-I came in while you were in the shower,” he responded. “I...I was trying to scare you as payback for what happened in the garden, but when you came out naked and didn’t get dressed...”

He trailed off, his face growing redder by the second. I wondered at first how much he had seen, but if he was saying he had been here since I was in the shower, that meant he had seen everything. He had seen me naked, seen me touching myself, heard me moaning his name.

It was my turn for my face to burn with embarrassment. I turned away quickly so he couldn’t see my expression.

“Do you often think of me when you’re in here at night getting yourself off?”

I tried to scowl at him for even asking such a stupid question, but when my eyes met his I saw that he was no longer embarrassed. Instead, there seemed to be a hint of mischief in those blue eyes. And not the kind where he was about to cause some sort of annoying trouble. No, this was lust.

“No,” I told him. “I’ve never thought of you like this. It’s just...for some reason...after seeing you on yours knees in the garden...”

He chuckled. “Oh, you want to see me on my knees then, is that it?”

I could feel the heat growing between my legs again. Loki approached me, pausing a moment to see if I was going to tell him to leave. I knew I should’ve, but I really did not want to. I was curious to see where he was going with this, and if it meant he was going to give me the release I dearly needed...well, there was no harm in that, was there?

When I didn’t give any indication that I wanted him to leave, he extended a hand to me. I took it and he gently pulled me from my bed so I was standing in front of him. He was always taller than me, but I never truly noticed it until this moment, looking up at him and waiting for him to make some sort of move. He held eye contact with me as he slowly lowered himself to his knees in front of me.

“What was it I was doing in your fantasy?” he asked.

“Y-You were using your m-mouth on me,” I stuttered out.

“Like this?” he asked before leaning forward to press a kiss to my stomach - just like in my fantasy.

“Y-Yes,” I said. “But also...lower.”

“How much lower?”

“I think you know.”

He chuckled again. “I do, but I want to hear you say it.”

“You were kissing me on my pussy before you so rudely interrupted my fantasy.”

I gasped as he lightly bit at the soft skin on my stomach. “So naughty, even when you have me on my knees wanting to give you exactly what you were thinking about. Although, I suppose I did so rudely interrupt you while you were trying to get yourself off. I should try to make that up to you.”

He took my leg and lifted it over his shoulder. I reached behind me and used the nearest object - my nightstand - to steady myself as Loki immediately dove his tongue into my folds. I gasped, which turned into a moan. It felt even better than I ever could’ve imagined. Actually, I don’t think anything I could’ve imagined would ever live up to this. I had never had anyone go down on me, although I had done the same to plenty of my partners in the past. The feeling made me so lightheaded so quickly that I felt like I was floating.

While keeping one hand on my nightstand (because I was sure if I stopped holding it I would’ve toppled over), I ran my other through Loki’s long hair. Growing up, I had often teased him about wanting to keep his hair long because I told him it would just get in the way during battle. But now, I was glad he had never taken any of my words to heart. His long, black locks were the perfect thing to grab hold of and use to direct him as he devoured me. At one point, as his tongue ran from the tip of my clit all the way down to my pussy, I involuntarily pulled on his hair a little harder than I meant to. His response was to moan, not taking his mouth from me, sending a shiver all throughout my body.

He was watching me. Never once did his eyes leave me as he made me come undone just with his tongue. I tried to keep eye contact, but my eyes kept closing or my head would lull back in pleasure. I wanted this to last as long as possible, but I found myself nearing the edge quickly. I tried to pull Loki away, but he attached himself to me.

“Wait,” I breathed. “I-I’m gonna...”

“Cum in my mouth,” he told me before placing his mouth around my clit again and running his tongue over it.

It was enough to finally push me over the edge. I cried out in pleasure as I felt his tongue run down to my pussy to collect the juices running from it. My legs began to tremble and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stand up for much longer. As if reading my mind, Loki’s hands raised up to hold onto my hips as he had a few last laps. When he finally managed to pull himself from me, I could see that his lips were glistening from me. It was enough to almost turn me on again.

He got to his feet again and kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips. He slowly backed me up until I was falling back onto my bed. He followed me down, crawling on top of me so that his legs were straddling my hips. His mouth was on mine again, still hungry as if he hadn’t just eaten me like a man who hadn’t had food in years.

I reached between us to try and undo his pants, but he quickly moved his hand to capture my wrist. I jumped at the sudden contact.

“Do you not want to go further?” I asked. “I’ll respect your wishes if not, but you’re giving me very mixed signals if that’s the case.”

He shook his head. “No, I want to go further. You have no idea how badly I need to be inside of you right now. It’s just...”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence for me to understand what he meant.

“There’s a lady in town who gives out contraceptives to the maidens in town,” I told him. “She said that on Midgard they call it ‘birth control’, but other realms are starting to take note of it to try and control their populations.”

“So...if we were to go through with this, there’s no risk of us producing an offspring?”

For some reason, the way he phrased it made me giggle as I shook my head. “No. There will be no little Lokis running around the castle.”

In a flash, his lips were on mine again. He didn’t stop me when I reached between us this time. I unbuttoned his pants and tried to pull them down without breaking the kiss. Unfortunately, it was not as easy as I would have wanted it to be and we eventually had to break away so Loki could undress himself. I watched, impatiently, as he pulled his shirt over his head first, then agonizingly slowly removed his pants and boxers. I couldn’t help but stare as his cock sprang free from their confinements. I had never really thought about the size of Loki’s dick, but I was pleasantly surprised to see what he was packing.

He climbed over me again, kissing me deeply as he lined himself up with entrance. I was still wet enough from my first orgasm that he was able to run the head of his dick through my folds and collect enough wetness that he could push himself into me with ease. He filled me slowly, letting me adjust to every inch of his length until he was buried to the hilt inside of me. I felt so full that I almost never wanted him to pull out of me.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “If anything hurts I’ll stop.”

“You are hardly the first lover I’ve had, Loki,” I told him. “I’ve done this before, you aren’t going to hurt me.”

He grinned down at me. “My, my, Thor’s virtuous best friend allowing herself to be defiled?”

“I’m hardly virtuous. Even Thor knows that. He just never wants to heard of my escapades.”

“I don’t think I want to hear of them either.” Before I could respond, he pulled out until it was just the head of his dick inside of me, before thrusting all the way in again. The words fizzled in my throat and became moans instead. “I don’t want to think of anyone else defiling you. Not in the past, and not in the future. If we are crossing this boundary tonight, then I want you to be mine. No other person in all of Asgard or any other realm can have you, do you understand?”

I nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Gods, Loki, I’m yours! I promise, I will not let anyone else have me. I’m yours and yours alone, I swear.”

I could feel his smirk against my neck as he began to kiss me. “Say it one more time. I like hearing it.”

“I’m yours, Loki. All of me is yours.”

With every thrust inwards he was hitting spots that I didn’t even know could exist within me. He kissed wherever his lips could reach, and what they couldn’t reach he touched with his hands instead. He continued to whisper sweet nothings into my ear as he fucked me like it was his life’s purpose. I wasn’t sure if he actually meant that he wanted me to be his or if it was just the lust of the moment taking over, but I was starting to hope he really meant it. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else after this. He was ruining me with every thrust, every caress, every kiss.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m getting close.”

“Please cum in me,” I said. If I was in my right mind I might’ve been embarrassed to beg, but there was one thing I wanted right now and I wasn’t afraid to voice that.

“Is that what you want, pet?” he asked. “Do you want me to fill you up? To really claim you as mine?”

I nodded quickly, unable to form any other words. I wrapped my legs around his waist, which caused him to chuckle. “Alright, I’ll give you exactly what you want then.”

I could feel him twitching inside of me, and within a matter of seconds he was spilling into me. He buried his head into my shoulder, his groans muffled against my skin. My hands were gripping at his back so hard that I was sure there were going to be imprints of my nails left in his skin. I looked up at the ceiling of my quarters, but all I could see were stars.

We laid together for what felt like hours. I didn’t want this to end, but I feared that once Loki had come down from his high that he would regret everything he had said. I knew I probably was supposed to feel the same way, he was Thor’s little brother after all. I shouldn’t think of him as a partner or a lover. And yet, I was dreading the moment he pulled out of me and looked at me with regret. Or worse yet, that he would leave without even so much as a glance in my direction and forget this ever happened.

To my surprise, when Loki finally did pull himself from me, he held me with one arm and moved the blankets back so we could both slip under them. He pulled me to him, resting my head on his chest, and reached over to turn off the light on my nightstand.

“You’re staying, then?” I asked. It came out soft and hopeful.

“Did you want me to leave?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly.

“Then I’ll stay.”

“You don’t...regret what just happened?”

“Do you?”

“Do you always have to answer a question with a question?”

His chest vibrated beneath my cheek as he laughed. “Well, considering the questions you’re asking, I feel the need to make sure that isn’t how you’re feeling.”

“It’s not,” I confirmed. “I want you to stay, and I don’t regret what just happened. If anything, I’m very glad it happened. I don’t think I’ve felt that good during sex in a long time.”

“Then you were having sex with the wrong people.”

“Evidently so.”

He squeezed me gently and kissed my forehead. I felt the touch run through my entire body, from the place he kissed on my head all the way down to my toes.

“I meant what I said. About you being mine,” he said. “I’m not one to engage in meaningless sex. If that’s all you wanted, then I would leave and forget it ever happened. But, I don’t intend to let you go that easily.”

“I don’t intend to be let go.”

“Good.” He kissed me again. I couldn’t fight back the smile that tugged at my lips. “Go to sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning.”

I nodded and settled against his chest. “Goodnight Loki.”

“Goodnight, love.”

[wosostories]

Pranks

Prompt: Can you do a uswnt x teen reader, where reader gets hurt when someone pulls a prank on her or something like that?

Sonny pulls Y/N in to the aftermath of a prank and it doesn't go as planned.

You were heading back to your room from a meeting with coach. You had been told that you were going to be starting in tomorrow's game. You were so excited that you didn’t notice Sonnett running down the hallway. 

“Y/N watch out!” She calls out right before she runs into you. You wobble a little but she steadies you before you hit the ground. “Sorry! Got to run.” She is about to take off again down the hallway. “Actually, I could use you.” Sonny grabs your hand and drags you down the hallway behind her. 

“Why are we running? What did you do?” You ask her. 

“There is no reason for the running. I didn't do anything. Why would you even ask that?” Sonny responds. 

“Sonny, get back here!” You hear Kelley yell from down the hallway. 

“Did you prank Kelley?”

“Maybe?”

“Becky told you that you aren’t allowed to drag me into your prank wars. And I think that this constitutes dragging me.”

“I may be dragging you, but this is not a prank war so not breaking Beckys rules.”

You turn a corner and are all of a sudden heading down a set of stairs. Sonnett’s grip around your wrist made it impossible to get out of it without hurting yourself. 

“Can you let me go please. I was on my way to get ready for dinner. I am already running late.”

“You're fine, we can just go to dinner right now.” You are keeping up with Sonny until the final bit on the first floor. You trip over one of the stairs and let out a yelp as you fall down the final few stairs. You fall into Sonny and you both tumble to the ground in a heap. 

“Sonny! Y/N!” Kelley calls from the flight of stairs above you. This draws the attention of some of the other girls who are waiting in the meal room which is next door to the staircase. 

In a second they were at the bottom of the stairs as Sonnett peels herself off the floor. 

“Oh God, Y/N! Are you ok?” You let out a groan clutching your wrist to your chest. 

“Sonnett what did you do?” Becky all but yells. 

“I- I didn’t…” 

Ali came running in with the team doctor. 

“Y/N can you sit up for me?” The medic asked. She helped you into a sitting position leaning up against the wall. She took your hand into her own and started poking it in different spots. 

The rest of the girls turned back to Sonnett and Kelley knowing that you were in good hands. They were berating them as the medic made her assessment. 

You let out a cry and tears start streaming down your face as she continues her assessment. “I think it's broken. We need to get you to the hospital for x-rays and casting.”

“A- am I still going to be able to start tomorrow?” You ask through your tears. All of your teammates went silent waiting for the answer. 

The medic sighed, “It’s not the end of the world, you will have another opportunity to start. You are only 16.” 

“Y/N I’m so sorry.” You shake your head and let the medic help you to your feet. Her and Ali help you out of the hotel to head to the hospital. 

“You’re the one who is going to tell coach why Y/N can’t start tomorrow. And the part you played in it.” Becky told her. 

Sonnett nodded tears in her own eyes, “I hope you think pulling her into the prank was worth it.” Kelley said, walking past her leaving Sonny alone as the team made their way back to the meal room to wait on news of Y/N wrist. 

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine trying to help Zuko convince everyone that he’s good…

“Let me go down to them.” You suggested. “They’ll listen to me.”  

Zuko looked at you, eyes filled with hope as if you had struck gold. “I’ll come with you. They’ll have to listen to me then.” 

Chuckling, you tilted your head which made Zuko frown. What was so amusing?

“Zuko, if you bring me into their camp, Appa will eat you.”

Zuko flinched at the thought and shook his head. “We need a different plan.” He decided and then groaned loudly. “Why is this so difficult?!”

He placed his hand on his chin as he thought harder. You sat up with a small wince. “I could just go on my own, you know.”

“You’re still hurt.” 

“I’m getting better. You said so yourself yesterday.” You argued.

Zuko sighed and turned to you. The frown told him that you were a little annoyed with his protection but all he wanted was to kiss it into a smile. Perhaps later…

Folding his arms, the prince smirked. “Alright, if you can make it to me from there, I’ll believe you.”

You pushed the blankets off and placed your hands on the ground with determination. Slow and steady, you wobbled as you stood but step by step, you began to inch towards Zuko. He wasn’t very far to begin but your pride was on the line. From your cell in the Fire Nation to your recovering injuries, you had had enough of being restricted.

You walked across the ground, arms slightly spread to your sides for balance. 

With only a few paces to go, you were hit with a wave of fatigue and you legs felt like jelly. You slammed into Zuko and clutched onto him. 

“That wasn’t very convincing.” Zuko smirked. 

“Maybe I just wanted to fall into your arms.” You mumbled against his chest. Closing your eyes, sleep began to wash over. Smiling, Zuko wrapped his arms around you and stood there for a little while longer. 

“You need a healer.” He whispered. “I’ll risk being eaten.”

~ More imagines here ~

[kat651]

hobbit characters realizing and confessing their love to you.

🤍Kili

He is the kind of guy to fall and fall hard. He first realized that he loved you when he saw you effortlessly take out a massive amount of orcs then just smile smugly at him.

his love only grew until it was too much and he had to tell you so he walked up to you when you were sharpening your sword. “Y/n, I- there’s something I wish to tell you…” he said. “What is it, Kili?”

he led you out of ear shot of the others and looked up so you with fear and hope mixed in his eyes. “Y/n… I love you…” and of corse you’d just have to lean down and kiss him.

🤍Fili

By the time he realized he was falling for you he was already half the way in there was no turning back now. So, he knew he had to tell you before he went mad. Thing is, every time he tried, his words got jumbled and he made a fool out of himself so instead he settled on a dwarfish custom that would express what he wished to say.

he sat next to you and began to weave a braid into your hair. You knew instantly what it meant and turned to kiss his cheek, causing him to blush madly. “Took you long enough,” you whispered softly in his ear.

🤍Thorin

He realized he loved you when he was facing Azog on the frozen lake. (Movie version) he was in his back, Azog hovering over him with a blade inches from his chest. You ran and knocked the pale orc away from Thorin before killing the foul beast. “Thorin! Are you ok, are you hurt?”

he just jumped to his feet and pressed his lips on yours. “You saved my life, y/n…”

🤍Bilbo

he realized he loved you when you, quite literally, walked into his life. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, are you ok?”

he immediately was a blushing mess and by the end of the week he had brought you a bouquet of wild roses.

you received them with a smile and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Bilbo…”

🤍Thranduil

He realized he loved you when he was riding into the city of Dale (movie ver) on his elk. (Which of corse got killed ☹️) he was immediately surrounded by the enemy. An arrow was notched but he noticed a second too late and would have been shot in the chest if you hadn’t thrown yourself into him, pushing him out of the way. But -if done at any other time would have likely gotten you thrown in a cell- unfortunately you now had an arrow in your abdomen.

The last thing you saw was Thranduil catching you before you hit the ground then, black.

when you woke you were in a tent, covered in some sort of silky, highly expensive, fabric. You realized after a moment that it was the king’s silk cape.

you looked over when you heard the rustle of fabric, king Thranduil knelt next to you and you went to sit up but only ended up clutching your side. “Lay down, you need to rest…”

you blushed and looked up at your king. “My lord I-”

you were gently cut off by a kiss to the forehead. “Rest, melith nin, you need it.”

🤍Elrond

he is the strong type he doesn’t confess that he loves you for some time. When he realized it was when he saw you in the garden, helping a baby bird back into its nest. it was such a small act but he found it endearing.

he confessed his feelings on a star lit night. You were out on a walk and the moon was lighting your face so perfectly that he could no longer just watch, he joined you in your walk and by the end of it his lips had met yours more than once.