#i’m like a child without a leash

[chaotic-orphan]

So I've been reading Intoxicating Fear for a while now and (Oskit shippers don't come after me) I don't see Kit and Ambrose being together. I get Ambrose but can be somewhat gentle with Kit, but I just don't think I've really seen it till now. I don't think their vibes or morals line up. I could see Jude and Ambrose together, as like a power couple of sorts, but I think don't Kit and Ambrose would be well together. (I'm sorry if this is repetitive and no one asked for my opinion on the matter. I love your work so much,

HAH HAAAAAAGGHH!!! YES!!!! WOOOOO!!!! THANK YOU ANON!!!!!! *sending kisses and bouquets of roses and popping champagne* I ABSOLUTELY ASKED FOR YOUR OPINION ON THE MATTER!!!! HAHAAAHHH! I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE!!! Now, Oskit shippers also don’t come for me, but I agree!!! Wholly and completely.

I agree that Ambrose can be gentle, and that their morals or vibes join up at all! My reasoning against them as a couple is simply because Kit would never, ever forgive Ambrose for what he did to him, what he took from him. Kit didn’t have a good life growing up, and then he found Mentor and his calling in the Hero academy — so when Mentor took him in and gave him a home and a life and love, Kit slowly, very slowly, let his guard down and started to believe the stories and movies about life being good, and then— Omen attacks and Kit is left alone again after taking the risk of hoping for a better life for himself.

It also doesn’t sit well with me because who has the power in their relationship? Ambrose, always, always Ambrose. So even if Ambrose made advances would Kit be too afraid to say no? And that makes it too like situations that happen in real life for me

Jude and Ambrose however? They are on the same kind of power balance (both in power and status and how they hold themselves) which would be a-okay to write, but because Kit is Ambrose’s second victim *ever* [and also just his victim] it is far too personal for Kit to ever get passed that and love Ambrose —— unless, Ambrose compelled him, and then it kind of goes into the Jessica Jones realm

Having said that, Oskit shippers, I get it, I love a good unbalanced power dynamic myself where love blooms — hell power imbalances in general (esp in whump, WOOF) — and I also love that you see something in the story that I never intended, and felt strongly enough about it to bring it to my attention!!! It has been a very fun and fucking hilarious experience, and I really like the coffee shop AU idea so it probably will happen, just not in canon 😉

But ANON, may the gods smile on you today for sharing your thoughts and opinions on the matter, I thought I was fighting against the army of Oskit shippers by myself, but now we can go back to back and fend them off with spears XD

[iydiamartinx]

TERRITORY, MARKED

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader ft. Dick Grayson

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 2.1k synopsis: Damian makes an unexpected friend at the dog park—but when his older brother tags along one day and takes a little too much interest, Damian decides one thing for certain: this was not supposed to be a shared friendship. a/n: I got this cute request from @kitkatscabinet hope you liked it 🩵

He didn’t like the noise, the chaos, or the strangers who insisted on asking where his parents were—just because he was twelve and walking around with a dog half his height. The scrutiny was always the same: curious stares, patronizing smiles, or the occasional busybody who seemed convinced he was lost. He wasn’t. He had perfect directional memory and could incapacitate a grown man with two fingers.

But Titus needed exercise, and Alfred had made a rather pointed comment that morning about how “a well-socialized pet is a reflection of his owner’s discipline.”

So here he was, standing stiffly beneath a tree with his arms crossed, watching Titus bound after a tennis ball like a slobbering oaf. His nose wrinkled slightly as a group of women near the water fountain cast him a judgmental look—three of them with toy dogs tucked neatly into designer purses like accessories. Damian could feel the weight of their stares on him and Titus and he was just about ready to call it a day when he heard a voice behind him.

“That’s a gorgeous dog,” you said, gaze following Titus. “Yours?”

Damian turned, immediately wary.

He looked you over with practiced suspicion, eyes narrowing just slightly. You were older than him—maybe around Grayson’s age—but you didn’t speak to him with the gratingly high-pitched, patronizing tone adults so often used. There was no forced sweetness, no condescension, no judgment. Not even fear. Just curiosity.

An unclipped leash hung loosely from your fingers, and a husky stood at your side, tail wagging as it trotted toward Titus with a cheerful bark.

“Yes,” Damian replied curtly.

You didn’t flinch at his curt reply. Didn’t backpedal or fill the silence with awkward chatter the way most people did when confronted with Damian’s usual icy demeanour. Instead, you just nodded as your husky bounded up to Titus, sniffing noses and circling excitedly.

“They’ve got good instincts,” you said casually, eyes on the dogs. “Mine doesn’t usually approach ones that size unless they’re friendly.”

Damian followed your gaze. Titus, ever the soldier, stood tall and still, allowing the inspection without so much as a twitch. Then, with a quiet chuff, he gave a single, measured wag of his tail and lowered his head in greeting.

A rare sign of approval.

Damian’s stance eased—just slightly. “…He doesn’t usually tolerate strangers,” Damian said slowly.

You smiled a little at that. “Guess today’s just full of exceptions.”

He studied you again, this time with a shade less suspicion. You didn’t have the overenthusiastic energy most dog people radiated. You weren’t trying to pet Titus without permission, or asking how old he was like he was a child running errands without supervision. You simply stood there, hands in your pockets, content to watch the dogs with quiet interest.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you offered after a beat, though your tone made it clear there was no pressure to respond.

“…Damian,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Damian.”

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod, then let his gaze return to the dogs. Titus and your husky had taken to one another quickly, and Damian felt another piece of his wall chip when he saw how happy Titus was with his new friend. 

Silence settled between the two of you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You eventually moved to the nearby bench, letting your dog roam in a wide circle with Titus while you scrolled through your phone.

Damian didn’t sit beside you—not right away. But after a few minutes, he shifted his weight. Then stepped closer. Then finally sank onto the far edge of the bench, arms still crossed but no longer on guard.

That was how it started. The next time he saw you, you sent him a friendly wave. The time after that, you offered him a spot beside you. You never pushed for him to speak but eventually he began responding to your idle chatter, until he found himself opening up and talking about his day—about school, about people who annoyed him, about books he liked. Something about you was easy to talk to, you listened with interest, asking questions when needed, and even occasionally talking about your own daily life, which he found oddly… validating. You didn’t treat him like a child and you were smart enough that you could keep up with him. 

Soon, it became a routine. Titus and your dog would charge off together the moment their paws hit the grass, while you and Damian claimed your usual spot beneath the shade. Sometimes you talked. Sometimes you didn’t. Either way, it worked.

Damian had always found it difficult to spend time with kids his age. He didn’t understand them—and frankly, they didn’t understand him. They were loud, immature, easily distracted. The only exception had ever been Jon, and even then, their bond had been forged under very specific circumstances. Neither of them had to hide who they were. They were both born into the life of heroes but And even then, their friendship was… unconventional at best.

Damian rarely connected, even among the other young heroes His surly personality, sharp tongue, and rigid discipline kept most of them at arm’s length. Jon, ever the optimist, was the rare outlier—a ball of sunshine who somehow wormed his way past Damian’s walls with unwavering sincerity. 

You were something entirely different. A civilian. Someone completely outside the world he’d grown up in, that he began considering as a friend.

But, of course, with a family like his, someone was bound to find out eventually. Damian had done his best to keep this to himself—this quiet corner of his life that belonged only to him. He changed his routes, downplayed his outings, gave vague answers when asked where he’d been.

Still, everyone had started to notice the change.

Subtle things, at first. The way he stopped groaning every time he was told to take Titus out. The way he came back from his walks with less tension in his shoulders. He wasn’t snapping as much. Wasn’t muttering under his breath with the same venom he usually reserved for Gotham’s general population.

So when Dick insisted on tagging along one weekend—something about “needing fresh air” and “brotherly bonding”—Damian should’ve known his secret was on borrowed time. His friend, his quiet routine, his piece of normalcy… it was no longer going to be just his.

Still, he thought he’d pulled it off. He left early, ditching Dick. He even took the long way around, doubled back twice just to be sure he wasn’t followed. And it worked—he made it to the park alone. What he hadn’t expected was that Dick would show up anyway. 

“Hey, Dami!”

Damian tensed mid-sentence, shoulders going rigid as if preparing for an ambush. You glanced up in time to see the source of the disruption. With a coffee in one hand, and a leash in the other, the man beamed brightly. An adorable grey puppy trotted beside him, ears bouncing with every step, tongue lolling out in sheer delight. Her leash was slack—more of a formality than a necessity.

Taking a moment to study the man himself, he was tall, handsome, and fit, with bright eyes and a golden grin. There was an easy confidence to him, an effortless charm that told you he was a people person…right up until he saw you.

And then he just—froze.

You offered a polite, amused smile. “You must be his brother.” 

You’d heard Damian complain about his brothers enough to make a pretty solid guess. Drake and Thomas were still juniors—too young to be this guy—and from everything Damian had said about Todd, he sounded more like the leather-jacket, punch-first type. This guy? He was too put-together. Too clean-cut. Too… sunny. Which really only left one option.

Grayson. The apparent golden boy.

Beside you, Damian sighed loudly, rubbing his temples like this entire interaction was causing him physical pain. “Unfortunately.”

Dick blinked. “I—uh—hi. I’m Dick.” He caught the raised brow you gave him and immediately flushed, a faint pink blooming across his cheeks. “Richard. Grayson. Dick Grayson. That’s me.”

“…Right,” you said, lips curving into a slightly wider smile. 

Damian didn’t have to look at you to know. He could already feel the secondhand embarrassment crawling up his spine like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He was going to commit fratricide. Right here. In broad daylight.

Meanwhile, you let your gaze drop to the ball of grey fluff at his side, her tail wagging lazily as she sprawled out across the grass like she owned the park.

“And who’s this?” you asked, your tone cooeing.

Dick followed your gaze, smile brightening instantly. “Haley,” he said warmly. “She’s still a bit of a mischief maker, but we’re working on it.”

As if on cue, Haley let out a happy little yip and rolled onto her back, paws curled in the air, clearly angling for attention. You laughed, reaching down to scratch her belly, and she kicked her legs like she’d just won the lottery.

Titus and your dog trotted over from where they’d been playing nearby, drawn by the sight of the unfamiliar puppy. Their postures were relaxed, tails wagging in casual curiosity as they circled around to greet her. Dick crouched down and unclipped Haley’s leash without hesitation, giving her a soft pat on the side.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Haley didn’t need to be told twice. With a delighted bark, she bounded forward to meet the others. Within moments, the three dogs were weaving around each other in playful loops, tails high and tongues lolling, a flurry of paws and joyful energy filling the open stretch of grass.

Pushing past his momentary embarrassment, Dick dropped onto the bench beside you without being asked, angling his body a little too fully in your direction. His smile was quick to return, all easy charm and boyish confidence.

“So,” he said, leaning in slightly. “You’re the mysterious dog park friend. I’ve heard… absolutely nothing about, because apparently someone likes to keep secrets.”

You chuckled, casting an amused glance at Damian. “I didn’t realize I was being kept a secret.”

“You weren’t,” Damian snapped, a little too quickly and defensively. “But my brothers are like rabid dogs who I didn’t want scaring you off.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, clearly amused instead of offended. “Scaring her off? What, do we bark too loud or something?”

You snorted. “The more important question is, do you bite?”

“Only when threatened,” Dick said with a wink. Then he leaned in just a fraction, pitching his voice low enough that, presumably, only you would hear. “Or when asked.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it, the corner of your mouth twitching despite yourself. There was a spark in his eyes, teasing and a little too pleased with himself, and you hated how easily it made heat crawl up the back of your neck.

You were cut off by Damian’s groan as he saw the look you two shared, slumping back against the bench with the kind of dramatized misery usually reserved for Shakespearean death scenes. “You see? This is why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Aw, come on, Dami,” Dick teased, nudging his little brother with his elbow. “Don’t be like that. It’s not my fault our new friend is cute.”

Your lips parted in surprise, a soft huff of laughter escaping before you could stop it. 

“She is not our friend,” Damian muttered.

You turned toward him, brow arching with interest. “Oh?” you said, drawing the word out, clearly amused. “So what am I?”

Damian opened his mouth, paused, frowned like the question had personally offended him. “You’re… mi—my,” he settled on, vaguely flustered. “My friend. Not his.”

Dick raised his brows, then gave a low chuckle, the sound soft and unbothered. “Hey, no one said she can’t be friends with both of us.”

Then he glanced your way, that familiar glint in his eyes.

“Though I wouldn’t mind being a little more than friends.”

Your heart skipped, just once, and the way his smile deepened told you he noticed your flushed cheeks.

From beside you, Damian huffed, arms crossed tight. “I just didn’t introduce her because I didn’t want you hitting on her,” he grumbled.

Your smile softened as you leaned back against the bench. “Don’t worry, Dami. You’ll always be my favourite.”

He nodded like that settled the matter entirely, posture relaxing ever so slightly as he turned his attention back to the three dogs still tumbling across the grass.

But the moment his gaze was elsewhere, Dick leaned in again, his voice low and smooth.

“What do you say to dinner?” he murmured, the words warm against the air between you. “Give me a chance to change your mind about your favourite.”

You turned your head toward him, brow raised, a smile tugging at your lips. Your eyes flicked to Damian—still fully distracted— before looking back at Dick, biting your lip.

“It’s a date.”

Next Chapter →

[sweet-pea-channie]

In the silence, I found you

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Azriel saves a mute fae woman left for dead after an ambush. Haunted by her silence, he finds himself drawn to her, not out of pity, but recognition. She reminds him of something he lost… and something he never thought he'd find again.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse & torture (non-graphic but emotionally heavy), trauma responses including selective mutism, violence, aftermath of assault, PTSD, survivor's guilt, anxiety, grief and loss of family, slow emotional healing and intimate recovery scenes, soft angst + comfort

Word count: 12.6k

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading 💛 English is my third language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes or odd phrasing, please be kind! I’m doing my best. Feedback is always welcome, especially if it's helpful and respectful. This fic is really close to my heart. It’s about healing, trust, and connection without words and I hope it speaks to you, even if it's quiet.

masterlist

Smoke still clung to the charred ruins of the village, curling through the early dusk air like ghostly fingers refusing to let go. The ground was slick with soot and blood, a patchwork of scorched cobblestones and scorched earth. The scent, acrid, raw, was more than just fire. It was despair, clinging to the bones of the place like a second skin.

Azriel stood beside Rhysand and Cassian at what had once been the village square, soldiers and warriors surrounding them. Now it was just rubble. A well had collapsed inward, blackened beams jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and half-burned furniture lay strewn about, a child’s wooden toy horse among them, snapped in half. It was quiet now, but not peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of silence that hummed with what had been done.

“They came through at night,” Rhysand informed everyone, his voice low and tightly leashed. “Wards were weak, barely held together. Half the villagers were Fae with lesser magic. Some couldn’t even defend themselves. The males who led the attack… they didn’t just want to kill.”

Cassian’s jaw flexed. His wings twitched, as if he couldn’t decide whether to fold them in or unfurl them in rage. “They weren’t just soldiers. They were predators.”

Azriel didn’t speak. His shadows slithered around his boots, darting in agitated wisps toward the edges of the square, as if still seeking out threats or witnesses. They found neither.

“The ones we caught,” Rhys continued, staring at the wreckage like it personally offended him, “are in chains. The rest… fled before we arrived. The survivors, the ones hiding, have been found. Healers are seeing to the injured. Children have been taken in by the temple elders from the northern hillside.”

Azriel’s shadows whispered again. A soft, mournful hum.

“It’s done,” Rhys said, scanning the hollowed shells of cottages and shattered windows. “Everything that can be done, has been. It’s over.”

But it didn’t feel over. Not to Azriel. Not with the metallic tang of blood still staining the air. Not with the look on that elderly female’s face when she had asked them, in a broken voice, “Why didn’t anyone come sooner?”

He hadn’t had an answer.

Rhysand glanced between Azriel and Cassian after the soldiers left, noting their silence. His own eyes, usually glowing with a spark of slyness, were dull. Exhausted. “You can rest now,” he said. “Or go home.”

Azriel looked past him, to the tree line beyond the village where the smoke thinned into mist. He caught a glimpse of a child sitting on a stone step, clutching a burned blanket, eyes hollow. The child didn’t cry. Just stared.

Rhys would return to Velaris. To Feyre. To warm arms and gentle laughter. To peace. But Azriel and Cassian… they had always found peace harder to carry. Harder to believe in.

“I’ll fly back in the morning,” Cassian said, rolling out his shoulders. “Want to make sure the families here have shelter. Food. Some of them don’t even have shoes.” He paused. “It still feels… raw.”

Azriel gave a quiet nod. “I'll stay here, too.”

Rhys hesitated, as if he wanted to protest, to pull rank. But then he just studied their faces and sighed.

“Fine. But rest, both of you. You're of no good use if you overstrain yourself,” he said softly. Then he was gone, winnowing in a shimmer of darkness and violet starlight.

The world felt heavier once he left.

Cassian turned toward a row of broken homes and muttered, “I’ll check the supply wagons again, make sure nothing’s gone missing.”

The village quieted further without him. Just the sound of crackling embers and murmuring healers in the distance. Cassian broke off to check the perimeter, but Azriel lingered by the outskirts, near the forest line.

The temporary camp had been set up just beyond the village outskirts, a collection of tents pitched beneath the shadow of the pines, where the smoke from the ruins thinned into something cleaner, but not quite peaceful. The sky had bled into twilight, bruised and streaked with orange. The smell of fire still lingered on the wind.

Azriel stepped into the tent he shared with Cassian, a canvas shelter thrown together more for function than comfort. His leathers creaked as he unbuckled his chest plate, his siphons clicking faintly as he set them down beside the low cot.

Cassian wasn’t there yet, probably still helping rebuild the central well, or lifting logs like they were made of kindling. Azriel rolled his shoulders and sat down heavily, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the support pole. For a moment, he let the silence settle around him. He closed his eyes. Exhaled.

Then a shadow darted into the tent like a dagger. Fast. Sharp. Urgent.

Azriel’s eyes snapped open.

He didn’t need words. His shadows never spoke in them, not truly, but their intent thrummed through him like a pulse. There’s another. A survivor. Still out there. Still in pain.

He was already moving.

Armor forgotten, he strapped his siphons back on with swift, practiced movements and swept out of the tent without a word. No time to tell Cassian. No time to alert the others. His shadows were already leading the way, slithering ahead of him like smoke toward the trees.

The forest was dark, dense. Pines loomed like sentinels, and the path was barely a path at all, just loose soil and patches of moss tangled with roots. Azriel moved like a ghost, silent and fast, eyes trained ahead, shadows feeding him flashes of what they’d sensed.

Fae. Alive. Hurt. Alone.

He ran deeper, branches clawing at his shoulders and wings, the shadows growing sharper in their urgency. The quiet of the woods wasn’t peaceful, it was stifling. Suffocating. No animals moved. No birds cried.

Something clenched in his chest.

Then, a scent.

Blood. Faint, old. Human-like, but Fae.

His shadows curled tight around a cluster of trees, and Azriel slowed. Stepped carefully now. Each footfall deliberate. His siphons glowed faintly, casting a subtle blue hue against the undergrowth.

And then he saw her.

She was barely a shape in the gloom, slumped against the base of a thick pine, her body partially hidden by brush and shadow. A small Fae woman. Her wrists were bound cruelly above her head, tied to the tree with frayed rope that had cut deep into her skin. Her dress was torn, legs smeared with mud, face streaked with dried blood. One of her ankles looked swollen.

Her eyes were closed. Chest rising shallowly. Not asleep, not unconscious, just… still. Too still.

Azriel’s heart lurched. For a split second, he feared she was already gone.

He was beside her in a blink.

“Hey,” he said softly, dropping to one knee, his siphons dimming as he reached out. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not even a flinch.

He hovered a hand near her cheek, not touching, not yet. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Slowly, slowly… her lashes fluttered.

She didn’t open her eyes, but her body tensed. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came.

Azriel felt it then, not just the physical damage, but the weight of something deeper. A silence that had settled into her bones. Not shock. Not in this moment. This silence was old. Familiar.

He reached for the ropes carefully, cutting through them with a dagger he pulled from his belt. The bindings snapped with a dry crack, and her arms slumped forward, too weak to catch herself. Azriel caught her gently, cradling her body with one arm as he sliced the rope from her wrists.

She didn’t try to pull away. But she didn’t relax either.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

She blinked again, just once, then lifted her hand weakly, her fingers twitching in the air.

Signing.

Clumsy. Slow. As if she hadn’t done it in years.

Azriel’s breath caught. He understood.

“Don’t hurt me.”

He remembered the signs from centuries ago. His throat worked around the knot forming there. He shook his head, voice a whisper. “Never.”

Another flicker of fingers.

“I couldn’t scream.”

She wasn’t just mute from pain. It was something older. Deeper. She hadn’t screamed because she couldn’t.

Azriel gently gathered her into his arms. She was light, too light. Starved and cold. Her fingers clutched weakly at the collar of his leathers as he stood.

“I’m taking you back,” he said, already moving through the trees. “You need to see a healer."

And though she didn’t speak, he felt it, a shiver in her body. Not of fear, but something near it. Not trust, not yet. But recognition. A thread, fraying and fragile, tying her to this moment.

To him.

His shadows twined around them both as he carried her toward the broken village, a silent promise echoing in the night: Never again. Never left behind.

Azriel moved quickly through the woods, his steps fast but careful as he cradled the small Fae female against his chest. Her weight was next to nothing. Too thin. Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder, but every now and then, he felt her tense-sharp flinches whenever his boots crunched too loud, or when a branch snapped somewhere nearby.

Trauma lived in every muscle of her body.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, more for her than himself. “Just a little longer. The healers will take care of you.”

She didn’t respond, didn’t sign, didn’t lift her head, but he felt her heartbeat flutter like a bird’s wing, fast and erratic against his arm.

The treeline broke, and the village came back into view: still smoldering, still broken. Torches burned in a quiet perimeter around the camp. The night had deepened now, casting everything in a dull, aching gray.

Azriel descended the last rise toward the path leading to the camp when a familiar voice called out.

“Az?” Cassian emerged from around a pile of crates, brow furrowed. He froze mid-step as his eyes landed on the figure in Azriel’s arms. “What the hell?”

“She was in the woods,” Azriel said without slowing, his voice clipped but steady. “Tied to a tree. Alive. Barely.”

Cassian’s face darkened. “You’re serious?”

Azriel gave a sharp nod, eyes flicking down to the female in his arms. She kept her face turned inward, buried against his shoulder, as if the mere sight of another male might break her.

Cassian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Where exactly did you find her?”

“Half a mile east of the perimeter,” Azriel said. “Tucked into a tree line past the ravine. They left her there.”

Cassian’s fists clenched. “Left her?”

Azriel didn’t miss the way her shoulders flinched again. He tightened his hold around her protectively.

Cassian’s expression softened just slightly as he crouched to her eye level. “Do you remember who did this to you?” he asked gently.

She stirred then. A hand moved hesitantly from Azriel’s chest, slow and trembling, as if even that effort cost her. Her fingers began to move, barely forming a sign before faltering.

“She can’t speak,” Azriel said quietly, his shadows curling around her like a shield. “She’s mute. I think she always has been.”

Cassian blinked, stunned. “Shit.”

“She couldn’t scream,” Azriel went on, his voice sharper now, more bitter. “That’s probably why they left her. Grew tired of her when she didn’t make enough noise while they—” He cut himself off, his jaw locking. “The marks on her body… they didn’t come from the ropes alone.”

Cassian swore under his breath, eyes flicking with a warrior’s rage and a male’s sorrow. “Monsters.”

Azriel looked down at her. “She needs a healer. Now.”

Cassian nodded immediately and moved aside, clearing the path ahead. “Go. I’ll make sure they know to expect you.”

Azriel strode past him, his steps swift as he made his way to the makeshift healer’s tent at the edge of the village. It was lit with soft blue faelight, quiet voices murmuring within. He ducked inside.

The healers, two older Fae females and a half-Illyrian male apprentice, looked up in surprise.

“She’s injured,” Azriel said. “Badly. Found her just now.”

One of the healers, a calm-eyed woman named Thera, stepped forward and motioned for him to lay the girl down on the cot. “Bring her here, carefully.”

Azriel hesitated only for a second. He turned to the girl in his arms, his voice soft. “You’re with healers now. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.

There was nothing left in her eyes, no fight, no anger, not even fear. Just exhaustion. And behind it, buried deep, something older. A wound without a name.

He set her down gently. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away from his hand until the healer nudged him back.

“We’ll take it from here,” Thera said gently, already unfastening the remnants of the ropes from her wrists.

Azriel didn’t move far. He stayed just a few steps away, arms crossed, shadows flicking around him protectively like they were refusing to let go of her.

Cassian appeared in the tent’s entrance, arms crossed, watching her with the same quiet horror Azriel had swallowed down moments before.

“She’s lucky you found her,” Cassian said after a beat. “Another night out there and��”

Azriel didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her face, on the way she winced at every touch, even the gentle ones. “It’s not luck.”

His voice was low. Absolute.

“She was meant to survive.”

────────────

Warmth.

That was the first thing she noticed.

Not the cloying, suffocating heat of ropes cutting into her skin or the rank, sticky breath of her captors. No. This warmth was soft. Dry. Almost… clean.

A blanket. Someone had tucked a blanket around her.

She blinked her eyes open. Faint blue light bathed the room, soft and shifting like water. The ceiling above her was canvas, not sky. She was lying on a cot. Her arms, for once, were free.

Her throat tightened.

I'm not tied up.

But her wrists still ached. Her whole body felt stiff, like her bones had forgotten how to lie still without pain. The pressure at her ankle pulsed in slow waves, wrapped now in linen and balm. She smelled herbs. Clean ones. And something else, leather, faint smoke, a scent like fresh wind after a storm.

She turned her head. He was there. The male who had found her. The quiet one. The one made of shadows.

He sat just beyond the edge of the cot, wings tucked in tight, shadows flicking softly around his shoulders like living smoke. His siphons gleamed blue in the faint light. But he was sitting like a sentry, not a predator.

He was watching her without staring, his expression unreadable. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... steady. A pillar in the storm.

She tried to move her hand. It shook.

The blanket slipped off her shoulder and panic rose like bile in her throat. She flinched, curling slightly, waiting for the blow, for the sneer, for the voice that would growl “Don’t waste my time again, mute girl.”

But nothing came. The shadows stirred. Not toward her, around her.

A gentle breeze kissed her temple. Not wind, not air, shadow. It felt like someone brushing hair from her face.

Her vision blurred. She blinked fast.

The last thing she remembered clearly was the sound of boots. Loud. Heavy. She'd kept her eyes closed as the footsteps approached the tree, too exhausted to move, too broken to care. She had thought, truly, deeply, this is the end. The males who left her had no interest in finishing the job. They just didn’t want to look at her anymore. She hadn’t made enough noise for them.

She'd learned early: screams fed monsters. Silence bored them.

So she stayed silent. Even when it hurt. Even when the ropes cut skin. Even when she bled. And they’d left her. Forgotten. Until him.

She turned her head again. Looked at him. His shadows stilled. Not gone, never gone, but quiet. Curious.

She lifted her hand. Slow. Trembling.

Signed: “Thank you.”

His head tilted slightly, and to her shock… he understood. He nodded once, low and firm, and murmured, “You don’t have to thank me.”

She stared at him.

Another sign: “You know?”

A pause. Then: “I do. A long time ago.” His voice was a whisper. Rough and soft at once. “I used to know someone like you.”

The words made her throat burn. Something inside her cracked open a little, not wide enough to be a wound, but enough to let air in. Enough to breathe again.

Her hand fell slowly back to her chest, the simple motion of signing already exhausting.

But he didn’t look away.

Azriel’s shadows curled faintly, retreating to his shoulders like they were giving her space. His wings shifted slightly, and then, with a quiet rustle, he moved closer. Not looming. Not hovering. Just near enough that his voice could stay low.

“Do you have a house here?” he asked, careful and quiet, like he was afraid to press too hard. “I could check. See if anything’s left.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, painfully, her fingers began to move again.

“I saw it burn.”

Azriel’s breath caught, but he didn’t interrupt.

“My sister was inside. I couldn’t—”

Her hands trembled too much to finish. The signs faltered and fell apart, and her throat clenched in frustration. Not being able to scream was one thing. But not being able to say it, even now, made the grief coil tighter around her chest.

Azriel didn’t ask for more. Didn’t demand she finish.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead, his voice rough. He shifted again, closer but not touching, and added, “You’re sure you’re alone now?”

She nodded once. It was the hardest motion of all.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The healer’s faelight swirled around them, blue and soft. Outside, the quiet hum of the camp settled into the air — the distant sound of Cassian’s voice barking orders, wood being stacked, water poured.

And still Azriel sat with her.

Then he spoke again. “We’re going to rebuild the village. All of it. We’ll keep it safe. I promise you, this will never happen again.”

She looked at him, not with hope, not yet. But with a fragile thread of belief. Not because she trusted easily, or because his words were sweet. But because his eyes didn’t lie.

Because when he said we’ll rebuild, she knew he meant every stone, every broken family, every shattered soul, including hers.

And he wasn’t promising to fix her.

He was promising that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

────────────

The war room in the House of Wind smelled of parchment, cedar, and the faintest trace of lavender, likely from something Feyre had left behind. Morning light streamed through the high windows, catching on the scattered maps and marked reports laid across the obsidian table.

Rhysand stood at the head, fingers steepled under his chin as his violet eyes swept over the latest reports.

“They’re calling it Emberon now,” he said at last, tapping a finger to the northern ridge of the map. “The villagers decided on it a few days ago. Said they wanted something that acknowledged the fire, but didn’t let it define them.”

“Emberon,” Cassian echoed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Has a ring to it.”

“Poetic,” Azriel added, though his voice was low, contemplative. His eyes lingered on the spot on the map, far beyond the borders of Velaris. The smoke and ash had long since cleared, but the memory remained vivid, especially one particular memory.

Rhys nodded. “Most of the homes are rebuilt. They’ve started clearing out the western fields for planting again. The last supply drop from Velaris got there two days ago. But I want to see it myself.”

“You’re going?” Cassian asked.

“I’ll only stay for the day. Feyre’s painting again, and Nyx has been using my leathers as a canvas. But I want to speak to the village leaders in person. Make sure they have what they need.”

“I’ll come,” Cassian said immediately. “I want to see the families again. The way they bounced back from that mess…” He trailed off, eyes hardening. “They deserve everything we can give.”

Rhysand turned to Azriel. “You?”

Azriel didn’t answer right away. His shadows curled thoughtfully across his shoulders, stirred by something quieter than words.

In truth, he’d been thinking about that village for days. Ever since the last courier had brought back news of a functioning market square and newly laid stone paths, a thread of thought kept pulling at him.

The girl.

The one he’d found bound to a tree, all bone and silence, eyes hollow from more pain than any person should endure. She hadn’t spoken, couldn’t speak, but her hands had told him enough.

He never got her name.

She’d stayed in the healer’s tent the last time he saw her, still too weak to walk. When he and Cassian had flown back to Velaris days after the attack, she hadn’t woken to say goodbye.

He hadn't expected her to. But he had thought about her far more than he admitted, wondered if she had a roof again, if she still flinched in her sleep. If she still signed “thank you” with trembling hands.

Azriel looked up. “I’ll come.”

Cassian raised a brow. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. Thought you were brooding too hard in your tower lately.”

Azriel gave him a flat look. “I’ll be brooding in the skies today.”

Cassian grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Rhysand just offered a small nod. “Then we leave within the hour. Bring warm gear, it still gets cold up in those hills.”

As Rhys vanished to prepare, Cassian stood and stretched with a dramatic groan. Azriel remained seated, tracing his gaze over the inked lines of Emberon on the map. It wasn’t just a village anymore, it was a scar turned to a seed.

He wondered if she was still there, among the rebuilding. If she had a home now. If her silence still felt like a prison, or if it had started to feel like power.

He didn’t know what he hoped for.

But he knew this: when he set foot in Emberon again, the first person he would look for was her.

The wind was brisk over the hills when they crested the last ridge and Emberon came into view.

It looked nothing like the place they’d left behind.

Where there had once been scorched timbers and the ghostly remains of shattered cottages, now stood a patchwork of new roofs, whitewashed stone, and garden plots with sprigs of green clawing their way through the thawing earth. Smoke curled from chimneys — not the smoke of ruin, but of hearths. Cooking fires. Blacksmith forges. Life.

Children ran between homes, their laughter carried on the wind. Baskets of bread and vegetables sat outside doors. Bright scraps of fabric fluttered on clotheslines like prayer flags.

A rough wooden sign greeted them at the edge of the road: Welcome to Emberon Forged by Fire - Reborn by Choice

Azriel’s shadows stilled around him as they landed at the edge of the main square. He wasn’t the only one surprised.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “They’ve done a gods-damned miracle here.”

Rhysand didn’t respond immediately, his violet gaze scanning every face, every movement. Then he gave a quiet, satisfied nod. “This is what rebuilding should look like.”

The square was buzzing with activity. A group of Fae elders spoke quietly at a stone table under a tree in bloom. Two younger males carried buckets from a well. And off to the side, a tall healer was speaking with a few villagers, nodding in approval at someone’s bandaged arm.

But Azriel wasn’t focused on any of them.

His shadows had stirred again. Not warning, guiding.

They pulled softly at the edge of his coat, brushing his neck and nudging his gaze toward the far side of the square. Toward a small communal garden fenced with woven branches.

And there she was.

Kneeling in the soil, sleeves rolled past her elbows, dark earth streaking her hands and forearms. A loose braid of hair hung over one shoulder, strands escaping to catch the sun. Her face was turned toward the raised bed, her expression hidden, but there was something different about her now.

Not fragile.

Focused.

She moved carefully, planting tiny seedlings into the soil with practiced care. Around her, several others worked, older women, a pair of teenagers, but even in the crowd, Azriel saw her as clearly as if she stood in a spotlight.

He felt it again, that thread, that invisible pull in his chest. It didn’t ache like it had before. Not grief. Not guilt.

Just a quiet, steady certainty.

She was alive.

He hadn’t imagined her resilience, her presence. She wasn’t still in a healer’s cot, curled into herself. She was here. Rooted.

Cassian followed his gaze, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that her?”

Azriel didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, she looked up.

Her eyes met his across the square, not startled, not afraid, just still.

Recognition flickered there, followed by something gentler. Like the first breeze of spring brushing across old wounds.

She stood slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. And though she didn’t smile, didn’t wave, didn’t move toward him… she didn’t turn away either.

Azriel’s shadows curled like smoke around his boots. “She’s stronger,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like someone’s been taking care of her.”

Azriel nodded once. “Or maybe… she’s been taking care of herself.”

Across the square, she tilted her head, just slightly, and lifted one hand. The sign was small. Barely a motion.

Hello.

And for the first time in weeks, Azriel felt the corners of his mouth lift. Not a smile, exactly. But something close.

Hello, he signed back.

Azriel crossed the square with deliberate steps, not because he feared startling her, not anymore, but because he wasn’t sure how to approach her. Not because of any distance between them, but because he had grown used to watching her from a distance, giving her the space she needed to heal.

As he neared the low fence, she noticed him. She straightened, brushing her palms against her apron once again. There were faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, and her hair was loosely braided, a few strands escaping as she worked. She didn’t seem startled by his presence, but instead looked at him with quiet curiosity, the same way she had the first time he had found her in the woods.

When Azriel reached the edge of the garden, he stopped. He gave her the choice, as he always did, waiting to see what she would do next.

She tilted her head, just slightly, and then without a word, she stepped through the small gate, closing the space between them.

Azriel stood still for a moment, taking in the changes he could see in her. Her face had filled out with strength, the faint weariness in her eyes replaced by something more like calm determination. There was a quiet confidence in the way she held herself, the way she moved between the rows of plants, even as the shadow of her past still lingered in her gaze.

When she stood before him, she didn’t look away. There was no tension in her body, no unease, just an understanding that they were both in this moment together.

Her hands moved, slow but steady. “You came back.”

Azriel’s voice was soft, low. “I wanted to see the village. And see if you were still here.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Then she signed again, more slowly this time, as though careful with her words. “I never left.”

Azriel’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know what he had expected, but there was something in her response that settled in him, a quiet kind of peace, maybe. That she had stayed. That she had found a way to stay.

She hesitated, fingers trembling ever so slightly before continuing. “You never asked for my name.”

Azriel felt a pang of realization. He hadn’t asked for her name, hadn’t thought to ask it before. The moment of crisis, of survival, had taken away the small things, the human things. He hadn’t asked, because there hadn’t been space to.

“I didn’t want to ask until you were ready,” he replied quietly.

She regarded him for a long moment, her eyes studying his face, then placed her hand gently over her chest.

“Y/N.”

Azriel repeated the name in his mind, letting it settle like a new melody in his thoughts. He nodded, though his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Azriel.”

There was no smile, but her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something there. Maybe it was acknowledgment. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was both.

She then turned slightly, gesturing to the garden around them. “Do you want to see?”

Azriel nodded and followed her through the rows of plants. She led him from one raised bed to the next, pointing out herbs, vegetables, and flowers, thyme, rosemary, young lettuce, and the beginnings of carrots and squash. With every motion, she signed the name of the plant, and Azriel followed her hands, his gaze not on the plants but on the rhythm of her movements. The way her hands danced through the air as if she had been doing this all her life.

At one point, Y/N handed him a small wooden trowel, her expression one of quiet challenge. Azriel accepted it, and with a slow, deliberate motion, crouched beside her, taking his time as he began to dig gently into the earth. Together, in silence, they planted a row of small sprouts.

There was no rush. No expectation. Just the quiet work of two souls who, for this moment, shared something that wasn’t spoken aloud but was understood.

After some time, Y/N stood and wiped her hands on her apron. She didn’t look at Azriel immediately but glanced down at the garden, a small flicker of something passing over her face. When she finally did look back at him, there was no sadness in her expression. No fear.

Just quiet contentment.

Azriel’s shadows, which had settled low around him, shifted lightly at his feet, as if aware of the change in the air between them. The space between them felt less like distance, less like hesitation, and more like a soft, growing connection.

For the first time since he’d found her in the woods, Azriel allowed himself to believe in the possibility of what could come next, in the small, steady steps forward, and in the quiet trust that was beginning to blossom between them.

The village of Emberon was slowly coming back to life. The faint hum of hammers and chisels filled the air as more homes were rebuilt, children played in the dirt streets, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from a small bakery on the corner. Azriel walked beside Y/N, his shadows swirling at his heels, as she led him toward the place she had called home since her recovery. It was a modest house, but to her, it was a sanctuary. The early evening sun bathed the streets in golden light as they made their way through the village, Azriel glancing at the quiet houses and newly constructed buildings.

"I can't believe it's finally coming together," Azriel murmured quietly, his tone soft as he looked around at the rebuilding.

Y/N gave him a smile, though it was subtle, and motioned toward the direction of her house with a small wave of her hand. She signed quickly, and Azriel nodded, catching the gist of her words. "I’m proud of it. Of what’s been built here."

They had been walking in silence, and Azriel found comfort in the stillness, the sense of normalcy beginning to return to the village. His mind drifted as they walked, but it was broken by the sound of raised voices from down the street. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, and he spotted Cassian and Rhysand talking to a tall fae male, a general from another region, right outside one of the shops. The conversation seemed to be heated, and Cassian’s boisterous voice was hard to miss even from a distance.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Azriel to follow her toward the group. She wanted to show him her new home, but there was no harm in saying hello. As they approached, Cassian turned and spotted them immediately, his grin widening at the sight of Y/N.

“Well, well, look who it is!” Cassian called, his voice booming across the street. He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning her, noticing her calm but wary demeanor. “How are you?”

Azriel stood back a little, watching as Y/N stepped forward to respond. She raised her hands, signing rapidly, and Azriel moved closer to her side. His shadows drifted around her, a constant comfort, as he translated her words for Cassian.

“She says she’s doing better,” Azriel said softly. “She’s settling in.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. You know, we’ve been working hard to help everyone here. You’ve got a good home now.”

Y/N signed again, this time more slowly, and Azriel watched as her hands moved fluidly. He translated for her again, the words flowing as she spoke.

“She’s thankful for everything that’s been done,” Azriel said, glancing back at Cassian. “But she still remembers everything. It’s hard to move past it all, even if she has a place of her own.”

Rhysand, who had been quiet up until now, stepped forward, his violet eyes locking with Y/N. The breeze shifted as the power of his Daemati abilities sparked in the air around him. Without a word, Rhysand reached out, connecting with her mind. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he watched, instinctively stepping back, sensing the power at play. He couldn’t hear their conversation, and neither could Cassian, but it was clear what was happening.

Y/N’s eyes softened as Rhysand’s voice entered her thoughts, and Azriel felt a strange mix of emotions as he watched her respond, her lips moving slightly, but not making a sound.

“You’ve helped so many here, Rhysand,” Y/N’s voice came, quiet but clear in Rhysand's mind. “Without you, and without Azriel and his shadows, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

Azriel felt the weight of their conversation in his chest, but he couldn’t hear what they said. He didn’t need to. The connection between the two of them, that subtle shift in her expression, told him everything he needed to know. There was a tenderness in the way Y/N held herself, a gratitude so deep that Azriel felt it resonate with his own heart.

Suddenly, Rhysand broke through the mental connection, his voice cutting through the air for all to hear, loud and firm.

“It’s our responsibility,” Rhysand said, his voice carrying over the conversation. “To protect, to help, and to make sure this never happens again. We will rebuild this place, just like we’ve rebuilt so many others.”

Azriel stood still, his eyes focused on Y/N’s reaction. She blinked, as though Rhysand’s words were just as powerful in her mind as they were in the air, and she gave a small nod. It was as though she had heard it all before, and yet, it still made a difference to her.

Y/N turned to face them, her hands moving again. She signed with slow, graceful gestures, her fingers weaving through the air as she asked Azriel to translate.

“She’s offering us food,” Azriel said with a small smile, his voice quieter now. “She wants us to come to her place. A quick meal.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not turning down a free meal,” he said, his voice teasing.

Azriel glanced at Y/N, who smiled at Cassian's words. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned toward her home, motioning for them to follow.

Rhysand’s eyes lingered on the village for a moment before he turned to follow them. “Lead the way, Y/N. We’ll be happy to join you.”

Azriel, trailing behind, allowed his shadows to flow around him like a cloak. He could feel the weight of the day lifting, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the meal or because Y/N had invited them into her world. They had done what they could for her, for the village, but it was clear that her journey was far from over. Still, there was a small flicker of hope in the air, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could begin again.

The inside of Y/N's house was simple, yet welcoming. The small kitchen area had a hearth where a pot of stew simmered on the flames, filling the air with a savory aroma. The furniture was modest but carefully placed, and the warmth of her home was a stark contrast to the cold, barren village Azriel had found her in all those weeks ago. The stone walls were lined with fresh herbs, and small touches of color from woven fabrics gave it a sense of life.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood near the entrance, surveying the space. Cassian was running his hand along the rough wooden shelves, his eyes scanning the room for anything that stood out. He noticed a few things still left unfinished, some shelves that weren’t fully mounted, a small pile of firewood in the corner that needed to be stacked.

Rhysand’s eyes were softer than usual as he observed the place. The High Lord of the Night Court was always in command, always exuding a certain distance, but here, in the quiet of Y/N’s home, something in him softened. He turned his attention to her, and his voice was gentle as he reached out to her mind.

“Y/N,” Rhysand’s voice was like a whisper in her thoughts. “Would you like us to help finish anything here? We could take care of the shelves or the firewood, whatever you need.”

Y/N paused for a moment, considering the offer, but then signed in a quick, dismissive motion as she shook her head. She wanted to refuse, her hands moving gracefully in the air as she said to Azriel, who translated for the group.

“She says she couldn’t possibly ask for the High Lord of the Night Court to do something like that,” Azriel said with a chuckle, his voice warm as he glanced toward Rhysand. “She’s too proud.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the small space. “I won’t put my hands on anything. But Cassian over here”, he grinned slyly, “he’ll do all the work.”

Cassian’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know how to-”

Before Cassian could protest further, Rhysand just waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the banter. Azriel couldn’t help but grin a little as he watched the two of them, but his attention soon shifted as Y/N turned back to the stove, checking on the stew.

Azriel gave the room one last sweep and noticed that Y/N had already begun setting the table for the meal. He could see the care she’d put into everything, but there was still a certain sense of unfinished business, the house wasn’t quite complete, and the simple details spoke volumes about how much she had left to do.

He moved toward her, not wanting to stand idle. “I’ll help with the stew,” Azriel offered quietly, his voice low but steady.

Y/N glanced at him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips before she nodded. She handed him the ladle to stir the pot, and Azriel did so with ease, his attention on the bubbling stew. He caught the faint scent of vegetables and spices, his mouth watering slightly. The sounds of Cassian and Rhysand’s conversation in the background faded as he focused on the simple task of preparing the meal.

Once the stew was ready, Y/N began ladling it into bowls with precise, careful movements, her hands flowing through the motions as if she had done it a thousand times. Azriel stood by, ready to help, and as she placed the bowls on the counter, he moved to take them and set them on the table.

But just as he was about to move, one of his shadows seemed to get in his way. It darted out from behind him, swirling in front of his hands like an unruly piece of cloth. He tried to move past it, but it lingered, twining in front of him like it had a mind of its own. His focus was split for just a moment, and before he realized it, the stew spilled over the edge of the bowl, splashing onto his hands.

Azriel cursed under his breath, grimacing as the hot liquid seared his skin. He jumped back, quickly wiping his hands on the towel he had nearby. The sting of the burn made his jaw tighten, but it wasn’t unbearable. He muttered a curse to himself, knowing it was his own fault for not being more mindful.

“Damn shadows,” he told them, low and to himself, not realizing how loud his thoughts were as he cursed.

But then, just as he was preparing to move the bowl again, a cold, wet cloth pressed gently to his hand. Azriel froze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up to see Y/N, who had come to his side without him even realizing. She was focused, her hands working quickly to press the towel to his injured skin.

Azriel blinked in surprise. “How did you-”

Y/N’s gaze met his, and she tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern. She seemed to sense his confusion and signed back to him, her hands moving slowly and deliberately as she explained.

“I heard you,” she signed carefully. “I could hear you talking to yourself. I thought... I thought you were in pain.”

Azriel’s breath hitched. He had been speaking to himself, yes, but there was no way she could have heard him. Wasn’t it just his internal thoughts? She couldn't have—

“Wait,” he asked, his voice a little unsure, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You... you heard me?”

Y/N nodded, a flicker of confusion in her own eyes. She signed again.

“You were talking to your shadows. I heard it. Are you okay?”

Azriel’s mouth went dry, and his mind raced. He had been speaking to his shadows, sure, but the fact that she could hear him... that was something else entirely. He had never imagined that someone who couldn’t speak could somehow hear his thoughts. It was impossible... but then again, this was Y/N.

Azriel paused for a moment, staring at her, trying to process everything. “Can you hear... my thoughts? Like how Rhysand can?”

Y/N’s brow furrowed even more in confusion, and she signed again, this time slower, as if trying to make sense of it herself.

“I don’t know. I just... I could hear you. In my mind. Can you hear me, too?”

Azriel blinked, feeling the faintest ripple of something he couldn’t explain, something new between them. “I... I think I can.”

He wasn’t sure how it worked, or why it was happening, but as he stood there, with the cold cloth still pressed to his hand, a strange connection started to form. He could hear her in his head, her thoughts were as clear as if she had spoken aloud.

Azriel’s mouth went dry as he turned to her, unsure whether to be thrilled or confused. “This... this is new.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a small, unsure smile. She signed once more.

“Maybe it’s something we share now. I’m not sure.”

Azriel smiled faintly, looking down at his hand, which no longer burned from the hot stew. His shadows had settled, and his mind was still spinning. But in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something tangible and warm.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Together.”

Y/N nodded, and Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope rise in his chest. Maybe this was a new beginning, one where she didn’t have to remain silent anymore.

────────────

The sun had already dipped behind the hills, casting the village in soft lavender hues when Azriel knocked gently on Y/N’s door. A cool breeze stirred the leaves in the trees outside, rustling just loud enough to be noticed. Her home, tucked between two larger cottages near the outer edge of the rebuilt village, was bathed in the golden light of a few lanterns within.

Y/N opened the door before he could knock again, her expression neutral at first, but softening immediately at the sight of him. She stepped aside wordlessly, inviting him in.

Azriel stepped inside, the warmth of her home wrapping around him like a soft blanket. It smelled faintly of dried herbs, pinewood, and something sweet.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked him, speaking gently into his mind.

He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

A flicker of warmth crossed her face as she moved into the small kitchen area, setting a kettle on the iron stove. From a wooden drawer she pulled out a small tin and opened it, releasing the delicate fragrance of her favorite blend, peppermint, chamomile, and rose hip. The colors were beautiful in the low light: deep green leaves, pale yellow petals, rich crimson fruit. She dropped them into a small teapot and poured hot water over them.

Azriel watched her from a nearby chair, silent, but something about the domesticity of it, her careful movements, the quiet ritual of preparing something comforting, felt oddly intimate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this kind of quiet.

When the tea had steeped, she poured two cups and handed him one. Their fingers brushed briefly. He muttered a soft “thank you,” and she nodded, taking her seat by the hearth, gesturing for him to join her.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, letting the warmth of the drink settle into their bones. Then, she looked up at him, her gaze sharp but kind.

“You’re troubled,” she said into his mind, gently, without judgment.

Azriel leaned back, his fingers wrapped around the cup, wings slightly hunched behind him. “I’ve been thinking. About… this. You and me. Whatever this is.”

She didn’t interrupt. Just waited, eyes steady on his.

“It’s not a mating bond,” he said slowly. “At least, I don’t think it is. I’ve read everything I could find on the subject over the years. I thought… I hoped I’d recognize it instantly, if it ever happened. I would know. But this...” He paused. “It feels different.”

Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave his. Her mental voice was quiet, steady. “It’s not a mating bond.”

Azriel stiffened, then nodded once. “You’re sure?”

“I had one once,” she said. The words slid gently into his thoughts, but their weight landed heavily. “A true mating bond. I rejected it.”

His brows drew together. He set the cup down, leaning forward. “Why?”

“Because he was cruel. Manipulative. He wanted to break me, not cherish me.” Her hands remained folded in her lap, but her voice in his head was calm. “The bond was there, yes. But I would rather walk alone than be bound to someone like him.”

Azriel’s chest ached. He shifted to sit across from her now, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “And yet,” he said, “you and I… we have something.”

“We do.”

“I can speak to you without sound. You can answer. It’s not like what you have with Rhys, I can’t do that with anyone else. And you can’t do it with anyone else, either, can you?”

She shook her head. “Only you. And Rhys, because of what he is. But with you… it’s different. Easier. Natural.”

He studied her face, her stillness, the way her shadows always seemed to draw nearer when he was near her. “Maybe it’s the shadows,” she offered softly. “They understand me. I’ve always felt like they listened when no one else could. Maybe they… carry me to you.”

Azriel looked down. His own shadows curled at his ankles, one brushing the hem of her skirt. They didn’t pull away. If anything, they seemed... content. Restful.

“You might be right,” he admitted. “I’ve never known them to behave like this before. They whisper to me, warn me, guide me… but they’ve never connected me to someone like this.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Do you think they’re giving you something you didn’t know you needed?”

The question was quiet, but it dug in deep. Azriel looked up, met her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like she’d peeled back every layer he spent a lifetime guarding.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low even in his own mind. “Maybe they are.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something just as kind. She reached for the teapot, poured them both another cup.

And as they sat there, in the fading evening light with the scent of peppermint and rose hip between them, neither spoke aloud.

They didn’t need to.

The air between them shifted, thick with unspoken words. The warmth from their tea had settled into the bones of the small cottage, but Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something heavy lingered in the space between them. He’d always known Y/N was a survivor, that there was more to her silence than met the eye, but he hadn’t pushed, until now.

The shadows at his feet coiled tighter, drawn to the quiet stillness of the room. He could feel them, just as he could feel the weight of her presence. She was stronger than she realized, but there were cracks in her walls. Azriel’s mind lingered on those cracks, and the realization hit him hard: She has a story. And I need to hear it.

“Y/N,” Azriel began, his voice quiet but steady, “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to, but... I need to ask. Were you always mute?”

She paused, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her teacup. Her eyes fell to her lap, and for a moment, he feared she would close off completely, retreating into herself. But then, slowly, she looked up at him. The silent communication between them was a delicate thread now, one she grasped without hesitation. And for a brief second, Azriel saw the rawness behind her calm facade.

“No,” she said, her mental voice soft, laced with pain. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Azriel leaned forward, sensing that this was the moment where the walls would either crumble or solidify. He said nothing more, allowing her the space to share her story on her terms.

She inhaled deeply before speaking again, her voice now shaking, though still only audible to him. “I was born into a family that was... never safe. My parents were good people, I think. But the world around us was always breaking, always trying to tear us apart. I was just a little girl, caught in the chaos.” Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes looking past him, as if seeing something Azriel couldn’t.

“When I was young, our village was attacked, too. They came at night, burning homes, ripping families apart. My parents were taken from me, pulled from my arms while I was screaming, too loud, too helpless. They told me to be quiet. They told me that if I made a sound, I would die like them.”

Azriel’s heart twisted painfully at her words, at the way she spoke with such quiet certainty of loss. But what struck him the most was the calmness in her voice, as though she had long ago resigned herself to the horrors she had lived through.

Her mind continued, and the weight of her trauma filled every thought. “After they... they killed them, the others came for me and my sister. They said they’d cut out my tongue if I ever screamed. They said I was worthless if I didn’t learn to obey, to shut up. And they made sure I understood by threatening to do it right there.”

Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, the pain almost palpable even though it was confined within her mind. Azriel could see the shadows at her feet, as if they, too, felt her anguish. He reached for his own, needing the connection, needing to hold something tangible as her memories bled through their shared silence.

“They locked us away. Kept us in a room, chained to a wall. And every time I tried to make a sound, anything, there were punishments. Whips. Swords. It didn’t matter. The message was clear: Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. And after a while... I couldn’t anymore. I was so terrified. Every time I tried, it felt like my voice was gone.”

She paused, the heaviness of her confession suffocating the air between them. Azriel could feel it, could see it in her eyes. The tears that had never fallen, the silent scream she could never release.

She looked at him now, her eyes full of something else, resignation, but also a quiet, unyielding strength. “It’s like my voice was stolen. It’s not just fear anymore. It’s like my body just... refuses. Even now, if I try to speak, nothing comes out. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

The silence that followed was deep, and Azriel felt like the room itself had stopped breathing. His hands clenched into fists, the sharp ache of helplessness pulling through his chest. What she had been through, what she still carried, was unimaginable. And yet, she was still here. Alive. Still fighting.

Azriel didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there were words to make this right. Instead, he took a slow breath, pushing through the growing ache. “You don’t have to fix it, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual. “You don’t have to speak for me to understand you.”

Her eyes flickered with something like relief, but she didn’t respond. She just closed the space between them, a tentative touch to his arm, her hand resting there, silent but full of meaning.

“I just…” she thought, her mental voice hesitant, “I want to be heard. In my own way. To be understood.”

Azriel reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t need to speak aloud. He didn’t need to fill the silence with words. Instead, he let her know, through the bond they shared — through the shadows and his steady presence — that she was heard.

Azriel sat in stillness for a moment longer, watching the way her fingers curled around her teacup as if grounding herself through the warmth. The weight of her story still hung in the room, but there was something new now, a vulnerability she hadn’t shown before, and the trust it took to reveal it.

He shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His voice came quiet, thoughtful, each word etched with a heaviness he didn’t try to hide.

“Aren’t you afraid,” he asked gently, “that something like that might happen again?”

Her head lifted at that, her eyes meeting his, not startled, not offended. Just honest. He hesitated, then continued.

“It happened again, Y/N. Just a few weeks ago. That night I found you... bound, bleeding. Alone.”

The shadows at his back flickered restlessly, echoing the unease he barely contained.

She was quiet for a long time before her voice slipped into his mind, soft and sure. “Yes. I’m afraid.”

She didn’t try to hide it. And the admission, simple as it was, carved deeper into Azriel than any scream ever could.

“But I trust Rhysand,” she added. “This village matters to him. To you. I believe he’ll keep us safe.”

Azriel’s jaw flexed as he looked at her, at the softness of her features, the hard-earned strength beneath. The shadows whispered against his skin, tugging at him, as if echoing what he was about to say.

He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair, and then asked what had been weighing on him since the day he left the village: “Would you come to Velaris?”

Y/N blinked, taken aback, her fingers going still against her cup.

“It’s safer there,” Azriel said quickly, before she could answer. “The city is protected. Guarded. No one would touch you. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”

He didn’t say I’d sleep better knowing you’re behind those wards. He didn’t say I think about you more than I should. But it was all there, in the way his voice dipped, the way his shadows hovered near her like they were drawn to her pain, her quiet strength.

Y/N’s thoughts reached him after a moment, hesitant but clear. “I can’t abandon them.”

Azriel frowned slightly, but said nothing as she continued.

“These people… they stayed. They rebuilt this place together. With blood on the ground and ash in their mouths, they still stood. I can’t leave them behind.”

He nodded slowly. He understood, more than she could know. Still, he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t scream for help.”

He hated the sound of that truth aloud. “If something were to happen again-”

“Then maybe,” she cut in gently, “you could teach me how to stay safe.”

Azriel blinked. Her eyes met his, unwavering. There was no fear in them now, only quiet determination.

The shadows stilled.

“You want me to train you?” he asked, surprise flickering through his voice.

She nodded. “I don’t want to be helpless again. I don’t want to rely on someone hearing me. I want to be able to protect myself… and others too.”

Azriel’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, but something close. “Alright.” His voice was gravel and warmth. “Then tomorrow, we begin.”

And even though she said nothing aloud, he felt the quiet warmth ripple across their bond, gratitude, fierce and radiant, and beneath it, something new: Hope.

────────────

The sun had just begun to dip behind the Sidra, painting Velaris in shades of gold and lavender as Starfall’s first shimmering streaks whispered across the sky.

At the House of Wind, laughter and warmth swirled through the grand dining hall like old music. Lanterns floated gently above the long table, casting soft hues of blue and violet over wine glasses and golden plates. The Inner Circle was gathered, every one of them dressed in star-kissed silks or tailored leathers, the room buzzing with anticipation, except for one lingering question.

“Why aren’t we eating?” Nesta asked, arms folded, her patience thinning as she eyed the untouched food on the table. She looked radiant tonight, as always, in midnight blue, like she belonged among the stars themselves.

Rhysand, lounging at the head of the table with Feyre nestled beside him, smiled with that infuriating calm of his. “Because,” he said smoothly, “Azriel is picking someone up.”

Cassian, who had just downed a sip of wine, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “You mean Azriel and his girlfriend.”

Mor nearly choked on her drink, eyes sparkling. “Wait, seriously? Are they…?”

She left the question open, eyebrows raised toward Rhysand.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the open balcony, where the night sky had begun to stir with faint threads of starlight. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I don’t know what to call it,” he said. “But I can feel it. Whatever is between them, it’s real. And different.”

Amren, perched near the end of the table, narrowed her silver eyes. “He shares something with her he doesn’t with any of us. That much is clear.”

Feyre nodded softly, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “I’ve seen it, too. The way his shadows behave around her, like they’re part of her now.”

The conversation faded into a hush as a faint sound stirred from the hall, the rustle of boots on stone, the quiet press of wings folding behind them.

The door opened, and Azriel stepped inside, dressed in soft black, his Siphons gleaming like frozen stars on his hands and shoulders. At his side walked Y/N.

She wore deep forest green with a shimmer of silver woven into the fabric, nothing elaborate, but breathtaking in its simplicity. A small braid was pinned behind her ear, and her gaze moved over the Inner Circle with a calm steadiness that held no fear. Only curiosity. And quiet strength.

Azriel kept close beside her, a shadow brushing along her arm like it was anchoring her, or maybe the other way around.

Rhysand stood first, his smile genuine. “Welcome.”

Y/N bowed her head gently in greeting, and though she didn’t speak, she didn’t need to — the way her eyes met each of theirs, full of quiet warmth and gratitude, said enough.

“Thank you,” her voice echoed gently into Rhysand’s mind. “For letting me be here.”

Rhysand inclined his head with a smile, then turned toward the rest of the room. “Shall we eat now, Nesta?”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though a smirk played at her lips.

Cassian was already rising to his feet, nudging a chair out beside him. “Come sit, Az. And Y/N, we saved the good bread for you.”

Mor beamed as Y/N took a seat beside Azriel, the shadows around him curling like smoke in moonlight, peaceful for the first time in days.

And outside, the stars began to fall, like silver rain from the heavens, silent and endless.

Dinner was laughter, the clink of glasses, warm candlelight, and the shimmer of magic laced in the air.

Y/N sat quietly between Azriel and Feyre, a faint smile on her lips as she watched the easy rhythm of the Inner Circle, the way Cassian teased Mor with flicks of bread rolls, the way Amren rolled her eyes and muttered about “children,” even though the corners of her lips were quirked in amusement.

“Did Azriel tell you,” Cassian said mid-chew, gesturing toward Y/N with his fork, “that he threatened three construction workers last week for letting a hammer fall too close to your garden?”

Azriel, without looking up from his plate, said calmly, “I told them to be more careful.”

“You said,” Mor mimicked in a deadly-serious tone, “‘Drop that again and I’ll rip your arms off and bury them in the herb bed.’” She grinned at Y/N. “We were all there.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in amusement, then her hands moved, quick, fluid gestures of her fingers.

Feyre laughed, translating instinctively, “She says the hammer didn’t even touch the ground.”

Azriel’s lip twitched.

“I told you,” Cassian said, pointing his fork again. “Absolutely whipped.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He just raised a brow and flicked a shadow toward Cassian’s wine, tipping the cup ever-so-slightly.

Y/N caught the movement and bit back a laugh, shaking her head as if to say boys.

The Inner Circle was basking in warmth, and Y/N felt the unfamiliar but comforting sensation of being part of something, even if she mostly listened. Still, she didn’t feel apart from them. Not tonight.

Azriel stayed close at her side, his shadows uncharacteristically calm. Every so often, he’d lean in, not out of necessity, but as if it was simply his instinct now.

When Cassian launched into another embellished story about Mor and a bakery brawl years ago, Y/N turned slightly toward Azriel and caught his eye.

“Are they always like this?” she asked in his mind, her tone dry, amused.

Azriel’s lips curved faintly. “This is tame. Wait until Cassian’s had three more glasses of wine and starts dancing.”

She laughed silently, a soft sparkle lighting her eyes.

“You’ve changed,” she added after a moment, more hesitantly now. “Since the night you found me. You seem… lighter.”

Azriel turned his head to her, searching her face in the flickering glow. “Maybe because you’re here. And safe. It’s easier to breathe when I know that.”

Across the table, a pair of sharp silver eyes were watching them closely.

Amren said nothing. She swirled the deep red wine in her goblet and observed the pair, the way they seemed to speak without a sound, how Azriel’s shoulders loosened when he was with Y/N, how Y/N’s expressions shifted as though full conversations were happening in silence.

There was something deeper there. Not a mating bond, she’d known enough of those to recognize it, but something… older. Stranger.

When dessert arrived, Amren stood without a word.

Feyre glanced over. “You’re not staying?”

“I have something to look into,” Amren replied, her tone clipped as always, though her eyes flicked once more to Azriel and Y/N before she turned. “Something I should’ve thought of sooner.”

And then she was gone, shadows slipping behind her as she vanished from the dining hall, no doubt heading toward the library’s oldest corners.

Back at the table, Y/N noticed Azriel watching Amren leave. She nudged his arm gently, tilting her head.

“Everything alright?”

He shook his head once. “With her, who knows.” But his eyes softened when he looked back at her. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded. “I’m more than okay. This is the first time in… years… that I feel like I’m not surviving. I’m just living.”

Azriel blinked slowly, something fierce and fragile sparking behind his eyes.

Then, almost without thinking, he reached under the table, just a brush of his pinky finger against hers, a quiet promise. She stilled, and then wrapped her fingers around his.

Later, when most of the Inner Circle had drifted to other corners of the House of Wind, some to sip wine by the fire, others to dance beneath the starlight, Azriel and Y/N slipped away to one of the balconies.

They said nothing for a while. They didn’t need to.

Y/N leaned against the stone railing, gazing up at the stars as they fell in slow, glowing streaks. The sky shimmered with ancient magic, vast and silver-blue and full of unspoken dreams. Her hair moved gently in the breeze, and Azriel, standing just behind her, watched as one of his shadows twined itself around her wrist like a ribbon, then flitted away as if shy.

She turned to him after a moment, her voice touching his mind in that soft, singular way.

“Is it always like this?”

Azriel shook his head. “Some years, the stars fall slower. Sometimes the wind carries them in spirals. This… this is rare.”

She smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the light. “Then I’m glad I’m seeing it like this. With you.”

A pause.

He looked at her, really looked, as if this was the first time he could, uninterrupted by fear or pain or the weight of everything else they’d survived.

“I thought I knew what I was looking for,” Azriel murmured. “All these centuries. I thought I’d know the shape of it when it came.”

Her brows lifted, curious.

He stepped closer, slowly, giving her time, space, always.

“But this,” he said, voice lower now. “This wasn’t what I expected. It’s not a mating bond. It’s not fire. It’s… quiet. Like peace. Like my shadows finally have nothing to warn me about.”

She didn’t speak to his mind immediately. Instead, she reached out, just barely, and brushed her fingers against his.

Azriel’s eyes darkened as they held hers.

“Then maybe,” she said gently in his mind, “you weren’t looking for fire. Maybe you were always looking for quiet.”

The words landed like a balm across a scar.

Slowly, deliberately, Azriel lifted one hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb skimmed the curve of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught, eyes wide and shining.

When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t claimed. It was reverent.

Their lips met beneath the falling stars - soft, slow, warm.

Y/N exhaled into him, and Azriel breathed her in like he had waited a lifetime to do so.

Above them, a shooting star blazed past, brighter than the rest. And for a moment, time stilled.

When they parted, Y/N rested her forehead against his chest, her mind brushing his again with a whisper: “You make me feel safe.”

Azriel’s hands trembled just slightly where they held her.

“I will always keep you safe,” he murmured aloud. “No matter where you are.”

The stars were still falling when the soft click of the balcony door stirred them from their shared silence.

Azriel turned first, instinctively, his shadows twitching before settling as the figure stepped into view.

Amren.

She looked… different. Not in appearance, still timeless, still clothed in midnight silk and draped in something sharper than elegance, but there was an intensity in her silver eyes that hadn’t been there at dinner.

“I thought I’d find you two out here,” she said, folding her arms. “You’ve become rather inseparable.”

Y/N straightened slightly, unsure if she should step back from Azriel, but his hand remained gently over hers, grounding, not possessive. She didn’t move.

Amren strode to the balcony’s edge, glancing once at the sky, then at them again.

“I saw the way you were interacting tonight,” she said plainly. “The way you speak without sound, how your magic knows each other before you do. It reminded me of something I once read. A long, long time ago.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “You went to the library.”

Amren’s mouth twisted into something half-smirk, half-snarl. “Of course I did. I don’t like mysteries I can’t name. And what you two have-” she waved a hand vaguely between them, “-is not a mating bond.”

Y/N’s brows drew together. Amren turned her gaze to her.

“No, girl, it’s not a bond of body or desire. But it is powerful. And old.”

She paused, and for once, the silence was heavy.

“It’s called a thirren bond,” Amren said at last, voice quieter. “From a language lost before Velaris was even built. It only happens under very rare, specific circumstances. Two souls, both fractured, but not by fate, like mates. By experience. By grief. And sometimes, when the cracks align just so…”

Her gaze swept between them again, sharp and unreadable. “They fill each other.”

Azriel’s voice was low. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

Amren tilted her head. “It means you share more than thoughts. You share… knowing. Not just emotions or whispers. You don’t complete each other. You comprehend each other. There’s no hierarchy. No instinct to dominate or claim. It’s a conscious harmony. A chosen one.”

Y/N stared at her, mind gently spinning.

Azriel was quiet beside her, shadows curling slowly at his feet.

“But it’s rare,” Amren continued. “Rarer than any mating bond. Most fae don’t even believe in it anymore. Because it requires pain. It requires survival. And a willingness to connect that deeply without being compelled.”

She stepped back toward the door, her words falling like stones.

“So whatever this is between you,” she said, “don’t waste it trying to label it with something lesser.”

Then she turned and disappeared into the hallway, her scent fading with the soft click of the door.

Silence fell again.

Azriel looked over at Y/N.

Her eyes were distant, thoughtful.

“Do you believe her?” he asked gently, his mind brushing hers.

Y/N looked at him then, searching his face, the raw honesty in it, the care.

And she nodded once.

“I think we already knew. We just didn’t have a name for it.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching for her hand again.

And this time, when their fingers laced together, it felt like confirmation. Not the beginning, not even the middle, but something ancient finally remembered.

The night air was cool, laced with starfall’s faint shimmer. They stood close, quiet in the wake of Amren’s revelation, both of them turning it over in their minds like a precious, fragile truth.

Y/N’s gaze lingered on the distant hills beyond Velaris, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. Then, finally, she turned to Azriel.

“What does this mean for us?” Her mental voice was soft, tentative. “This… thirren bond?”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment. His shadows were quiet now, as if they, too, were listening.

“I don’t know exactly,” he admitted, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. “But I know what it feels like.”

He searched her face, his voice a low murmur in her mind. “It feels like I’m not carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.”

A soft, trembling smile curved Y/N’s lips, and her eyes flicked down to their hands, still laced together.

“I feel that too,” she said. “But it’s not just the bond.”

Azriel’s head tilted, curiosity blooming in his features.

She looked up at him then, eyes lit with quiet fire.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she said. “Not because of the connection. But because of you. Because of how gentle you are with me. How patient. How you see me without needing me to explain every broken piece.”

Azriel stilled, just for a breath, shadows curling gently at his shoulders, like they’d heard something sacred.

Then he stepped a fraction closer, his voice brushing against her mind with warmth.

“I’m falling too.”

Her breath caught as he reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I’ve been trying not to rush,” he whispered aloud this time. “Trying to give you space, especially after you said you didn’t want to leave the village.”

Y/N gave a small, almost sheepish smile — the kind that crinkled the corner of her eyes and made something bloom in his chest.

“Maybe I changed my mind,” she teased softly. “Maybe I want to come to Velaris. To be closer to you.”

Azriel’s heart stumbled.

“You do?”

She nodded, her smile widening just a little.

Azriel let out a breath, more like a laugh, really, one of disbelief and gratitude mingled, before he cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned in.

This kiss was slower than the one beneath the stars earlier. Deeper. A quiet promise shared under falling starlight, between two people who had once lived in silence and shadow, and now found peace in each other’s presence.

When they parted, their foreheads resting together, Azriel whispered, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“I think I do,” Y/N whispered back into his mind, her fingers brushing his cheek.

They stayed like that a while longer, wrapped in each other, beneath the gentle rain of stars, knowing that whatever this bond was, it was theirs to define.

Together.

[snail-day]

I fear my baby fever has taken over the past few days, so I present you with the JJK men as fathers headcanons.

TW: Babies, Fluff, mentions of pregnancy, slight yandere behaviors.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna

WC: 3k

a/n: I won’t get into the actual pregnancy details just yet—saving that for a later date (a rather soon date). Also wasn't expecting to yap so much about this. Enjoy!

Gojo Satoru

Oh dear. This poor man.

There are very few things in the world that can shake Satoru Gojo to his core. He has stared down curses beyond comprehension, fought battles that could wipe out cities, and held the weight of the world on his shoulders without so much as flinching.

But when he holds his baby for the first time?

Oh, he crumbles. Practically has to bite his lip to stop himself from outright sobbing, whole body stiff, breath caught in his throat, because how the hell is something so small, so warm, so unbelievably perfect? They’re not even cleaned off yet, and this man is already kissing their tiny head, his lips soft against their damp skin, murmuring thank yous like a prayer. To you, to the universe, to whatever god decided that he—a man who has lost too much—was allowed to have something this precious.

Don’t you worry, there will be a celebration. A sushi boat is being delivered as soon as possible (as if you weren’t already expecting that).

However, here’s the thing, Satoru was already clingy before.

Now? Now he’s unbearable. Words cannot describe how this man refuses to let you leave his eyesight for more than a moment. He adored you before, but now you’re the mother of his child. The woman who carried a piece of him inside her, who gave him something he never thought he could have. If you so much as disappear into another room? Satoru is ready to Hollow Purple the air itself.

Following you around like some puppy with his spawn that resembles him a little too much: ("Dumpling? Where’d you go?" "Satoru, I’m in the bathroom." "...Can I come in?")

Oh, and he takes such good care of you too. Sure, he teases—makes his usual dumb jokes, smirks like an idiot—but when it comes to postpartum recovery? This man is all in. You have to make that infamous diaper concoction after birth? He’s right there, handing you an ice pack for your bits, whispering, “I have never loved you more.” If you ask, hell, if you even hint at needing help with anything? He’s already doing it. Witch hazel wash? No hesitation. Helping you in and out of the bath? He’s got you. Bringing you food, making sure you drink water, physically tucking you into bed because you refuse to rest? He does it all. Yes, he will absolutely pick you up and put you back in bed if you try to do too much: ("Satoru, I can walk." "Oh, I know you can, but should you?" Cue him plopping you onto the couch with a smug grin, a fluffy blanket, and a kiss to your forehead.)

Now, as much as he loves his baby, he is deeply afraid of the newborn phase. Like, undeniably so. The idea of rolling over and crushing them in his sleep? A recurring nightmare. (Yes, he believes in skin-to-skin contact. Yes, he read a bunch of articles about it while out on missions. Yes, he panicked about every single one.) Trimming their tiny fingernails? His worst nightmare. And trust, your house is baby-proofed to the maximum.

But once they hit the toddler phase? Oh, he thrives. They're curious! They tell him the craziest stories, and he eats up every single one. He loves feeding them sweets, spoiling them rotten. He definitely brings them to the school with him, letting them color all over his mission logs (that he’s been avoiding anyway).

And when they start walking? Oh, this is where things get real.

Satoru Gojo is undeniably, unapologetically, shamelessly a leash dad. The first time his little one wobbles too far from him in public? Leash acquired. Not just any leash, oh no, it’s cute. He makes sure it matches their little outfits, maybe even gets custom ones with their initials embroidered on them (never their name, that's how they get kidnapped!) Safety first!

If anyone dares to give him a weird look? He dares them to say something. His sunglasses drop down the bridge of his nose as he grins, voice sickly sweet: "You got a problem?"

Unfortunately, probably gets one for you too. Just to be a menace of a husband, loops it around your wrist with a teasing smirk, leaning in close, "Can’t have my favorite person running off, now can I?"

("Satoru, take this off me." "Make me.")

Geto Suguru

Oh, Suguru, who definitely acts more like a mother than a father.

This man embodies nurturing (and controlling, but hey, he’s going to therapy… maybe). Sure, he technically runs a cult, but you and your twins? You don’t really need to know that. (His poor assistant, though, absolutely running damage control while he’s busy doting on you.)

From the moment you give birth, Suguru is relentless in his care. He follows every superstitious belief—some of them might be outdated, but he does not care. You will be sitting for a month. No cold foods, no heavy lifting. Okay, he’ll allow you to wash your hair, but standing in the shower? Absolutely not. Baths only. He’s drawing them for you, making sure the temperature is just right, ensuring you’re as comfortable as possible.

If he weren’t a cult leader, he’d make the perfect stay-at-home dad.

Oh, the birth itself? He refuses to trust non-sorcerers with your pregnancy. No hospital, no epidurals, no way. It’s a birthing pool, at home, the natural way. And the second those babies are in his arms? He is devoted. Just like Satoru, you’re not leaving his sight. Neither are those babies.

But the baby phase? He hates it.

Not the babies themselves, of course, but dear god, two at once is a nightmare. They’re constantly tugging on his dark hair, they somehow manage to unlock baby-proofed cabinets (how are they that smart already?), and the mess? The sleepless nights? The chaos? It’s almost enough to drive him insane. But even through his exhaustion, he’s never anything but soft with them. Always the nurturing, coddling one. Because even though this phase is hell, he still loves them more than anything.

But once they hit the toddler years? That’s when he shines.

Suguru is the epitome of patience, his voice always gentle, his hands always steady as he guides them through their little tantrums and misadventures. He isn’t a leash dad, he simply doesn’t need to be. His twins are always either in his arms or holding his hands, their little fingers wrapped around his own as they toddle beside him.

Sure, some people might call him a helicopter parent. But he’s raising two little girls. The world is a dangerous place, and he’s not taking any chances. Let someone even think about looking at them the wrong way—his smile might be soft, but his presence is terrifying. No one is getting near his babies. And if anyone dares to question his overprotectiveness? He simply tilts his head, that ever-calm voice carrying something dangerous beneath the surface:

"Would you rather I let them run loose? Hm?"

Suguru is a morning person, but not in the “up at dawn” kind of way. No, he savors the mornings, stretches them out as long as possible, slow and quiet, just the way he likes it. He wakes before you do. Always. Most mornings, he watches you sleep for a little while, fingers tracing slow patterns along your hip, your back, wherever he can touch (loves your stretch marks). Something is intoxicating about these quiet moments, the way you breathe so softly, the warmth of your skin against his. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, presses the gentlest kiss to your temple.

You belong to him. It’s a dangerous thought, but one he doesn’t fight.

The twins usually wake up before you do, one always stirring the other, little giggles or babbling voices breaking the silence. Suguru moves without a hint of hesitation, careful not to wake you as he slips out of bed, padding softly toward their room. Suguru melts every single time. His girls, half-asleep, hair messy, rubbing their tiny fists against their eyes, reach for him instantly with little grabby hands. Lifts them with ease, one in each arm, pressing a kiss to both of their foreheads before settling them against his chest.

"Did my little princesses sleep well?"

Cue sleepy nods, little arms clinging to him as he carries them downstairs. He makes breakfast with one toddler perched on his hip, the other playing on the floor nearby. Feeds them, cleans them up, all before you even wake up. He wants you to rest, wants you to have the luxury of a slow morning. By the time you stir, he’s already setting a cup of tea on your bedside table, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, “Stay in bed. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

And if you dare try to get up? Oh, you better believe he’s scooping you back under the covers, lips ghosting against your ear as he hums, “You don’t want to upset me, do you?” Playful, teasing, but firm.

(Yeah, okay—maybe he’s a little possessive. But can you blame him? You gave him his whole world.)

Suguru is the definition of a doting husband. Not just in the classic ways. Sure, he makes sure you’re comfortable, that you’re taken care of, but it’s the smallest details that make it clear: this man worships you. He brushes your hair at night, fingers ghosting against your skin. “You’re so beautiful,” a soft murmur like it’s an afterthought. Like he just has to say it. Absolutely loves watching you with the twins. The way your voice softens when you talk to them, the way you hold them close. He lives for it. (It does something to him, something dangerous.) Insists on tucking you in every night. Even if you’re already comfortable, even if he’s exhausted, he needs to make sure you’re safe, warm, and content. It’s his job.

When it comes to you leaving his sight? Absolutely not. You get up to leave the room? He’s watching you (on the cameras in the house, that you definitely aren't aware of). Someone dares to ask for your attention when he’s near? His hand is on your lower back before you even notice, a soft smile on his lips, but the grip is tight. God help anyone who thinks they can come between him and his family.

Because Geto Suguru might be soft with you, but for everyone else?

He’s still a damn curse user.

Nanami Kento

If there’s any man built for family life, it’s Nanami. Sure, he’s stoic. Composed. A man of few words. But when it comes to his child? Dear god, he is so soft. He loves them in a way that feels fundamental, as natural as breathing. Loves you even more for giving him something so precious. He doesn’t say it often, but it’s in every glance, every touch, every sigh of appreciation when he looks at you holding his child.

And when he holds them? He feels whole.

He savors every little moment, tiny fingers reaching for his glasses, drooly kisses pressed against his cheeks as he spoon-feeds them baby food. And no matter how messy they get, no matter how much mashed-up fruit ends up on his tie (his good tie, at that), he never complains. He just exhales, wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, and murmurs, "You're a messy little thing, aren’t you?" before pressing a kiss to their forehead, regardless of the applesauce smeared across it.

Because for Nanami, this, his family, his home, the life he’s built with you, this is everything.

Nanami is an early riser. He always has been. But the difference now? He no longer rushes out the door and only lives for his work.

Instead, he takes his time.

Tends to wake up before you, slipping out of bed with careful movements so he doesn’t disturb you. The first thing he does is check on your little one—peering into their crib, watching their tiny chest rise and fall with soft, even breaths. It’s the only time he allows himself to just stand there, quietly admiring, drinking in the sight of the most important thing in his world.

If they stir, if they so much as whimper, he’s immediately reaching down, scooping them up with ease, holding them against his chest as he rubs slow circles on their back.

"It’s alright, little one. I’ve got you."

Mornings are meant to be spent slowly, feeding them breakfast (with a bib, he learned his lesson the hard way), wiping their tiny hands clean, and carrying them in one arm as he makes coffee with the other. If you’re still asleep, he lets you stay that way, keeping the house quiet, and making sure you get as much rest as possible. Because Nanami knows better than anyone, that being a parent is exhausting. And if he can shoulder some of the weight for you? He will.

Nanami isn’t possessive. Not in the way that Gojo or Geto might be.

But is he protective? Absolutely.

Taking his kid to the park is a mission. He doesn’t hover, per se, but he’s always watching. Sitting on a bench, arms crossed, eyes locked in. The second his child starts running a little too fast? He’s standing. Someone else’s kid gets a little too rough? He’s walking over. And if his child falls? He gives them a second—just one—to see if they’ll get up on their own. But the moment he hears a wobbly inhale, sees that little lip start to tremble—he’s already there. Kneeling beside them, checking them over with careful hands, murmuring, “You’re alright, sweetheart. Just a little scrape.” And then, with the gentlest look in his eyes:

"Do you want to keep playing, or do you need a hug first?"

(They always choose the hug.)

Nanami adores you. But not in a loud way. Not in the way that Gojo teases or the way Geto smothers. No, Nanami loves you in a way that feels steady. Like safety. Like home. Always makes sure you eat first, even if it means letting his food get cold. Takes care of the night feedings if you’re too exhausted. Rubs your shoulders when you look tense, presses a kiss to the back of your hand just because.

And when the baby’s asleep? That’s your time. Some nights, it’s just the two of you sitting in quiet conversation, his hand resting over yours, thumb rubbing absentmindedly against your skin. Other nights, he just holds you, silent, warm... present. When the exhaustion is heavy in your bones, when you sigh in a way that sounds just a little too much like overwhelmed, he cups your face, tilts your chin up so you meet his gaze.

"You’re doing an incredible job," he tells you, because if anyone deserves to be reassured, it’s you, and god help anyone who dares to make you doubt it.

Ryomen Sukuna

In a modern AU, if anything could fix Ryomen Sukuna, it would be a child. Not that the kid was planned, of course. But the moment he sees them—tiny, fragile, utterly defenseless—something inside him shifts. He won’t admit it, won’t say it outright, but watching his newborn slobber all over his hand while teething? Yeah, he crumples inside.

At first, he’s clueless. He’s never had to be gentle before. His hands, powerful and ruthless, were never meant for something so delicate. You have to show him how to hold them properly, how to support their head, how to not look at them like they’re a fragile piece of glass about to shatter.

And does he complain? Oh, absolutely. But he listens, he's trying.

Modern AU Sukuna is absolutely a CEO. And not just any CEO, a powerful, slightly (or very) corrupt one. The kind of man that has everyone terrified to breathe wrong in his presence. Yet, despite his intimidating reputation, there are certain days when his employees come to work to find something... unbelievable. Their ruthless, cutthroat boss—Ryomen Sukuna—sitting at the head of a massive conference table, looking utterly unbothered as his baby naps against his chest in a tiny carrier.

The first time it happened, his employees did not know how to react. The sight of their terrifying boss with a wobbly-headed infant suckling on his tie was so surreal that no one dared to acknowledge it. They just continued their meeting in absolute silence, stealing panicked glances at one another, unsure whether laughing would get them fired, killed, or both.

Sukuna however, oh, he knows what they’re thinking. He can feel the tension in the room, the way no one is making eye contact with him. So naturally, he makes it worse.

"If any of you wake them up," he drawls, voice dark and smooth, "I’ll fire you on the spot." Cue nervous sweating from every executive in the room. Despite his threats, you know he does this because he wants to give you a break. Of course, he acts like it’s no big deal, grumbling about how "You never shut up about needing rest, woman. If bringing the brat to work gives me some damn peace at home, then so be it."

(The truth is that he secretly enjoys it. The small weight of his child against him, the quiet little snores, the way their tiny fingers sometimes curl around his thumb mid-nap. Yeah… he might actually like this fatherhood thing.)

At home, Sukuna tries to maintain his usual cold, indifferent demeanor. But it’s hard when he’s got a wobbly toddler clinging to his leg, looking up at him with your eyes, babbling nonsense like he’s the most important person in the world.

Obviously, he can’t just ignore them. "Tch. What do you want, brat?" (Picks them up anyway)

You catch him napping on the couch with the baby on his chest, one hand protectively covering their back. If you so much as mention it, he glares at you like you’ve just committed treason. Bath time? He claims he hates it, but somehow, he’s always the one washing their hair, grumbling under his breath about how “You’re doing it wrong” as he takes over. If they cry? He’s terrible at comforting, but god forbid anyone else try to step in. That’s his kid, he’ll figure it out himself.

He’s not soft, he insists. Not in the way Nanami or Geto might be. But when he tucks them into bed at night, sitting on the edge of their tiny mattress, watching their little chest rise and fall…something inside him settles. Suddenly realized he’d burn the entire world to the ground for them.

[mocchiixxx]

🐶 Lost & Found

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Romance

Kim Mingyu x Reader

Summary: Mingyu loses his tiny girlfriend in the crowded streets of Seoul and dramatically “rescues” her by lifting her into the air like a lost child. Embarrassed and annoyed, she scolds him, threatening to buy a baby leash. Playful banter and heartwarming chaos ensue.

Mingyu liked to think of himself as a responsible boyfriend. He held your hand in crowded places, kept a protective arm around your shoulders, and made sure you always walked on the inner side of the sidewalk.

But today? Today, he failed.

One second, you were by his side, happily munching on tteokbokki. The next? Gone.

Mingyu froze in the middle of the bustling street, his long legs rooted to the ground. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. “Babe?” His head swiveled left and right, scanning the sea of people. “Babe?!”

No answer.

A sinking realization hit him. He lost you. In the wild. Of Seoul.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself. “I lost my tiny girlfriend.”

His brain went into overdrive. Was this how parents felt when they lost their kid in the mall? Was he about to get a "missing person" announcement over the loudspeakers? Would he have to make Have You Seen This Girlfriend? posters?

Then, finally— he spotted you.

There you were, right in the middle of the crowd, struggling for dear life.

Your tiny frame was completely swallowed by taller people, your arms awkwardly pinned to your sides. You tried tiptoeing to look around, but it was zero help, like a bunny stuck in a herd of elephants.

Mingyu slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

But first— rescue mission.

Summoning his inner action hero, he swam through the crowd. “Excuse me! Sorry! Move—oh, sir, I love your jacket—BUT PLEASE MOVE—” He dodged elbows, weaved through confused pedestrians, and parkoured around a baby stroller.

And then— he reached you.

Without hesitation— he slid his hands under your arms and LIFTED YOU HIGH INTO THE AIR.

Like a dad picking up his excited toddler.

“FOUND YOU!” he announced with the biggest grin.

The people around you stared. A couple giggled. A kid pointed at you like you were an exhibit at the zoo.

Meanwhile, you dangled mid-air, horrified.

“GYUUU, PUT ME DOWN—”

“Not until you admit you got lost,” he teased, holding you effortlessly.

You kicked your legs. “I didn’t get lost— you lost me!”

He gasped dramatically. “No way! You’re saying I, Kim Mingyu, am the irresponsible one?”

“Yes! Now put me down before I—”

“Before you what?” he smirked. “Before you struggle helplessly in the big scary world?”

You glared at him. “Before I ban you from cuddling for a week.”

Mingyu froze. Oh no.

Slowly, gently, he placed you back on the ground.

The moment your feet touched the pavement, you smacked his chest. “Next time, hold my hand tighter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said solemnly, grabbing your hand like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“…And if you lose me again,” you added, “I’m buying one of those baby leashes.”

Mingyu grinned. “Ooo, can it be pink with sparkles?”

You sighed. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He squeezed your hand.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go. And for the rest of the night, Mingyu made sure your tiny self never left his sight again.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Taste of Obedience

Dom!Human!Wanda x subby!vampire!reader

Summary: You're a vampire, ancient and obedient, but Wanda? Wanda owns you in every sense. She's human — painfully so — warm, bleeding, alive. And when she lets you sink your fangs into her throat, it’s not just about feeding. It’s devotion. It’s power play. It’s control.

Tonight, she lets you drink. Slowly. Teasingly. But only when and how she says.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, blood drinking (consensual), power imbalance (negotiated, consensual D/s dynamic), dom!Wanda / sub!reader dynamic, possessive language & ownership kink, mild overstimulation, praise kink, post-bite soreness / gentle aftercare, one-sided sleep (reader does not sleep), vampire themes (immortality, fangs, blood), emotional intimacy & codependency undertones

Authors note: I had this idea of a powerful being who wasn't so powerful when it came to Wanda. It flowed so beautifully out of me this morning.

The taste of Wanda’s skin was forbidden fruit.

You weren't allowed to bite — not without permission.

And tonight, permission wasn’t coming easy.

Wanda had you on your knees at her feet, hands folded neatly in your lap, your fangs aching behind your lips. Her body heat was unbearable this close — a furnace radiating against your chilled skin. You could hear her heartbeat, steady and slow, taunting you.

“You’re squirming,” she murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “Something wrong, little fang?”

You swallowed, eyes wide and dark in the candlelight. “I-I need…”

“I know what you need.” Her smile was cruel in the most loving way. “But you don’t get to take it. You earn it.”

Your throat bobbed, the ache to sink your fangs into her pulse point clawing at your control.

Wanda leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “Say it. What do you want?”

“...To bite,” you whispered, shuddering.

“Say it properly.”

You whined, eyes fluttering closed. “Please, Mistress. Please let me bite. I’ll be good…”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, trailing her fingers down the side of your throat, letting you feel just how vulnerable she was — how easily she could give you what you craved.

But you belonged to her now. A vampire on a leash. Her pet.

“Maybe,” she said at last, drawing back and straddling your lap, “if you beg pretty enough, I’ll let you have a taste.”

She smiled when your fangs dropped involuntarily.

“Such a hungry little thing.”

Wanda’s thighs cradled your hips as she settled in your lap, warm and commanding. Her fingers threaded lazily through your hair, tugging just enough to remind you who was in control.

Your hands stayed exactly where she expected them — limp at your sides, trembling, even though every part of you screamed to touch her. Your instincts, your hunger, your damnation all thrummed beneath your skin like static.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice syrupy and slow as she rocked her hips forward ever so slightly, “you’re lucky I find this whole pathetic need of yours so… cute.”

You whimpered.

She tilted her head, exposing her throat — just a glimpse of the skin you craved more than blood itself. Then, she grinned and tilted it right back.

“Not yet,” she said sweetly, stroking the line of your jaw. “I want to hear more. Tell me what it does to you, knowing I’m right here — warm, alive, bleeding just under the surface — and you’re not allowed to touch me.”

You blinked fast, fangs pressing hard against your bottom lip. “It hurts, Mistress.”

“I know it does, baby.” She cooed, her nails dragging lightly down your chest. “Hurts here?” One nail traced the space above your heart. “Or here?” She cupped between your thighs just briefly before retreating.

You bucked up into the phantom of her touch, breath catching.

“Both,” you admitted shakily. “Please. Please, I’m so hungry…”

Wanda clicked her tongue, as if scolding a child. “You think I don’t know how hungry you are? I can feel it in you, little bat . The way your whole body hums with it. But want and deserve are two very different things.”

Her hands slid around the back of your neck, nails scratching lightly as she leaned in, her lips ghosting your cheek.

“You’ve bitten me before without asking,” she whispered, her tone sharp with accusation. “You promised you wouldn’t again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you gasped. “I lost control —”

“And who do you belong to?” she interrupted, pulling back to meet your eyes, her own blazing with intent.

“You,” you breathed. “Always you.”

“That’s right.” She kissed you then — not soft, but claiming. Her tongue slid against yours, and you tasted her spit, her heat, her power. It wasn’t blood, but it was intoxicating. Your nails dug into your thighs to keep from moving.

Her hand suddenly tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, exposing your throat now.

“Say it again.”

“I belong to you.”

Her lips brushed your neck, mimicking what you longed to do.

“You’ll drink when I say so,” she murmured, and you whimpered as she scraped her teeth along your throat in wicked mockery. “Beg one more time, and I’ll think about it.”

You were desperate now, eyes wide and glossy, your voice cracking.

“Please, Mistress. Please let me drink from you. I’m yours. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I need it, I need you…”

Her breath hitched — just slightly. Enough to tell you she liked that. Liked hearing you fall apart.

Slowly, deliberately, she shifted in your lap again and drew your face into the crook of her neck. Her pulse was right there. So close. You moaned from the proximity alone.

“Okay,” she said softly. “You’ve earned it.”

Your body went boneless with relief, and just as you began to move in, her fingers threaded through your hair again, tightening hard.

“But,” she added, low and firm, “you bite slow. You drink only when I say. And you stop the second I tell you.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you breathed, barely able to contain yourself. “I promise.”

“Good girl.”

She tilted her head, exposing the smooth, delicate skin of her throat — and finally, finally, she whispered:

“Drink.”

You sank in — slow, reverent. Her blood burst across your tongue like fire and honey, thick with life and heat and Wanda. She let out a soft gasp, her hand stroking the back of your neck, grounding you, guiding you, owning you.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispered. “Take it slow. My good little vampire.”

And you did — because she asked, because she allowed it, and because everything you were belonged to her.

Her blood was everything.

Warm. Sweet. Saturated with her magic and will and humanity — and the taste of her love, because even Wanda’s dominance was affectionate in its own twisted, perfect way.

You drank slow like she asked, fangs buried in her throat, hands shaking where they hovered at her waist. Every instinct screamed to drink deeper, to hold her tighter, to take, but you didn’t. You wouldn’t.

Because she let you.

Because she told you to.

Your arms eased up around her, slow and careful, wrapping her in your embrace without squeezing, without claiming. You never held her too tightly. You couldn’t — wouldn’t — risk hurting her, not even by accident. She was breakable. Human. Yours.

And above all, you were hers.

Wanda stroked your hair lazily, her breathing steady while yours grew rough — not because you needed it, but because it helped, gave you a rhythm to anchor your control.

Her voice broke through the haze: smooth, sharp as a command.

“Stop.”

You froze. Fangs still inside her. Breath stuttering against her skin. Your eyes flew open, wide and frantic. You whimpered against her throat.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t pull back.

Didn’t drink.

Just… stayed there, trembling, trying so hard to behave.

“Good girl,” she murmured, and her nails scratched softly at the nape of your neck. “Still learning how to behave, but you’re getting there.”

You moaned helplessly. Her blood sang through your mouth, coating your tongue, tempting you even now.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” she whispered. “My heart… still beating. My body, still warm. And you’re so cold, sweet girl. So empty. But you’re not going to take what isn’t given.”

You whimpered again, your mouth still latched to her skin, fangs shaking from restraint.

“You’re going to wait,” she said, hand fisting in your hair. “Because I said so.”

Your arms tightened around her a little more, never enough to bruise, just enough to cling. To say I’m here. I’m listening. I’m yours.

You wanted to sob — from hunger, from devotion, from how badly you needed her to say yes again.

And Wanda — cruel, knowing, amused — nuzzled your temple.

“Breathe for me,” she said softly.

You obeyed, inhaling against her neck, shaky and slow.

“Good. Now exhale. Focus.”

You did.

She waited a moment longer, making sure you really held still, before her hand relaxed in your hair and her breath danced over your ear.

“Start again, baby.”

You made the softest, most broken sound — a breathless gasp of gratitude — and resumed.

Carefully. Worshipfully.

Drinking not because you could, but because she let you.

Wanda sighed, letting herself melt into your lap again, perfectly relaxed, completely safe — despite the predator wrapped around her.

“That’s it,” she murmured, almost teasing. “Nice and slow. My good little monster.”

The moment Wanda said start again, you sank back into her throat like it was the most sacred place in the world.

Because it was.

The pull was slow, gentle — reverent. You obeyed to the letter, but you couldn’t stop the little whines in your throat. Each swallow made your hands tremble, your mind quiet, your whole world narrow to the pulse beneath your tongue.

And Wanda was feeling it.

She shifted in your lap, grinding herself against the firm line of your thigh. A sharp gasp left her lips — small, but real.

You knew this rhythm. This body.

You knew what your bite did to her. How her blood ran hotter the deeper you drank. How the pain mixed with pleasure until it blurred into a fever in her skin. You felt her magic flicker beneath her skin like a lit match waiting to catch.

Her fingers tightened in your hair.

“Fuck,” she breathed out, voice cracking.

That wasn’t just arousal — that was need.

You moaned against her, eyes fluttering shut. Her hips rolled again, slow but purposeful, chasing the friction.

“You don’t get to move,” she managed, voice strained. “Don’t… fuck, don’t you dare help me.”

You obeyed. Not a single thrust back. Not a grind. But you held her, arms locked around her back, anchoring her to you as she used your thigh, your body, her vampire.

Her pet.

Her source of pleasure, and pain, and everything between.

She buried her face in your hair as her noises grew more desperate — soft, gasping moans with every twist of her hips.

The taste of her deepened. Darkened. You could feel her heartbeat in your tongue now, rapid and erratic, responding to the heat building between her legs.

You held still like she asked. Even as her nails bit your shoulders. Even as she shook a little in your arms.

“Fuck, baby…” she whispered, her voice almost cracking into a whimper. “You have no idea what you do to me…”

But you did.

You knew.

You’d tasted her blood a hundred times. You felt how deep the reaction went. How intimately her body tied pain to pleasure — how even the softest feed left her breathless and shaky in your arms.

You knew her tells: the magic buzzing at her fingertips, the hitch in her breath when your fangs scraped just right, the way her thighs tightened around you as she fought to keep control.

And she was losing it.

Because even though you were the one kneeling, trembling, biting her throat — she was the one unraveling.

Her hips jerked once, rhythm faltering, and she let out a helpless little moan, high and sharp.

Your breath caught.

Wanda swore under her breath and grabbed your jaw, yanking your head back just enough to pull you off her neck. Blood painted your lips, and you blinked up at her, dazed and starved.

She looked wrecked.

Flushed cheeks. Wild hair. Lips parted.

“Don’t you dare look smug,” she growled, but her voice was shaking. “That wasn’t permission to get cocky.”

You nodded, wide-eyed, blood slicking your mouth.

“I wasn’t,” you whispered. “I swear, Mistress.”

She glared — then kissed you hard, her tongue licking into your mouth, tasting her own blood off your lips with a hungry groan.

“I’m not done with you,” she breathed against your mouth. “Not even close.”

And you believed her.

Because you’d barely scratched the surface of what Wanda Maximoff could do with a trembling vampire wrapped around her finger.

Wanda was breathless, flushed, and trembling slightly when she pulled back from your blood-slick mouth.

Still straddling you. Still in control.

You were hers — panting, fangs aching, lips red from the taste of her. And when she reached down and tugged your shirt up and over your head, you let her, limbs pliant and obedient.

“Sit still,” she ordered, and you did.

She pulled your bra off slowly, watching the way your chest rose and fell in anticipation, her eyes flickering with heat. Her fingers grazed your skin — barely there — and still you shivered like she'd burned you.

“You don’t get to touch me,” she said, voice dark and low as her hands slid down your body. “You hold me. You feed from me. But you don’t fuck me unless I say.”

“Yes, Mistress,” you whispered, voice trembling.

Wanda rocked her hips again, harder this time, and your hands flew to her waist — not to move her, just to hold. Steady. Supportive. Worshipful.

She ground down harder, chasing friction against your thigh through the thin fabric of her panties. She wasn’t hiding the way she moaned now, short and sharp, every breath dripping heat as her fingers dug into your shoulders.

“This is mine,” she whispered, dragging her nails down your chest. “All of you. Even this need you think I don’t see. I own it. You don’t come until I do.”

You whimpered.

She rolled her hips again — and again — soaking the front of your jeans, her body pulsing with magic that sparked against your skin, fraying the edges of your control. But you held firm, nails pressing into your own thighs to keep from moving. From begging.

From doing anything but what she let you.

Wanda's moans grew louder, less composed. Her head fell to your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin where you’d bitten her earlier.

And then — a shudder, a breath held too long — her whole body jerked once, and a loud, broken sound fell from her lips as she came against you.

It was messy. Slow. Her body shaking in your arms, hips twitching as she rode it out, panting into your neck like you were the one keeping her grounded.

You were.

Your arms were wrapped tight around her. Not possessive — never that. But protective. Present. The kind of hold that said: I’ve got you. Take what you need. I’m yours.

Wanda slumped into you, chest heaving, and for a long moment, neither of you moved. You felt her heartbeat against your skin, rapid and erratic and human.

You kissed her temple softly, lips stained red.

Only then did she pull back and cup your cheek.

“Still with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes hazy, every nerve humming with the weight of her.

She smiled — tired and wicked and full of something soft.

“You did so well,” she whispered. “So good for me.”

Your throat bobbed. “Thank you, Mistress.”

Wanda slipped off your lap and gently pushed you back onto the couch. Her fingers made quick work of your jeans, and before you could protest — or beg — she was between your thighs, her hand pressing flat against your center through your soaked underwear.

“Now,” she said, her voice like velvet. “Now you get to come.”

You came fast — embarrassingly fast — hips bucking up into her hand as she rubbed tight, practiced circles over your clit. All the blood, all the restraint, all the tension that had built up through obedience and denial crashed through you in a wave.

And Wanda watched, chin propped on your thigh, grinning like the smug devil she was.

“God, you’re pretty when you fall apart,” she murmured.

You whimpered, back arching, thighs trembling, and then — finally — you collapsed.

Spent.

Full.

Shaking.

Safe.

Wanda didn’t rush the come-down. She climbed back into your lap, straddling you again — this time to soothe, not to take. She cradled your face, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your brow, the corner of your mouth.

“Easy, baby,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

You clung to her, still panting despite the fact that your lungs didn’t need to. Your whole body ached in the best way.

She cleaned the blood from your chin with her fingers and pressed them into your mouth to suck.

“There’s my good girl,” she murmured. “Took it so well. You always do.”

You leaned into her, eyes fluttering shut, resting your forehead to hers.

Her hand stroked your hair. “You did everything I asked.”

You nodded.

“And when I told you to stop, you stopped.”

Another nod. A tiny, broken sound of pride caught in your throat.

Wanda kissed you once — soft, slow, grateful.

“You’re mine,” she whispered. “Every inch of you. Forever.”

And you were.

Wanda was the one who moved first, even though her body was still shaky and her thighs still pressed damp against your jeans.

“Come on,” she murmured, cupping your jaw with one hand and pressing a final kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You went with her without question, clinging just a little as she guided you to the bathroom. She chuckled softly, arm around your waist.

“You always get like this after,” she teased, voice warm. “Like a baby bat stuck to me.”

You nuzzled your face into her hair, still overwhelmed, still grounded in her scent.

She bathed you both gently — hands slow, steady, not teasing anymore. She peeled away your ruined clothes and held you under the warm spray of the shower, fingers stroking your back, humming softly under her breath.

It soothed the leftover trembles in your limbs.

She washed your hair like you were precious. Like she liked doing this for you. She always did — insisted on it, really.

And afterward, she dressed you in soft pajamas — one of her oversized shirts and a pair of cotton shorts you couldn’t remember stealing but were definitely yours now. She dressed herself in a robe, loose and cozy, and tugged you by the hand into the kitchen.

Wanda didn’t even give you the chance to ask. She pulled a sealed container of blood from the fridge and handed it over wordlessly, then turned to fix something for herself.

You sat on the edge of the counter, sipping slowly, still a little floaty. Your fangs had finally retracted, but your gums were sore. That always happened when you drank too slowly.

She glanced over and frowned. “Still tender?”

You nodded.

Without saying a word, she pulled out one of her freezer packs and wrapped it in a dish towel. She pressed it gently to your cheek, right where your jaw was clenched.

You leaned into it with a soft sound of gratitude.

Wanda made herself a grilled cheese — extra sharp cheddar, exactly the way she liked it — and slid it onto a plate. She only ate half before she offered you a bite.

You hesitated, but took it when she gave you that look — the one that said let me care for you back, dummy.

When you were both fed and warm and finally calm, she took your hand again and led you back to the bed. She crawled in first, reaching for the blanket, but stopped when you climbed in behind her and pulled her gently into your arms.

“You need sleep,” you whispered against her hair.

“You need rest,” she murmured back.

“I don’t sleep.”

“I know,” she said, already burrowing into your chest. “I just like saying it.”

You held her close, your arms wrapped around her waist, your chin tucked over her head.

Wanda let out the softest sigh — barely a breath — and her whole body relaxed in your hold.

It was the only time she ever went limp like that. Only after you fed. Only when her magic quieted and her body was wrung out and her heart beat a little slower in her chest. That was when she let herself be small. Tired. Human.

You didn’t need to breathe, but you did anyway — slow and steady, chest rising with hers. You liked matching her rhythm. It made her feel less alone.

Her fingers twitched against your shirt. “Still with me?”

“Always,” you murmured.

She hummed. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always.”

She drifted not long after, body warm and boneless against yours.

You stayed still.

You never moved while she slept. She hated waking up alone.

So you stayed — watching the way her lashes fluttered against her cheek, the way her lips parted slightly, how utterly soft she looked when all the sharpness faded from her face.

Powerful, fierce, brilliant Wanda — sleeping safe in your arms.

Yours to protect.

Hers to belong to.

You didn’t need sleep.

You had everything you needed right here.

[heyimkana]

Waking up to your yandere!fiancée Sung Jinwoo

This is a deleted scene from Limerence but can be read separately. It's basically just Jinwoo showing how much of a red flag he is and reader (colorblind af) thinking that he's just roleplaying 😌💀

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: YANDERE, smut, fluff

Content Warnings: oral sex, penetrative sex, choking, swearing

Word Count: 4K

Waking up to Sung Jinwoo’s heavenly features was God’s greatest gift.

Sunlight streamed golden through the window, adorning every slope and rise of his muscles with an angelic glow. His strong arms were wrapped around your body, protective even in his sleep. 

You took a moment to admire, adoring him with your heart fluttering fondly as your eyes absorbed every detail. He looked like a dream. He felt like a dream even as you trailed your fingertips over his features, reveling in the smoothness of his skin. His hair was adorably tousled, his eyelashes long enough to brush against his cheekbones. He was still nude beneath the sheets, his upper body bare and exposed, giving you the perfect view of the scratches you had left along his spine and the searing passion you had drowned yourselves in just a few hours before. 

Jinwoo seemed so vulnerable like this, but only because with you, he found the chance to be. You were the serenity that allowed him to return to his roots, to let him be the little boy who was not yet aware of the burden the world would place on his shoulders, of the power he’d be bestowed upon. And that little boy, without fail, always sought for your affection, yearning for your undivided attention, and it made you feel wanted. Needed. Loved and desired.

You rolled to your stomach, propping yourself on your elbows as you pressed a light kiss on his shoulder. Carefully, you slipped away from his embrace, wanting to freshen yourself before he stirred awake. 

Jinwoo groaned, the sound low and hoarse, murmuring your name in his sleep. “Don’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him, carding your fingers through his hair. He let out a blissful sigh at your touch, perhaps even a purr, falling back to sleep with his lips slightly curving up in the sheer happiness of having you there.

He’s so cute, you pondered to yourself, almost like a child. Giving him another soft kiss on his forehead, you climbed down the bed, your naked body sore after hours of being bitten, folded, and bent over.

“Fuck, he didn’t hold back at all last night, did he?” A painful hiss fled your lips as you looked down at your body, a territory marked with a very eager, very talented mouth and bottomless passion. Then again, I told him not to hold back, you giggled as the memory of you begging him to go faster, harder, came to your recollection. Seeing all his marks on you gave you a sense of pride and euphoria, and honestly, you wouldn’t have minded if they lasted forever. You belonged to Sung Jinwoo, and he belonged to you—only to you. What woman wouldn’t be proud of that?

Despite wanting the same, your fiancée was always considerate not to indulge his greed. He never left his lovebites in places other people could see. No matter how much the beast inside him wanted to, he chose to put a collar around himself and placed the leash in your hand. He’d only ruin you when you gave him permission to.

“God, I want to marry him,” you uttered aloud with a yearning sigh as you made your way to the bathroom.

You returned a little while later, your body adorned by the silky nightgown he nearly tore apart the night before. His lids slowly fluttered open at your movements, hazy with sleep. Jinwoo was gorgeous; even with his hair all disheveled and his eyes bleary, he remained the loveliest thing you’d ever seen. His pretty smile broke on his lips, slowly and softly, the second he found your face.

“Hey, Angel…”

No sound on earth was more pleasing than his voice in the morning, except perhaps the sweet moans and the subdued whimpers that rang through your ears when he released himself inside you. The rasp in his husky voice, how it vibrated nicely in the air in the form of the sweetest purr… His voice was the song the heavens created to bless your ears.

“Hey, handsome,” you slithered back under the covers, sliding closer to him. “You slept like a baby.”

“Mm. Someone wore me out last night.”

“I wonder who that was,” you tittered.

Jinwoo drowsily smiled, thankful he could hear your sweet sounds so early in the morning. “Come here.” He brought you back to his embrace, wrapping his arms around you again like he did every night. It was the only way he could fall asleep, with your body pressed flush against him, your warmth seeping into his pores. “Why did you move away? I was holding you before.”

“I’m sorry.” Your arms slid up and down his biceps, kissing the protruding muscle. “I went to brush my teeth.”

“Next time, don’t bother. I want to wake up with you in my arms.” He pulled you close, sighing in contentment at the contact. “Mmm… You’re so warm.” His hand drifted down your nightgown, following the contour of your spine, his touch reverent. “And soft...” His fingertips traced the skin underneath, roaming until they settled on the dip of your neck, lifting your face for him to marvel upon. “And beautiful…” He sighed, almost dreamily. “How did I get so lucky to find a woman like you?”

You chuckled, “Feeling grateful today, aren’t we?”

“I’m grateful every day, Angel. For every second of my life that I spent with you.”

“And a little cheesy.”

He scrunched his nose in response, which you kissed with your giggle reverberating right after.

“What time do you have to leave for work today?” Jinwoo asked, tugging you close enough for him to settle his chin on your head. 

“Hmm…” You drew your name on his chest with your digits, not knowing that he’d already had it carved in his heart from the first day he met you. “In less than an hour, I think?”

Nuzzling his nose against your strands, he hummed, “Mm. I’ll call in late for you.”

You chortled quietly, answering his embrace with another. You drowned yourself in his warmth, in his sweet scent, your heart full of never-ending affection. 

“It still feels like a dream to me,” Jinwoo murmured, “that I can wake up to you like this every day. To hear your voice the first thing in the morning… to see your face… to feel your body pressed against mine…” He returned the small distance between you to meet your eyes, his fingers tracing the apple of your cheek as devotion filled his gaze. “I’m the happiest man in the world.”

Moments like this made you feel like you owed the deities your soul for bringing him into your life. Unsure of how to convey that into words, you leaned in to present him with a kiss. Your lips just barely grazed his when he suddenly pulled away. “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he whispered rather sheepishly.

“I don’t care.” You drew him back to you, your lips interlocking, your fingers twisting in his hair.

Jinwoo rolled you to your back, his body hovering close above yours. He kept the kiss chaste and sweet, smiling softly once it ended. “I love you.”

”I love you more.” So, so much more. 

To your astonishment, however, the romance in his eyes transformed into something grave as his fingers played with your strands, his eyes glued to your face but not truly looking at you. 

“What is it?” you asked, confused by the sudden change of his expression.

He drew a breath. “We’ll always stay like this, right? You and me?”

Hearing a hint of nervousness in his voice, you couldn’t help but tease. “If you want me to.”

“I’ll want you forever, Angel, you know that,” he replied with all his heart, his feelings too intense to reciprocate your jest with another. “There’s not a day that I don't need you in my life.”

You kissed the inside of his palm. “Then maybe forever I’ll stay.”

“You’ll never… leave me?”

“I’ll never leave you.” Your heart thawed. The slight tremble in his voice reminded you of that of a child frightened to bid his mother goodbye. “Why, Jin? What’s the matter?”

He turned hushed. Your words were crystal clear, and he could etch them in his chest, but for some reason, he needed more. Some kind of proof, a reassurance. “Will you promise me that?”

"Promise you?" Although it felt exciting to be so wanted, you always loved it better when he became desperate for you. “What, you don’t trust me? Do I need to spell—”

The sudden grasp of his fingers around your wrists instantly washed your mischievous grin away. He pinned you down to the bed, his grip far from hurting but firm enough to deliver his message. He was not taking this matter lightly, and neither should you. 

“I want you to promise me,” Jinwoo repeated solemnly, almost like a harsh demand. “I want you to mean every single word you say when you tell me you’ll never leave me.” 

The intensity in his stare, his touch, his voice… It burned you. However, the moment your eyes met, the flame turned subdued, as if the astonishment in your eyes doused it a little. The pressuring tone in his voice switched to pleading as he brought your wrist closer to his face, kissing you above your pulsating vein. “Please, Sweetheart…? I need to hear you say it for me…”

And when a man, more powerful than the Gods, shed his armor to show the frail pieces of him only for your eyes to see, how could you not grant such a request? “I promise,” you said without a doubt, without a second of hesitation, with all the fragments of your soul you could offer. “I promise never to leave you. I promise that I’ll stay here with you forever.”

His lips momentarily parted in surprise at your vow before he tautened them again, bowing as profound joy rippled through him. Jinwoo breathed a relieved sigh, cradling your face as his lips grazed your cheek. “I love you.” Your jawline. “I love you.” Your neck. “I love you so much.” He settled a lingering kiss above your heart, one that beat only for him. “My sweet girl… You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only one I can ever love.”

You squirmed; his lips felt ticklish and electrifying on your skin. As his hands and mouth continued to roam, the primal need for his touch returned, swelling rapidly within you. “Jinwoo…”

“I know, love.” His mouth was hot and wet against your sweet spot, the soft flesh of your neck tugged gently between his teeth. “Let me return the favor this time. Tell me, how do you want me?”

Everywhere. I want you everywhere on my body. Your lips. Your hands. I want your cock inside me, but before that—

“Your mouth,” you breathlessly replied. “I want your mouth on me.”

He nearly moaned at your request, elated that you asked him to do what he’d been craving the most. 

You sighed in rapture, your body being pleasured once again, inch by inch. You arched your back as he kissed his way down your navel, your tongue wetting your lips as you watched him part open your legs.

“Right here?” Jinwoo asked with a rasp in his voice, his fingers gently caressing your heat, his mouth sucking another bruise on your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your core, you could already feel his breath on you.

You chewed on your lip, nodding. 

He wasted no time, diving his head low, prying your folds apart with his thumbs before he darted out his tongue and licked you from your entrance to your clit. “Fuck,” you moaned, your body contracting as the sensation of his mouth closing around your nub washed over you. “God, baby—” Your hand settled on his head, grabbing a handful of his locks to keep him still as you bucked your hips forward, causing him to groan as he plunged his tongue deeper inside you. “Your mouth feels so good.”

He moaned softly, loved being praised by you. His grip tightened around your thighs as he sucked at your most sensitive spot, lapping every drop of essence that seeped out of you like an obedient dog. His eyes turned half-lidded, drunk in the taste of you, appearing so differently than the way they stared at you before when he demanded you to state your promise.

Promise, huh..? “Hey, Jin,” you started, still slowly grinding against his face. “Out of curiosity, what would happen to me if I—ngh—broke my promise?”

He stopped for a second, his lids flickering open, and then it returned, the glimpse of darkness you saw glinting in his eyes before. Jinwoo broke away from you, his thumb replacing his tongue as he collected his composure, rubbing it firmly against your clit. “You’re gonna leave me?”

You shuddered at his tone, how it altered the air between you with only one question. He pressed his thumb further against your bud as his two other fingers slid inside, wedged tightly between your walls. You writhed, his touch rougher than before, so intense you could almost feel his nails scraping against your walls. “H-hypothetically speaking.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” he repeated with a scoff. “Hypothetically speaking, Sweetheart, you’ll be punished.” He scissored his fingers inside, stretching you apart, no mercy in his smile.

“How—” Your soft whimper interrupted you, your body flinching under his ministrations. “H-How will I be punished?”

A new kind of thrill suffused him to the brim, his eyes gleaming at your curiosity. “Oh, your punishment would be severe, Angel.” His silvery voice soothed you as his words set you ablaze. There was a hint of playfulness there, which swept your fear away. He knew you simply wanted to tease him, so he played along. What was left inside you then was only excitement, born from every word he spoke. “I would make sure you knew exactly what happens when you even consider leaving me. You’d be kept close to me, watched at all times. You wouldn’t even be able to leave my sight without my permission. You’d be completely under my control every second of your life.” 

It scared you how much it adrenalized you in the most wonderful way, his lines taking you to places your mind never dared to wander. You enjoyed it, this little performance he displayed. Jinwoo had always been nothing but a sweet, tender lover to you. Seeing him take a sadistic role for the sake of indulging your fantasy was a nice change. “You think you have the heart to do that?” 

“Oh, honey,” he chuckled deeply, placing his mouth on you once more, his tongue swirling sinfully inside. “I can be whatever you want me to be. I can give you pleasure,” he purred against your soaking cunt, the vibrations making you squirm. “I can give you pain.” You quivered, your hand pushing his head further to your core, silently begging for more. “I can give you fear if that’s what you desire.” He let his teeth graze your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your streams. “So, don’t tease me too much, Sweetheart. You don’t know what I'm capable of.”

There was a subtle threat in his tone, and you fucking loved it. You wanted it. You wanted it all. You wanted to see just how far he’d cross his own limits for you.  

“But, of course,” Jinwoo brought your thigh closer to him, guiding you to wrap your legs tighter around his head. “This is only hypothetical.” He stroked your skin before he planted a soft kiss there, his cheek nuzzling against your inner thigh. “Because you'll never leave me”—something changed in his eyes, a certain glint in his cobalt blues that stunned your heart—“isn’t that right, Sweetheart?”

You couldn’t yet fathom what was written in his gaze, but it felt… unnerving. He was completely immersed in his role, so much so that you wondered if he wasn’t acting at all. That there was truly a part of him that wanted to keep you tied up to the bed, used solely as a toy for his pleasure. 

You wished it were true. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?

Your filthy pipe dreams, combined with his talented mouth, brought you closer to the edge. And you would’ve crossed it had he stayed still between your legs, his tongue fucking you until all the knots in your stomach loosened at once. But he didn’t. Jinwoo moved away right when you needed him the most, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip, tasting the sliver of your essence as he returned to you.

You whined in protest, frowning as you watched him crawl up your body. “Why did you stop—”

“I asked you a question.” His tone, gentle yet intimidating, led to goosebumps breaking on your skin. The hunter hovered above you domineeringly, staring down at you as if you were his prey. “And I demand an answer.” 

God, he sounds so sexy when he’s like this. “Of course, darling, I’ll never leave you. But…” Your lips tilted into a smirk. “I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants to try, just to push your buttons and see how far you’ll go.” You angled your head slightly to the side, exposing the column your neck, your gaze painted over with allure. “Being punished like that isn’t so bad. Especially by you.”

“Is that so?” He showcased a nefarious smile, his face sinking into the crook of your neck. “I fear you’re playing a dangerous game, Sweetheart.”

“But that’s my favorite one to play, you know that.” You granted him more access to your skin, your eyebrows adjoined in the middle as he sucked an angry bruise on your collarbone. “So, indulge me, Jin,” you sighed out. “What would you do if I ran away?”

“I’ll hunt you down.” He felt you shiver under him, your body burning up quickly as excitement pumped through your veins. “I'll search the whole world for you to make you mine again.”

“Search the whole world for me, huh?” You forced out a breathy chuckle, your fingers threading through his hair as his mouth suckled on your breast. “But what if I’m very good at hiding? What if I—ngh, yes, right there—keep running away from you just to make it interesting?”

He drew his mouth away with a pop, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your nub before he ran his tongue over it. “Oh, there will be no escaping me, Sweetheart,” Jinwoo smirked, his voice dense with confidence and arrogance. “But I’ll let you try your best. I love watching you struggle, after all. I love it when you get desperate for me.”

I guess that’s why we’re a match made in heaven. Because I love seeing you act that way, too. The sadistic glow in your eyes rivaled his own. “And what are you going to do to me once you catch me? You’ll have me locked up?”

“And tied up, if I had to.” The feelings of his lips traveling to your ear, his hot breath skimming across your lobe, his tongue sliding against your shell—everything filled your senses at once. “I’ll have you bound to my bed, and I’ll claim you any chance I get. Every day, every hour, every minute I’m awake, I’ll have my cock buried deep inside you, my teeth on your skin, my fingers in your mouth. You’d be mine, Sweetheart. Completely and utterly mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the vivid image he drew in your mind. Though you were certain he’d never have the heart to do such things to you, the mere thought of being used, controlled, dominated past your boundaries exhilarated you. “That sounds… exciting, actually.”

“Oh, I’ll make it so, Angel.” His hand glided up your thigh, his nails raking against your flesh. “I’ll make you feel all sorts of pleasure.” He pushed it forward, spreading your legs wide open for him. “And I’ll give it to you”—he pressed down on you, making sure you understand how much he was throbbing at the thought of ruining you—“Again”—he abruptly pushed hips forward, his cock sliding between your folds—“And again”—the protruding vein underneath his length rubbed against your clit, each thrust harder than before—“and again”—he watched you mewl at the sensation, at how wrecked you look beneath him, wanting so desperately to have him inside you—“until you’d never find the will to leave me again.”

Your hips moved on their own, rocking against him, matching every sway. No matter how much you tried to seduce him, Jinwoo refused to give it to you just yet, not until you understood the consequences of what you wished for. “What if I persist?” you asked between jagged breaths. “You know how stubborn I can be sometimes. Would you hurt me?”

Only then did he stop. He leaned back to stand on his knees, his grip tightening around your thighs as his gaze darkened. “I would never hurt you,” he said, stating it like a vow. 

You went still for a moment, stupefied by the sudden sincerity. “Too bad,” you smiled, a little minx disguised as an angel. “I think a little pain could be fun.” Curling your fingers around his wrist, you brought him closer to your neck. “Like this.” You guided him to splay his hand at the front of your throat, letting him feel your vein pulsing beneath his palm. “Wrap your fingers around my neck like this and—” You choked in the middle of your words, his fingers suddenly tautening around your throat, stilling your breath. He was only answering your challenge, doing what you taught him to do, but God, it made you weak, made you realize just how powerless you were beneath the man who could shatter your bones to dust.

Thank God, he promised not to hurt you, right?

You laughed softly, the sound strangled as he continued to hold you by the neck. “I—I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you said, your mouth breaking into a grin. “Never thought someone as gentle as you could choke me like this.” 

“Like I said,” he smirked, staring down at you mercilessly. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. If you want your limits to be tested, then I’ll make sure we find out.”

Jinwoo had had his hands around your neck before, but it was always with the intention of possessiveness, never controlling. And this? This excited you. It should’ve terrified you just how rough he was, but no. You loved it. You loved it so much, you could barely recognize yourself. 

He could see it, the way pain elevated your arousal, and it delighted him, his eyes gleaming in the temptation to do more, knowing how badly you enjoyed this type of pain. The sweet torture that only he could give. “Too tight, Sweetheart? Should we come up with a safe word?”

“N-no,” you coughed out, not wanting to lose, not yet. “I love it. I want it harder. Give it to me harder.” He did without hesitation, robbing another hiss out of you. "Fuck."

“Careful what you wish for, love,” he warned, bringing tears to the edges of your eyes. 

“I know what I wished for.” To his surprise, there was still a spark inside you. You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer to you. “Are you gonna keep talking, or are you gonna fuck me now? Or maybe I should flip us over and ride you like last night. Maybe we should come up with a safe word then 'cause you best believe I’m not gonna let you off easy, Sweetheart.”

He chuckled, impressed by your taunt. He thought you were adorable. “Saying things like that with my fingers wrapped around your neck is a bold move, Angel.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable—” Your sentence ended abruptly in a silent moan when he thrust inside, filling you with everything at once, burying himself so deep, you could almost feel him in your stomach. 

Expletives toppled over your lips as you tossed your head back, feeling so full, so complete, your hands gripping onto the sheets. He fucked you slow, then fast, then slow again, throwing you off your rhythm, filling you with frustration, all the while keeping his hand on your neck. It doubled the tension, doubled the pleasure. The sense of danger was always there, like he could crush you any moment, and it was so, so damn thrilling that you fell into regret for not asking him to do this sooner. 

“Fuck,” he groaned through clenched teeth, his head hanging low as his body caged you inside. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Fucking you rough and deep—he could make you come just like that, you knew it. But then, seeing how close you were, Jinwoo pulled himself out entirely, choosing to squeeze his cock between your folds, sliding back and forth on the bundle of nerves, instead of stretching your walls apart.

“Jinwoo—” Your nails clawed against his wrist as your legs wound tightly around his hips. You pulled him down toward you, wanting nothing more but for him to bury himself to the hilt again. “Don’t tease me—”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

He was messing with you, a sight you rarely saw, as he was always determined to make you reach cloud nine as fast as he could. Mischief looked perfect on him, and as much as you wanted to witness it longer, your need for him was starting to grow painful. “Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

Though elated, he was far from satisfied. “More, Angel. Do your best.”

Fuck having him punished you. I’m going to punish you later for this. “Jinwoo, please! I need you to fuck me, please!”

That was it. That was the kind of desperation he wanted to see. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He chuckled near your ear, “You look the prettiest when you’re begging for my cock, you know that?”

Your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing length as a forbidden kind of pleasure burst through your system, feeling burned in the most exciting way. “Hard,” you breathed out, your throat dry. “I need you to fuck me hard, Jin.”

He felt like a king, owning the world in his hands. “Where’s your manners?”

“Please,” you said as tears glazed your eyes. “Please give it to me harder.”

Perfect rows of marbled teeth peeked from behind a wolfish grin. “Good girl.”

He lived up to your words. Every sway of his hips, every drive of his cock inside you was everything that you desired and more. You couldn’t scream his name as loudly as he wanted you to, your throat still strangled to produce anything louder than a whimper. But he relished the sight, nevertheless. If anything, he looked even more excited.

You felt it building, one wave of pleasure after another, ready to crash and drown you like the ocean. “Close, Sweetheart?” he asked, and you gave a shaky nod, biting your lip.

When you were put in a similar situation the night before, your body tensing as your orgasm approaching quickly, Jinwoo had sweetly kissed your temple and whispered, “Come for me, sweet girl. Let yourself go for me.” 

But right now…

“I’m gonna make it clear for you, Sweetheart, so I’ll say it again,” he said amidst heavy breaths, almost in a growl as his teeth grazed against your ear. “If you try to run away from me, I’ll wrap my hands around you again, just like this.” He tightened them slightly to paint a picture for you, the added pain nearly sending you over the edge. “And I’ll keep you here with me.” His tongue traced the contour of your ear, his smirk dark and sinful as he made an oath of his own. “And I’ll fuck you like this, the way you want me to. I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll only remember my name. And I'll keep fucking you until you stop wanting anything else, but me.”

He proved his words by snapping his hips roughly against yours, causing your vision to turn white. Your orgasm shook you to your core, your strength leaving you almost immediately as he continued to chase after his own high. As your body turned pliant beneath his, Jinwoo pried his hand away from your neck, choosing to slip his fingers between your own. His gesture romantic, a complete opposite of how he was a second ago.

“I’ll have you trapped in my arms, Angel,” he promised as your lids turned heavy. The feeling of his lips caressing your knuckles was the last thing you felt before your unconsciousness slipped away. 

“Forever.”

*** AN: I was going to include this in part 2 at first but I feel like it's too long and I don't want to drag the story any further than I already do LOL but throwing this scene away feels like a waste too so idk have your weekly dose of yandere!jinwoo ig 😌

[pejite]

Hi! Today, I’m sharing a list of mods that I consider essential for playing historical gameplay in The Sims.

I often have friends who want to dive into the Decades Challenge but aren’t sure which mods to use or where to start. So, in this post, I’m going to share the mods I personally use and think are indispensable for creating that authentic historical experience.

Deaderpool's MC Command Center: This mod allows you to manage and modify many aspects of your game, including handling pregnancies, university careers, and enabling teen relationships so your Sims can marry earlier, among other features. You can also enable autosave and adjust the length of a Sim day.

Lumpinou's RPO: This mod enhances relationship dynamics and expands pregnancy features. It's extensive, with many modules, and once you've tried it, you won't want to play without it.

Pandasama's Realistic Childbirth: Offers multiple realistic childbirth options, including natural bed births and spontaneous labour, adding depth to your Sims' family lives.

MizoreYukii's Arranged Marriages: Allows you to arrange marriages for convenience. Parents can agree on marriages for their children, but breaking the arrangement won’t be easy.

Necrodog's Carriages and Horses: Adds functional carriages, enhancing immersion. While it doesn't work with the horses of Horse Ranch pack, it’s still incredibly useful.

Kuttoe's Enlist in War: It will allow your Sims to enlist in the war. Whether they live or die will be random, but if they survive, they'll receive the Veteran trait, a lifetime pension and some lasting traumas.

JaneSimsten's Regency Romance: Perfect for simulating the Regency era. It adds class differences, property ownership, etiquette skills, new traits and careers, events, and widowhood. Though inspired by the Regency era, it works well for later decades too.

SimKatu's Reading Animation Override: Changes the reading animations, with different ones for men and women, making your Sims’ reading time more immersive.

Zero's Deadly Dickensian Sicknesses: Introduces the risk of diseases like Tuberculosis, Typhoid Fever, and Cholera. It’s incredibly realistic with its contagion system.

Adeepindigo's Healthcare Redux: A comprehensive health mod that adds various illnesses and treatments, including tuberculosis and (early access) cancer. While Sims can buy modern medicines, many illnesses can be cured with natural remedies.

Adeepindigo's Simulated Endings: This mod will enhance everything related to your Sims' deaths, allowing them to take out life insurance and designate beneficiaries, arrange funeral preparations, and introduce stages of grief for your Sims.

MizoreYukii's Functional Broom: Adds a functional broom with its own animation, letting you keep your Sims’ homes clean without resorting to modern vacuums.

Triplis's Quit or Join School: In case you need your teens or childs to quit school.

The Kalino's Farm Animal Set: Expands your farm with more animals, including goats, sheep, ducks and more, in addition to the standard cows and chickens.

JaneSimsten's Write With Quills: Replaces your Sims' pens with quills, adding a touch of historical accuracy.

JaneSimsten's Sidesaddle Override: Allows female Sims to ride horses sidesaddle, as they would have in the past.

JaneSimsten's Parchment Computer: Replaces modern computers with parchment and quills, complete with their own animations—perfect for pre-typewriter eras.

Frankk's Language Barriers: More realism to sims being from different worlds.

Rs4ella's 1920s Grade School Homework Override: Changes the look of the kids' homework book to a 1920s style, but it works well for earlier periods too.

Xbrilliantsims's Toddler Bathtime Overrides: Replaces modern bath toys and sponges with more era-appropriate items when bathing toddlers.

Lunamoth's Historical Infant Carriers: Swaps out modern baby carriers for fabric slings, suitable for any historical era.

Lunamoth's Rope Pet Leash: Replaces the modern pet leash with a simple rope, making it look more appropriate for historical gameplay.

300yearschallenge's Historical Baby Bath Override: Changes the baby bath seat to a more suitable design, or you can opt for

Sassymissollie's Invisible Infant Bath Seat to remove it entirely.

JaneSimsten's 5 Day Work Week: Choose Your Own Work Hours: Lets you adjust your Sims' work schedules for a more realistic experience.

JaneSimsten's Marksmanship Skill: Adds a marksmanship skill, allowing your Sims to practise shooting and hunting, with the hunted animals available for cooking.

Littlbowbub's Ye Olde Cookbook: Enables your Sims to cook historical dishes, perfect for low-income Sims in older settings.

Basemental's Basemental Drugs: Although mainly known for adding drugs, it’s commonly used for its smoking features, letting your Sims smoke cigarettes and cigars like a proper Victorian gentleman.

MizoreYukii's Children/Toddlers Can Die of Anything: Allows your child Sims to die, useful if your storyline requires it.

Ayoshi's Phone to Notebook Replacement Mod: If phone elimination mods are causing issues, this mod might help. It replaces the mobile phone with a small notebook, which could pass for a mini Bible or an old-fashioned notebook.

JaneSimsten's Extra Cross-Stitch Patterns: Adds historically accurate cross-stitch patterns.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Agatha: Rio?

Rio: Yes my love?

Agatha: What do you have there?

Rio: An ice cream?

Agatha: What’s next to the ice cream?

Rio: Oh! You mean the small child

Agatha: Yes I mean the small child!

Rio: She’s an orphan

Agatha: Why do you have an orphan Rio?

Rio: She made friends with Nicky at the park and she said she don’t want to go back to the orphanage because the nuns are scary so I said she could come and live here

Agatha: This is one of the most fucked up things you’ve ever done!

Rio: Hey woah! Language Agatha she’s only young

Agatha: She needs to go back to the orphanage Rio they’ll be looking for her

Rio: She said they just let her walk out and they weren’t looking for her

Agatha: But they’ll probably notice soon-

Small child: It’s been 3 days

Agatha: What?

Small child: They watched me leave and let me go

Agatha’s heart breaking: Oh, oh okay well yeah you can stay here a little bit I guess, tell me your name though I don’t want to keep calling you small child

Small child: I’m Nicky and thank you! *runs off to play with Nicholas

Agatha: She’s called Nicky?

Rio: Yep!

Agatha: So now we have Nicky and Nicky

Rio: It’s great right?!

Agatha: You’re never allowed to go outside without me again

Rio: awe damn okay, but can you not put the leash on me again

Agatha: Do you promise not to run off?

Rio:…..bring the stupid leash

Agatha: Okay, now I’ve got to make dinner for two children, I hope she’s okay with us being witches

Rio: She already likes my death form

Agatha: Jesus Christ

[madaqueue]

TEAR MY FLESH, HOLD MY HAND, FEEL MY WARMTH

the weight that lies in a pinky promise

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

themes/content: curse/canon au. fluff, angst. mentions of fights/difficult childhood. (wk: 3.2k)

a/n: this was originally gonna be for flufftober but it got a lil angsty teehee so here we are :) also the mouse on my computer stopped working so i did all this formatting on my phone bc i'm that dedicated to serving you guys this fic

Suguru was a soft child. Chubby hands, round cheeks, gentle steps.

He was sweet in all the ways a child ought to be, at least according to your parents - sweet in all the ways you weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were loud, jarring, unreserved. “A handful,” you were always described as by those who attempted to care for you. Perhaps that’s why they allowed you such a great extent of freedom, tugging against the length of a leash they tried to place around you, but they’d need stronger chains to tie you down.

And yet, you and Suguru found your similarities - you were both unencumbered by expectations. I am who I am. In spite of everyone, in spite of the ways they tried to dig their tight hands around you and force you into something you weren’t. You are who you are.

The first time you met him, all you saw were tiny feet kicking the air, unable to reach the ground from where he perched upon the park bench. He was the only one not screaming, something you appreciated, something novel. Your life had held such chaos, constant arguments, slamming doors. The peace that wrapped around his small frame seemed to exude a comfort you craved, even if it couldn’t be articulated by your six-year-old mind, you were drawn to it. To him.

“Hi,” you chirped, lifting yourself next to him.

“Hi.”

When you grinned widely at him, he returned a thin-lipped smile, as though he had been trained by wild dogs who took eagerness as a threat, who wouldn’t dare snarl unless as a warning.

(He noticed your absence of fear immediately - how could you approach him so easily? Had you not been taught to be wary?)

(You had been taught. “Avoid strangers, they’ll hurt you.” But you would never choose the harm of the monsters you knew. Better to take your chances in the wild.)

Averting your gaze, your dirtied fingernails began absentmindedly picking at the green paint coating the wood beneath your legs. Your eyes landed on his knees, scuffed and bloody.

“Did that hurt?”

Without looking at you, he shakes his head. “No, I’m just clumsy. I fell off my bike.”

“That’s okay,” you hum, “I get bruises all the time. You must be pretty tough if it didn’t hurt.”

And this time, he giggles, crooked teeth poking through. “Anyone can get hurt, it doesn’t make me tough.”

Leaves rustle overhead as you let out a thoughtful sigh, allowing the sounds of the breeze to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, you realize, no tension hanging in the air like there always seems to be at home, no threat looming around the other side of the kitchen counter.

You tug with all the strength your muscles can muster at a large strip of paint. With a final pull, your palm catches along the fraying wood, splinters digging under your flesh as you let out a choked cry.

Immediately, the boy’s small hands wrap around your wrist, pulling it to his face. Worried eyes inspect the wound. “Are you okay?” he asks without looking up.

A small whimper falls from your throat, lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “Y-yeah,” your voice wobbles.

You’re lying. He knows you’re lying - you aren’t particularly hard to read, he grows to learn, somehow always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s a trait he admires (perhaps because he’s never quite able to place his there so visibly).

When he frowns, you almost giggle at the sight - no child should frown like that. It’s endearing, the way his eyebrows furrow, mouth tugged downward.

“Can I make it better?”

It takes very little to make you trust him, but you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. Just as animals seem able to sense intent, an implicit knowledge that the human freeing them from a cage won’t inflict additional pain, you know that his stubby fingers won’t dig at your flesh and make you bleed.

So, you nod.

Determined eyes turn from your visibly pained face to your aching palm. Slowly, he removes the shards of wood from your skin. When you wince, he pauses immediately, waiting for your shoulders to relax before he continues. By the time he’s finished, your bottom lip is red from biting into it but the pain isn’t even noticeable, not when every nerve in your body seems focused on the warmth coming from his fingertips still lingering on your wrist.

“There,” he breathes through the softest smile, “all done.”

“Thanks,” and you can’t help but grin back.

“And see!” He’s beaming now. “You were very tough!”

Your laugh is brighter than the sun, more calming than the birds chirping overhead, a sound he can’t help but mirror. His desire to cheer you up, to comfort you through it all, makes your cheeks warm.

“I’m Suguru, by the way.”

He opens up easily to you, an honor you don’t quite understand yet. When you introduce yourself, he repeats your name back slowly, the vowels sweet like the flowers blooming nearby. It sounds good in his voice.

A whistle cuts through the humidity, immediately drawing Suguru’s attention.

“I gotta go,” his face draws into that adorable pout again.

“Oh.” Dropping your attention, it falls to your freshly healed hands resting in your lap. “Can you do me a favor?”

Expectant eyes meet yours.

“Promise me I’ll see you again?”

This time, he smiles so wide his cheeks push up into his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Holding out a hand, he gently grasps yours as he intertwines your fingers.

“Pinky promise,” he grins, linking them together with a shake.

Through a giggle, you mimic, “pinky promise.”

He shuffles off the bench, clumsy feet landing on the ground before he hobbles off to the waiting arms of a parent who seems to love him. Your heart aches for a moment before it stills - you’re happy he has someone to take care of him, to pull the splinters from his hands and clean off the scrapes on his knees.

It’s a miracle when you both get placed at Jujutsu Tech. It takes very little for you to abandon the place you called home, having jumped at the first chance to leave your childhood behind, but having Suguru there makes it even easier when you get approached by a strange man with dark hair and glasses who touts himself as the principal of some elusive school a few hours away. They’ll pay for your housing, your food, anything you need to survive for the next four years so long as you agree to train and work for them. It was an easy yes - you would have done more for less.

And of course, there was your so-called “power.” The two of you had danced around the subject for years, hesitantly testing each other’s experiences to not unload worry onto the other. That was the thing about Suguru - he was always looking out for you, and you, him. He never needed to ask if you were thirsty, he’d just bring you tea; you never had to ask if he was lonely, you’d just find him sitting alone on the same park bench.

It was Suguru who finally broke on his thirteenth birthday while the two of you made your way through town, snowflakes hanging in the air.

“Do you ever…see things?” he asked, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket in a futile search for warmth.

From the corner of your vision, you caught the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes. And you understood immediately.

“Yes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, hot breath puffing into the air. “Thank god,” he murmured.

Again, it wasn’t a surprise, per se - the two of you had shared everything. It only seemed natural that you would share this ability to see curses, the monsters hiding in the shadows.

“Do they ever…scare you?” Your voice felt small as you asked - you hadn’t yet reached relief, or at the very least, neutrality towards these things.

And he sees it in you, too - the dread he felt when he first saw them, the pang of terror that shoots up his spine when he catches one moving in the dark. He’s grown more accustomed to their presence, but there’s still that thread of fear lingering, choking him when he gets tangled in it.

“Yes.”

Cold fingers lace through yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“But I’ll always keep you safe,” he smiles that sweet, soft smile, “pinky promise.”

The training wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be, obviously, but fuck was it hard.

Suguru excelled initially, as he did with everything. The others in your small class also show great potential, Satoru in particular, but Shoko’s abilities develop in her own way, too.

It’s nice to finally feel like you have a place where you belong, to have people to return to, people who care about you, who love you. It’s nice to be here, even if it pushes you to your limits everyday, because you know you’ll always have someone to come home to - to know you’ll always have Suguru to come home to.

It hits you on a sunny day in October when you’re watching him spar with Satoru. Fists fly, a mix of black and white flashing across the grass. When Gojo lands a particularly well-timed punch, Suguru’s body lands with a thud in the dirt.

You’re on your feet in less than a second, shoving Satoru out of the way as you stand over the dazed boy on the ground. He looks beautiful like this, you think - his hair splayed out around him, blood trickling from his nose, lips tugged into an awestruck smirk - before you shake the thought aside.

“Are you okay?”

Panicked hands run over his torso, checking for injuries before they land on his face. Cupping his jaw, he can’t help but breathe a laugh at the worry painted across your features. His palms come to rest along your wrists, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I’m okay,” he sighs. Now that you’re here. “I’m tough, remember?”

Every muscle in your body releases tension just at hearing his voice, his calming aura once again blanketing you, bringing you under the warmth of his peace.

With a playful punch to his shoulder, he feigns a dramatic wince. “Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

He knows it’s impossible - it’s the nature of the job, of the responsibilities he holds. He will be hit and bruised and battered and brought to the brink of death again and again, but right now, that’s not what you need to hear. Because you know it’s impossible too; and you also know Suguru is strong.

“I pinky promise,” he halfheartedly grins. He promises to at least try. For you.

Wrapping your finger around his, you let the heat of your bodies fill the air, vibrating in tune with the cicadas lining the trees. His hand is soft in yours. It feels like coming home - the familiar walk up the steps, the paint on the front door cracking from where palms had rubbed against it time and time again as the handle turned. The wooden floors are worn in with the path you take through each other’s lives, from the kitchen to the living room to the windows, gazing over the backyard.

Suguru had a swingset, you remember. You figured out how to use it the first time you ever sat on the sun-worn rubber, going higher and higher and higher until the toes of your shoes scraped the sky. But Suguru always struggled - he couldn’t quite move his body in the right way to grant him flight. He would get frustrated with it rather easily, until your small hands rested against his back. With a firm push, you set him free into the air, his feet kicking perfectly with all the momentum a child’s body could hold.

Maybe gravity was discovered by children on the playground. There had to be a reason they couldn’t swing forever; there had to be a reason they couldn’t reach the sun.

The problem is, though, that a star’s heat dissipates with distance. It can’t always warm you, not when your feet land back on the ground.

Over the next year, Satoru began going on more missions alone, and Shoko stayed behind to hone her healing, leaving you and Suguru in the purgatory between power and nothingness. And most days, you feel closer to nothing.

It’s eating at him, you realize. The missions, the responsibility, the whole fucking thing is taking bites out of his soul with sharpened teeth and leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of torn expectations. It makes him smaller and smaller, pulling pieces of him until there’s nothing left.

You can see it in the way his clothes hang loose on his body. His shoulders slump forward, the shadows beneath his eyes growing darker each night he spends with his gaze locked on the ceiling.

The foundation of his soul is crumbling, the front door barricaded closed. The windows are boarded up. You can’t see your childhood anymore. All the grass in the front yard is dead.

You miss when the sun’s rays shone through him.

You miss when he was warm.

Finding him resting on one of the old benches in the school’s courtyard, it creaks beneath your weight as you sit, the only sound breaking the stagnant silence of the summer air. That’s another thing you’ve noticed - sometimes, Suguru is so quiet you aren’t even sure he exists. If you weren’t here watching his chest rise and fall, could you even prove he was breathing?

He says nothing when you rest your head on his shoulder, not that he needs to, of course. He hasn’t said much lately, mostly responding to everyone else’s overflowing conversations with empty smiles and sad eyes.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can take it.

“Suguru?”

His body doesn’t even shift in response to hearing his name, but you feel his eyes on you even though you can’t see them, your gaze instead focused on your hands resting in his lap. Picking at the skin along your nails, you continue.

“Are you okay?”

He’s grateful you can’t hear the way his heartbeat stutters (because then you’d already have the answer to your question).

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips never parting. You miss the way they used to curl into that childlike grin, it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.

You know he’s lying, but unfortunately, you want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it feels like you’re trapped underground, buried under your love for him, banging on the floorboards overhead, but there’s no one around to hear. There’s dirt in your lungs and you can’t breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Silently, you hold your hand in front of him, pinky raised in a question.

Would you promise?

On instinct, his own hand lifts from his side. It hovers just inches from yours, but he hesitates. The gap between them grows farther with each second they don’t intertwine, stars pushing one another apart, unable to collide. The steadiness in him wavers for a moment as you watch his fingers shake.

He can’t.

When he collapses into you, everything falls apart. Arms wrap around your frame, hands grabbing fistfuls of your uniform. He clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because as a child, no one ever taught him how to swim - maybe they didn’t see the point in learning such a useless skill, or maybe they thought they were protecting him. But now, he’s been thrown into relentless waves of grief and with each breath more briney water fills his chest and he’s gasping and scared and he doesn’t know what to do except hold you. The tears falling from his eyes taste like the sea and they burn his throat, but at least for a moment his legs can stop kicking. For a moment, he has someone who can keep him afloat.

Your palms rub slow circles into his back as he cries. The sound is sharp and painful, carving into the still-beating flesh of your heart, but at least it exists. At least he’s here. At least he’s alive.

Placing your lips to the top of his head, you let them rest there as his body shakes.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper into his skin, surrounded by small strands of hair pulled loose and warm from the sun. “I promise.”

As things tend to do, they eventually get easier.

You and Suguru talk to the higher ups about changing his schedule, only going on missions with at least one other sorcerer so he’s not doing all the work by himself. They bargain and ultimately even agree to grant him dedicated days off to rest. And finally, you feel as though you’ve been granted your miracle, the scales of fate begrudgingly tipping in your favor.

(If all your pain meant that Suguru’s would be lessened for even a moment you would do it over again a million times. If all your suffering meant that Suguru wouldn’t have to endure it for a second longer, you would suffer for eternity.)

Even as fall returns and the sun shines through the sky less and less, things feel brighter. The two of you find yourselves in the school’s cafeteria making tea every night, and he learns he sleeps better with you in his arms.

When the four of you gather around a picnic table outside to recap your recent assignments, you tell some stupid joke, one that makes Satoru groan and Shoko roll her eyes through a smirk, and you hear it: Suguru laughs. And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

You all exchange glances before turning to face him, his cheeks pushed up and pink, eyes closed in bliss. You can’t contain yourselves as you join him, fits of giggles lilting through the crisp air.

That night, he welcomes you into bed with open arms waiting beneath the covers. His lips are curved into a grin as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a newer part of your routine, one that makes your entire body vibrate.

Snuggling against him, the warmth of his chest radiates into your skin, each beat of his heart a welcome melody.

“Hey Suguru?” you murmur.

His voice is laced with sleep as he answers into the darkness, “Yeah?”

“You’re really strong, y’know that?”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he rolls his eyes. “I’m nothing compared to Satoru-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You can hear the air entering his lungs with each breath. He takes in three before he responds. “I know.”

Long fingers trace circles into the bare skin of your arm.

“Suguru?”

You know what you have to tell him - you’ve been holding it for years, keeping it close to you, carrying its weight through each day until you barely notice it anymore. Maybe it’s the change of the seasons, a different density to the air, but suddenly it has begun to feel heavy in your hands.

“Yeah?”

His hands make their way up your neck until they rest along your cheek, guiding your gaze to him through the dark.

Three breaths in, three breaths out.

“I love you.”

You can’t see him smile, but you feel it. The warmth of his palm leaves your face for a moment until you feel it again along your hand. He intertwines his pinky with yours. “I love you, too.”

[sseungcheols]

You SAID you want us to send you request huh?

whatever you say DIVA! What do you think seungcheol and his girlfriend will meet ? Like they were shouting at eachother or somthing ? If you fell comfortable to write this do it with no rush ☝🏻

hope you have a good daaaay 💋💋💋💋

soulmates

warnings: fluff!!! so much fluff omg

an: clarified with poster, she basically wanted me to write how seungcheol met his soulmate! thank you for this ask!! this was so much fun to write... i hope u like :) pleaseeee interact with this, it would mean a lot <33 divider dxstoeskyvjbess

wc: 1.1k

it was a normal tuesday. seungcheol always had the same routine. he would wake up, brush his teeth, drink his coffee and get ready for the days schedule. he’d go to schedules, and come back, tired and wanting to crash in his bed. he was a busy man, but he always made sure he had time for the love of his life – his precious puppy, kkuma. he walked kkuma everyday, without fail. he knew having a puppy came with a list of responsibilities, but he loved kkuma, she was his child, his source of comfort and happiness, and he loved her.

this tuesday was nothing out of the ordinary. he grabbed his bag, a jacket since it was evening and starting to get chilly, and his keys, and called out for kkuma. “kkuma-ya, let’s go!” they made their way to the walk, kkumas leash in his hand as they made their way to the dog park. there was a chill in the air, and cheol was glad he brought his jacket with him. as he puts his hood on, he makes his way to the park bench, the same one he sits at everyday.

cheol lets kkuma off her leash as he watches her mingle with the other dogs, as he leans back and puts his headphones in. time to relax he thinks, scanning around the park, where he notices someone he has never seen before. where he notices – you.

you were talking to one of the dog owners he’s seen before. he notices your smile, the carefree way you talk, the way you throw your head back and laugh. you didn’t come to the dog park with a dog. odd, he thought. as you waved goodbye to whoever you were talking to, you knelt down in the grass, seemingly very interested in whatever you were staring at. you had a camera slung around your neck, a t-shirt and jeans – obviously not dressed for this weather, cheol thought. you must be a photographer, cheol thought. cheol watched in awe as you took photos of your surrounding, how you seemed lost in your own little world. you took photos of others dogs as well, including kkuma.

cheol took this as an opportunity to talk to you.

he approached you, his hands suddenly shaking. he was not the type to get nervous, ever. what was it about you?

“hi, are you a photographer? i noticed you taking a photo of my dog.”

you looked at the man standing in front of you. he was tall, black hair, with the prettiest skin you’ve ever seen. he was wearing a black jacket, his eyes piercing, with a soft, dimply smile. “yes, i am, sorry, is that okay?” you replied. “i can delete if you want.”

“no!” he blurted. “no.. can i see it?”

you show him the picture. it shows kkuma running, with the wind through her fur, tongue out. it was one of the best pictures cheol has ever seen of her.

“wow…" he exclaims. “that’s quite a photo. you’re quite the photographer,” cheol says with a smile. 

“thank you, that means a lot!”

there’s a moment of silence, awkward silence, where you stare at cheol, while he stares at you, shuffling his feet.

“oh! how rude of me. i’m seungcheol. cheol for short.” he says extending his arm out to you.

“nice to meet you cheol. i’m y/n.” you say, shaking his hand, as kkuma runs to cheol and circles his leg.

“and this little monster is kkuma.”

“hi, kkuma!” you say, kneeling down to pet her fur. 

“are you busy right now?” cheol asks. “i’m taking a break from work if you wanted to just chat until kkuma’s done playing.” cheol has always been forward, blunt. 

you nod as the two of you make your way to the park bench. the two of you talk about everything – from the weather, to music to politics. you’re easy to talk to, and cheol is such a flirt. it almost feels like you two are old friends, the way you talk. it’s like you never run out of things to say to each other.

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────

it’s night now, and almost everyone at the dog park has gone home – except you, cheol, and his beloved kkuma, of course. the park light illuminated your silhouette.

“wow.. it’s quite late,” you exclaim. “i should get going.”

“how’d you get here?” cheol asks.

“walked… a good 20 minutes,” you say, with a sigh.

“there’s no way you’re walking back in the dark,” cheol says. “i’ll walk you.”

“no, that’s not necessary,” you say, shaking your head.

“i insist,” cheol says, using a stern voice.

you agree to let him walk you home. cheol gathers his things and puts kkuma back on her leash. you begin your trek home, walking along the empty street, now lively with your conversation.

cheol notices you hugging your arms. “are you cold?”

you nod, a little embarrassed, because you were not dressed for this weather. cheol offers you his jacket. you take it with a warm smile and a million thank yous, as he helps the jacket over your shoulder. you reach your home as he stands on your porch as you exchange your last words.

“so, will i see you again?” he asks.

“definitely,” you say. “here’s my number.”

you exchange numbers. you take his jacket off and hand it back to him, but he shakes his head. “you can give it to me the next time i see you then,” he says, a grin spreading across his face.

you smile back, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

“goodbye cheol, until next time.”

“goodbye y/n, have a good night.”

cheol walks back with kkuma in his hand, his heart so full. what an evening, he thinks. little does he know, he met his soulmate that day.

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────

after that, the two of you coincidentally met at the same dog park every day. he’d wave you over and you’d have your daily talk, until it was late and you’d go to either your house – or his. one particularly chilly night, he stood on your porch and kissed you. you became his, and he became yours. he soon asked you to move in, and you gladly agreed. now, both of you took kkuma to the dog park, together. life was so good. one summer’s day, some random tuesday in july, cheol proposed to you in the very spot where he met you. you leapt into his arms, screaming a million yeses. and just like that, you started your life together. soulmates.

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[littlejoels]

"shower punishment" reupload from littlesoulshine

that puppy, ugh...you're going to have to chain him up, because does he really think the water will hide him?

does he thinks the steam curling off the mosaic tiles and the hiss of the showerhead will muffle the soft whimpers in his thick throat, the slap of skin on skin as he fists his big cock like a filthy little secret. his forehead’s pressed to the wall, panting. he’s quiet, he’s trying—he’s so fucking desperate. he hasn’t come in a week, and your rules are eating him alive.

but your rules are rules, and for some reason, he breaks them.

you open the bathroom door like you own it, and you hear it the second you walk in. the low moan, all the slick, rhythmic sounds of a man touching what doesn’t belong to him. you’re on him before he even notices. the glass door yanked open, and he jolts, mouth dropping open, eyes wild.

his hand freezes on his cock. “did i say you could do that?”

he stutters, no words, just the look of a dog who knows the leash is coming out.

you reach in and grab him by the wrist, yanking him out of the water like trash. the cold air slaps him in the face. he almost slips on the mat, barely catching himself, hard dick so big it's bouncing on its own and leaking as the rest of him trembles.

“i asked you a question.”

“n-no, baby” he whispers, head down, water droplets sliding off his body. you shove him against the wall, hard enough to make him gasp. you look down at his cock, swollen and twitching. it's disgusting and shameful. he’s lucky you haven’t slapped it yet (even though it will make him cum).

“what do we do to sweet boys who don’t follow rules?” you murmur, leaning in close, lips brushing his ear.

“we…we punish them.” his voice is so small it barely counts as sound.

you cup his balls, firm and unforgiving. his knees bucking as you squeeze—not the sweet 'making him cum squeeze' but a mean squeeze. just enough to make his eyes snap wide, breath hitch. “that’s right. and do you think i’m going to let you cum tonight?”

he whimpers. “please—please, i was just—I needed—”

smack. your palm slaps the tip of his cock. he screams into his own shoulder, teeth bared, and body curling in. it jerks so hard you think he might cum untouched just from that. but he doesn’t. not yet, because he knows you won't let him. “you needed permission. and you didn’t have it.”

he’s nodding, frantic, lips bitten raw.

you drag him to the bedroom by the ear like a child. he doesn’t resist, he just follows, wet footprints on hardwood, and the sound of his shame echoing behind him. you push him down to his knees at the foot of the bed. still dripping and humiliated.

“hands behind your back, baby.” he obeys. “and open your mouth.” he obeys that faster.

you settle into the mattress like a queen preparing for a foot rub. and that’s exactly what he becomes. not a husband or a man. just a warm mouth and a lesson waiting to be learned. you slip one heel off. press your bare foot against his lips.

“you want to touch your cock again?” he nods, eyes wet. you smile, cruel and soft. “then you’re going to earn it. with your tongue. and if you cum without permission?”

your toes slide along his cheek, his breath catches. “i’ll edge you for a month.” he whimpers at your response. you press your foot harder, making him moan. his tongue is out before you even ask.

on his knees, he's soaking wet, hair dripping into his lashes, cheeks red, and mouth open around your foot like it’s his last meal. his cock’s flushed dark and bobbing helplessly, twitching with every breath, leaking like it knows it’s in trouble.

his tongue moves in slow, strokes. “mhm,” you murmur, watching him through lazy lashes, heel tucked under your thigh. “look at you. just a stupid little mutt who can’t go a day without needing to hump something.”

he whines around your toes. mouth wet, eyes glimmering.

you lean forward, spit in your hand, and start stroking him—so slow he sobs. long, cruel pulls from base to tip. not even for him. just to watch him fall apart.

“ma’am—fuck, mommie, i-i’m gonna—i can’t—”

smack. your palm hits his thigh. he jerks, hips lurching, mouth still kissing your foot like it’s sacred.

“you can’t until i say,” you snap, voice low and sharp. “you even think about coming again without permission, i’ll shove your cock in the freezer.”

his head drops, forehead hitting your knee. “i’m sorry—please—please i’ll be good—i swear—”

you push him back, flat on his back like the pathetic mess he is. you climb over him slowly, knees on either side of his face, your bare cunt glistening inches from his mouth.

his breath hitches and his eyes go wide.

“you want to make it up to me? make it to your wife?” he nods so fast it looks painful. “then you’ll keep that mouth busy. and if you even look like you’re getting close?” you glance at his cock, throbbing in the air. “i’ll ruin you so bad you’ll cry every time you get hard.”

you sit, full weight, right on his face.

his moan is muffled under your cunt. tongue eager, sloppy now, desperation leaking out of every pore. you grind down slowly, letting him breathe through your slick, using his nose like a toy. you don’t hold back. because why would you? he doesn’t deserve soft. he deserves to be used. your thighs clamp around his head. you reach down and slap his cock. not too hard though, just enough to remind him it’s yours.

he bucks. his moan is so loud your clit pulses. he begins to cry, tongue trembling, hands still behind his back like you told him. he’s trying so hard to focus on your pleasure, to not think about his own, but he can’t, it’s too good.

you ride his face harder, letting yourself enjoy it, hips rolling, grinding down until your thighs are soaked and his lips are red and raw. you lean forward, panting. “you close, baby?”

he nods frantically, muffled under your cunt.

“don’t you dare.” he whimpers into you as his cock twitches, pulsing, begging to let go. you grab it—tight—and hold it at the base. he thrashes. you don’t let him come yet.

you keep riding his face while you ruin him. stroking him too light, too slow, until he’s trembling, sweating sliding down the sides his temples, lubing the inner parts of your thighs.

you clench around his tongue and cum—grinding down, back arching, moaning loud enough to drown out his begging.

he’s moaning under you, sobbing, cock bobbing helplessly in the air. you let him edge there, cock twitching, balls tight, muscles locked. you reach down again, fingers wrapping around his shaft.

he gasps. “you want to cum, my love?” he nods, eyes wide, wet, desperate. you start stroking him quickly.

“then cum,” you whisper. “but don’t you dare enjoy it.”

he explodes. spilling over your hand, sobbing like it hurts. his whole body spasms—hips bucking, mouth still lapping at you like a good boy while tears spill down his cheeks.

you ride his tongue until he’s done whimpering. you climb off him slowly, standing over his ruined body, watching the way his cum drips down his belly. you wipe your hand on his chest.“next time?” you say, voice like ice. “ask.” he nods, broken, blissed-out. you peck his red lips, and step into the shower. he crawls after you without a word.

retags: @inbred-eater @faiszt @cherrygirlfriend @nemesyaaa @tinythebunni

inspiration ➳ my lovey @rafesplaymate

[f4ggydog]

Gotta admit, I spent an ungodly amount of time scrolling through your blogs. It’s embarrassing, but you and your anon have so many interesting scenarios. I love how straightforward and engaging your writing is, so… I guess, why not join in?

Imagine Shauna in Season 3—feral and snappy after everything that’s happened, with you as her sane lover. She lashes out at everyone, determined to get her way, but the moment you tell her "no" or "sit down," she obeys—grumbling and huffing—while the others assume you're the dominant one and always tease Shauna about it. Until, of course, she pulls you into the woods, and the only sound that follows is you begging as she proves who’s really in charge.

Off anon because I'm shameless.

omg you don’t know how happy it makes me feel to hear ppl say they scroll through my blog or stalk it like I love it so bad <333 pls always feel free to explore if you wish!! (Listened to vibe by zhane while writing this it has no bearing on this story I just grooved to this song while writing and u should all listen to it)

um minors don’t engage nsfw content mentioned

You had to keep that girl on a leash. You were her leash, to be honest. You were the one who always kept her calm when her emotions turned into a giant tornado. Nobody else could figure out how to tame the beast. But it seemed you had a trick that always worked.

Another fight yet again. This time, Shauna’s on the verge of pushing Mari to the ground and tearing her ear out with her teeth. Taissa and Travis attempt to pull Shauna back, but she manages to shove off both of them. She lunges at Mari, no mercy written in her soul. Then, she hears your voice.

“Shauna, no.” You command her like she’s a dog. And to the surprise of everyone else, she listens. They should expect it. They’ve seen this magic before, but they’re amazed every time. She doesn’t comply without protesting, huffing and puffing and mumbling under her breath while she’s seated. But your directions do end up getting followed. You walk over to her before giving her a kiss on the forehead.

It happens yet again. Another day, Shauna’s in a physical struggle with Nat. Nat’s pushed to the ground and she feels Shauna step on her back. Nat struggles to breathe, wheezing as dirt smears across her face. Then, you come to the rescue. One word commands is all it takes. A simple “no” and Shauna hops off of Nat, trotting over to her hut while pouting like a bratty child.

“Your partner had to put you in your place again?” Taissa laughs.

“Nope,” Shauna denies. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yeah right,” Gen laughs along. “We all saw that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shauna hisses. “Don’t act like you weren’t drooling over Melissa 20 minutes ago.”

“Oh snap!” Van calls out. “Two romantic losers competing to see who’s the biggest moron!”

“Shut the hell up,” Shauna snaps, standing up. “Fuck off. You can all fuck yourselves.”

“Would rather not,” Lottie mumbles.

Later on that night, you and Shauna meet at your usual special spot.

“You know what you want,” Shauna snarls, forcing you to the ground. “Say. It.”

“Fuck please,” you whimper, staring right into Shauna’s ice cold eyes. “Please baby.”

“Please what? Dumb brat? So desperate for me to prove who’s really the man of the house?”

“Need it so bad,” you plead, already nuzzling against Shauna’s crotch. “Would do anything for it.”

“Anything?” Shauna arches an eyebrow. “Anything, dumb slut?”

“Yes.” You claw at Shauna’s jeans. “Please, please.”

“Get to work then.” Shauna unbuttons her jeans and they fall to the floor. “My pussy isn’t going to eat itself.”

[soullessdianthus]

Please 🙏 please 🙏please more Perv!könig!!

A/N: How about Perv!König the brat tamer? Idea suggested by @mxx-mayari ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Warnings: abuse of authority, degradation, dry humping his boot, leash/pet play?

The colonel basically dragged you into his private office, pushing your smaller frame inside by the arm he was gripping so hard. You stumbled over your own feet, before turning around to face an enraged man.  

König closed and locked the door, his palm was splayed over the wooden frame as he exhaled the air slowly. You observed as his shoulder sank, before he spoke.

━ What were you thinking?

His voice was harsh and filled with venom. König’s blue eyes piercing through your soul. For the first time in a while you felt truly terrified. And since you were tied to a private military, there were very few things that made you this vulnerable. Your colonel was one of them.

You took a step back, glossy eyes nervously looking around the room. There was no way out besides the doors he just locked. 

His large figure moved towards your direction. König seemed rabid, but only his voice revealed that fact. Otherwise, he moved steadily, his spine straightened out – the Austrian man was already towering over you, he only did that to scare you further. To make you feel small.

━ I did what I had to to save my college, sir. 

━ But I specifically told you not to. Then why? ━ König finally stopped right in front of you, a little too close perhaps as you had to turn your head away, not to bump into his chest. ━ Do you pity that boy, schatz? Is that the reason?

━ No. Are you jealous, sir?

You scratched his ego, testing the waters – his true intentions. You weren’t blind. You’ve noticed the colonel took a liking to you some time ago and lately his behavior got more… bold.

━ Watch your tone, when speaking to your superior, pretty thing. ━ He carefully squeezed the bone of you jaw with his bare hands and made you look up at him. You looked so cute for him – beautiful eyes staring at him from underneath the eyelashes, somewhere at the edge of crying for him. It went straight to his cock.

━ If that’s everything, I’m going to go, sir. 

Once you tried to walk past him, his grip over your jaw tightened. König hooked two fingers of his other hand over your belt, pulling you closer. He was standing so close, yours and his heat blended together. 

━ Oh, you won’t walk away without punishment for insubordination, soldier. On your knees, maus.

━ W-What? ━ For a second you thought you misheard something he said. But the colonel repeated the order in a more demeaning manner. At that moment, when blood ran cold in your veins, you realized you were in serious trouble.

You didn’t exactly know how you found yourself in this situation – humping your superior boot with a belt looped around your neck. Everything happened so quickly, when he pushed you onto your knees, warm heat pumped within your ears. König said it was your punishment for disobedience, that he was disappointed with his kleine maus.

König forced you to entangle your arms around his massive thigh, one of his hands keeping your head against his crotch. It looked like you were a little child, glued to his leg, begging him not to go.

The man had to put a spell on you, because how on earth would you ever agree to this humiliating thing? Somehow your colonel managed to wrap you around his finger, threatening to abuse his authority.  

━ Come on, you need to work harder, schatz. Apologize. ━ He said, tugging at the “collar” made of his belt. You whined, when he squeezed the loop around your throat again, threatening to cut off your oxygen.

━ I’m sorry. ━ A pathetic sob escaped your lips, when a knot in your lower tummy began to painfully sting. You continuously rolled your hips over the surface of his shoe laces, leaving the sticky arousal on top of it. It was messy and degrading, yet somehow you managed to get yourself riled up.

Obviously König made you lower your pants and underwear, he wanted to feel your bare cunny sliding along his feet, even through the shoes. He could feel precisely how you rubbed yourself to make it pleasurable. 

And he kept staring at you from above, admiring how much the colonel had managed to ruin you. You fell into his nasty, little games he played.

━ Look at you, humping my leg like a bitch in heat ━ colonel laughed, looking down at your pathetic state. By this time your flustered face was stained with tears and it turned him even more. ━ Oh, you wanna cum, pet? Is that what you want? 

But you weren’t very mouthy when overstimulated. You only sobbed and whimpered, when he tilted the tip of his shoe further into your wet folds, causing you to jump forward and arch your ass better. 

━ Be careful, maus ━ the Austrian colonel warned about your noises, gently rubbing your head that rested upon his bulge. You could feel his scent through the material of the pants, his cologne and arousal. ━ They might hear you. 

━ Pl-Please, sir. I-It hurts! 

You pressed your eyes shut, feeling as the tiredness finally got you. All of the struggle against your own release, made you palpable and weak. Suddenly, there was not enough willpower in you to keep talking back to him. You just wanted that sweet release!

━ Will you follow my orders from now on?

━ Yes!

━ Gut, then you can have your little reward, schatzi. Be a good girl and cum over my shoe. 

And you didn’t need much more than this. A few more rolls of your hips and you reached that tingling sensation, warm spreading inside each limb. Your pussy and his shoe was covered in your sticky juices as you shivered, falling deeper into the embrace around his leg. 

━ See? It wasn't that hard to obey orders. ━ König finally said, his big hand still caressing the top of your head. You did so good for him.

[bernardsbendystraws]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒆

⚠︎  mdni, smut, alcohol abuse, parental neglect, overall mature themes, and more [ this is made for all parts ]

⤷ Get to reading, sluts. No copying. Ask if you’d like to use this as ‘inspiration.’ Fuck off and fuck me, lets get horny!!!

with love and big tits, Rose Toy

©bernardsbendystraws

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 6: Your Favorite.

I had woken up to birds chirping and the sun streaking through the blinds. My body felt wonderful. My stomach didn’t ache, I wasn’t shivering, and his arms around me felt heavenly. It was Saturday–the day I was supposed to watch Mrs. Evans' kid, Hailey. 

I had yet to meet Hailey. She was only a toddler. Mrs. Evans had always wanted a family, but from my knowledge–her body didn’t make it easy for her to do so. Sometimes I wondered if she had ever resented my mother when I was a child. She spent countless hours playing with me, taking care of me how my mother just couldn’t. I barely remembered any of it, it made me feel guilty. 

Matt and I had decided to take Trevor for a walk, still in our pajamas. He had thrown a winter coat, gloves, and a beanie on my head. It was excessive, but the man would not let me walk outside without ‘reasonable’ layers. Ironically, he didn’t even have gloves or a hat on.

“What are your plans for today?” He asks. I let out a sigh, mentally running through my list of things to do. 

“Well,” I start. “--I have to go home before I babysit. That’s pretty much it.” I answer. My hands are sweating inside of the gloves. I pull them off, zipping them inside of the coat pocket. I look over, watching Matt give me a warning glare. “I’m sweating! See?” I say. 

I reach out my hand, placing it on his. He takes it, intertwining both of our hands together. “Okay, fine.” He remarks. He rolls his eyes, sighing in defeat as we continue down the cement path. “--but if you get sick, I told you so.” He huffs. 

I shake my head, laughing. Trevor trots on Matt’s opposite side, heavy pants being heard. We walk up to his front door as he swings it open. He bends down, unhooking the leash. Trevour immediately darts to the couch, sprawling on the sofa as if he was dead. I laugh at the sight in front of me, shedding off the multitude of layers. 

I slip out of my worn shoes, placing them neatly on the patterned mat. I begin shrugging off the large puffer coat, feeling Matt take it off my shoulders for me, placing it on the coat hook. “Thank you.” I mumble shyly. He gives me a curt nod. 

“I know mom wanted to show you her garden today, she’s starting her spring stuff in her greenhouse as we speak. Wanna go check it out?” He notices my eyes squinting down at him. “--I won’t make you put a bunch of layers back on, I promise.” He says. 

I raise my chin, questioning him. He shakes his head, laughing. He grabs my hand, dragging me until we reach the back door of the house. He slides open the door, the cool breeze feeling like air conditioning in the heat of summer. The green fabric feels slightly heavier on my back, a thin layer of sweat coating down my shoulders. 

“Come on, she’s probably in the greenhouse.” I follow Matt down the dirt path, into the woods behind his house. The path diverted into two separate ways, the right one to the lake he had taken me to previously. He turns left, holding my hand as he tows me along with him. 

I see a small greenhouse come into view. The shed has rustic wood for walls with a multitude of windows, all covered in dead stems, withered by the cold. I follow Matt as he walks through the propped-open door, seeing Marylou dumping a bag of soil into a pot. 

She looks up, noticing us. Her soft, melodic hums stop as a cheery smile spreads across her face. “Hey, kids! I was hoping to show you my greenhouse! Would you like to plant with me? I’m putting down some soil into these pots,” She motions towards the array of ceramic plant pots. “--I could definitely use some help.” She points out. 

I ecstatically nod my head, Matt scratching the back of his neck and looking back at me for confirmation. “Sure, mom. What do you want us to do?” He asks, guiding me to the table with the materials. 

“I need,” She points to a high shelf in the shed, one far beyond her reach or my own. “--that.” She says. Matt reaches up, grabbing down a wooden box filled with various seed packets. He sets it down on the table, dusting off his hands. 

“Now what?” He asks. Marylou pats his back, pushing him. He walks with her hands guiding him to the door.

“That’s all we need you for, bye! Love ya!” She says. Matt turns around on the other side of the doorway, holding up his hands questioningly. He opens his mouth, a slight syllable escaping his lips before the door shuts in his face. 

“Love ya to, ma!” He shouts sarcastically from the other side. Marylou turns back to me, a mischievous smile spread on her face. She walks back over, handing me a bag of soil and moving a pot in front of me. 

“Just put it in there, darlin’.” She directs. I roll up the sleeves of the expensive hoodie, standing hunched-over to protect the vibrant fabric. I cannot get this dirty. I take the cut-open bag, dumping it in the pot like she directs. 

“Ya know,” I look up, seeing her wandering around, gathering various tools. “--I really like you, you seem like a very sweet girl.” She mentions. I feel my cheeks heat up as I avert my eyes back to the task at-hand. 

“Thanks.” I mumble. I hear her shuffling around, her hands coming in my peripheral vision. I watch as her hand grazes my arm, her pointing finger landing on my forearm. 

My eyes widen in fear. The cigarette scar lays right beside her finger. “What’s this from? It almost looks like a burn–any crazy story?” She asks. 

I shake my head furiously, panic overtaking through my veins. “I…um…no–I don’t even remember how I got it, to be honest.” My voice comes out shaky, slightly higher pitched. I wince at the horrid attempt of lying, not able to bring my eyes up to meet hers. 

“Oh…” She trails off. “--the boys have a ton of crazy scars and stories–especially Matt.” She explains. I sigh in relief. Thank god she didn’t push. I bring my dirt-ridden hand up to the edge of the sleeve, pulling it down with the tips of my nails. I cover the scar with the sleeve, bringing my hands back  down to the pot. 

I hear a knock at the door, grabbing my attention. I watch as the creaky door shutters open, Matt pouting from the otherside. “Can I have her back yet?” He asks. 

I laugh at his innocent tone, looking over to see Marylou rolling her eyes. “Kids, am I right?” She jokes, shaking her head disappointedly at me. She huffs heavily. “Fine, I guess. I want her back when I plant my tulips though, Matthew Bernard.” She warns. 

My lips part as I choke back a laugh. “Mom!” Matt whines, burying his face in his hands with embarrassment. Bernard. He stomps over, grabbing my hand and tugging me behind him. I whip around, waving to Marylou as she stands, shaking her head with a smile. 

Matt guides us down the path, turning on the dirt path that leads us to the lake. “What are we doing?” I ask. He nods to the right, a tree coming into a view. A large willow, green leaves sprouting, barely peeking out from the branches. 

“It’s starting to bloom, look.” He points. 

My eyes stare at the tree, admiring the rarity. I hadn’t been to many places, I had never even been outside of Massechusets. I never had much time to explore, either. 

I loved seeing nature, large tree trunks accompanied by bushy leaves at the park by my old house in the less scenic town over. I had never seen a tree with so much personality, the branches dancing with the wind. 

“I’ve never actually seen one of these in person.” I breathe out. Matt raises his eyebrows at me, dragging me closer to the colossal wood. He stops right in front of the branches, parting them carefully with his hands. He nods his head, gesturing for me to walk. 

I weave under the dry branches, stopping as I stand in the empty space between the branches and the trunk of the tree. It had felt like a shield, mimicking the way my hair would often hang like curtains around my face. 

I hear the rustle of branches, watching as Matt steps through. His hand squeezes back into mine. I hesitantly reach out, letting my fingertips graze the rough bark lightly. “I’m deathly afraid of getting splinters, but this,” I shake my head in disbelief. “--this is just mesmerizing.” I remark. 

“Deathly afraid of splinters?” He laughs. I whip around, meeting his eyes as I squint at him. 

“Elevators?” I banter. He holds his hand up defensively, making me laugh. 

“What else are you scared of?” He whispers. I feel his chest press against my back, his hand squeezing my own as his other rubs along the side of my arm. 

I laugh nervously. “Spiders, needles, any insect really…um…” I trail off, feeling his chuckles vibrate against my back. “Shut up.” I mutter. I feel his laugh grow more intensely, his lips breaking as the sounds reach my ears. 

“Why are you deathly scared of splinters? I don’t understand.” He laughs. I shrug my shoulders, a sadness washing over me as I feel myself detach. His laughs die down, his head peeking over my shoulder. His face is sympathetic. “I’m kidding–I mean, I’m scared of elevators.” He jokes. 

I let the smile crawl back up on my face. “Well, that’s rational–you could fall and plummet to your–sorry.” I say, watching his eyes widen with horror. I made it worse. I sigh, looking at the splintered bark in front of me with heavy shoulders. 

I feel his hand squeeze my own, bringing my attention back up to him. His eyes gleam down at me with sorrow written in his face. “Ya know,” He brushes the hair behind my neck, making my body tingle from his breath. “--I’ve always wanted to carve a heart into a tree with someone. Chris and Nick never would, they think it’s stupid. But,” His nose nuzzles on the rim of my ear, my body tensing from the sensation. “--maybe we could do it together sometime.” 

I crane my head up, looking up at him. His eyes meet mine with admiration. “I’d like that.” I blush. He gives me a small smile, leaning his head down to rest against the back of my own. 

“M’kay, ready to head back inside? I don’t want you to get too cold.” His hand returns, rubbing up and down my arm. I laugh at his remark. Cold? His body heat radiated onto me, warming me better than any jacket I had ever owned. 

“Sure.” I responded. His body heat dissipates as I hear the crunch of his shoes against the dirt. I turn around, watching as he opens the branches like a curtain. 

“Come on, princess.” He teases. I blush at the name, walking through the void. I feel his hand clasp around my wrist as I stand beneath his raised arm. I look up, watching his eyes hungrily gaze down at my lips. 

I smile, letting him drag my hand up to his chest. My palm lays flat on his chest, his hand enclosing on top of mine. I push my toes down, bringing my heels up as I lean onto him. I peck his lips swifty, backing up to see his eyes closed and his lips still semi-puckered. 

I laugh at his reaction, making his eyes snap open. His face is overcome with a proud joy, gleaming with admiration. I let my feet relax, but my foot twists as it lands on the uneven surface. I shriek, feeling myself stumble. 

Matt’s hand drops my own, his arm tugging me immediately back to his chest. He leans down, his breath fanning across my nose in the slightest. I let out whispered breaths. “Caught ya.” He remarks. I feel my smile return to my face as I flail my arm back to his chest. 

As soon as I move my arm, a rough sting is apparent on my forearm. The burning sensation pricks me, making me whimper in pain. Matt pulls my body up to his with his arm, guiding us out of the curtained-branches and to the field of grass. 

“Hey,” he reaches out, grabbing my arm from my grasp. I watch as my vision becomes blurry from tears. I gasp as he gently pulls my arm in between the two of us. A large thorn, embedded in his hoodie. His three-hundred dollar hoodie. 

My bottom lip quivers as the sight in front of me intensifies, sending fear and panic through every pore of my body. I ruined it. The slight stain of red becomes more apparent, seeping into the green fabric with high contrast. 

“I-I—I’m so so so sorry, Matt. I-” He shushes me, pulling me into his chest in a hug. One of his arms wrapped around me, caging me against him. I push back, only for his hand to enclose around my head with a firm grip. “Matt–”

“Shhh, don’t look.” His voice is comforting and gentle. His firm grip gets tighter as I attempt to push myself back. “Matt-” Is this it? Is this where his gentle touch disappears? 

I wince from the burning sensation, feeling yet another prick. I can’t help the tears from falling from my eyes, soaking onto his sweatshirt. “Shhhh…I got you, it’s gone, look.” His grip falls back down to my waist as he holds a bloodied-thorn in his hand. 

My eyes widen, immediately darting to the hoodie. I yank the sleeve up above the wound, letting the crimson paint down my arm, dripping slowly from the shallow wound. “Hey, you’re gonna get cold.” Matt states, yanking the hoodie back down. 

I gasp, watching a streak of red appear. “Matt! It’s gonna-” “I don’t care, it’s just a hoodie. Now, let’s get the first aid kit and take care of ya, yeah?” He states, pulling me by the waist. 

I feel my ears go hot from embarrassment. I’m fucking crying over a splinter. I should be profusely apologizing for destroying his things. 

I choke back my tears, clearing my throat. “Matt, I–,” the quiet shaking in my voice makes him turn his head, analyzing me. He supports my weight, walking quicker as he slides open the back door. “--I’m really sorry.” I state, letting it out in one breath. 

Matt shakes his head, placing his hands on my hips. I squeal, feeling my feet lift off the ground. He pushes me back, sitting me on the cold counter. I look up, willing the tears to crawl back inside. I hear a drawer open, metal clanking as I look over to see him holding a first aid box-kit. 

“I’m really sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to-” The words get caught in my throat. He takes out an alcohol wipe, ripping it open with his teeth as his other hand rubs up and down my thigh. “It’s okay, really. I’m not upset in the slightest, okay?” I nod hesitantly at his words, watching as he reaches out with the alcohol pad. 

I scoot back on the counter, leaning my body weight away. It’s gonna hurt, I know it’s gonna hurt. Why do I have to be so weak when it comes to pain? 

“Hey,” His hand wraps around my thigh, keeping me in place. “”--it’ll hurt, but then it’s gonna feel better. I have to clean it.” 

It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt. 

“Here, come here.” He opens his arms. I fling myself into them, latching around his neck desperately. His hand grabs my arm, pulling it down and to the side. I feel the burning sting, whimpering from the pain as I attempt to keep my arm still for him. 

Please, don’t think I’m weak. 

I loosen my grip, feeling the cool air on the wound. I hear another rip, seeing as he places a bandaid over the red area. I look down in shame. Why do I have to be so weak?

“I’m sorry for crying and being a baby. I’m especially sorry for ruining your hoodie.” I run my clammy hand against the top of my thigh. His hand pushes my chin up, forcing my eyes to meet his. His gaze softened, a slight pout apparent on his lips. 

“Don’t. You don’t need to apologize for anything. It’s a piece of clothing–” 

“It was your favorite.” I retort. He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. 

“I can have a new favorite.” He remarks with a soft smile. I nod, trying to blink back the tears. “--if you need to cry–cry, it’s okay.” He soothes. I shake my head, looking up towards the ceiling. 

“I don’t want to cry.” I let out. My body betrays me, a stream of hot tears running down and into my scalp. Matt wipes the tears gently with the sleeve of his sweater. “Why not? It’s just me.” He points out. I wipe under my eyes with my fingers. “I don’t want you to think I’m weak.” I laugh out dryly. 

I let my eyes shift to his. He shakes his head, a smile tugging on his lips. “I don’t think you’re weak.” He breathes out. “You don’t?” I interrogate. He shakes his head, “Elevators aren’t even in my top five fears and I almost had a panic attack. If anything, I think you’re strong.”

He brushes the hair back as I look into his eyes. The fear started subsiding as a comforting wave of relief washed over me. “You okay?” I nod my head as he places his hands on my hips. I let him help me off the counter, but he doesn’t set me on the floor. 

My legs wrap around him as he starts walking to his room. “What are you doing?” I ask, grappling onto his neck. His shoulders shrug from beneath my arms. “Distracting you, returning the favor.” He says. He shuts his room door closed with his foot.

I cling onto him, feeling his body crouch and lay on the bed. I go to sit up, maneuver myself off of him, but he pulls me closer. “Wanna watch a dumb show again?” I smile, nodding as he grabs his phone out. He props it against his cologne bottle, pressing play on ‘Too Hot To Handle.’ 

His hand comes back, cradling my head to his chest as I listen to the thumps of his heartbeat. 

_

I had woken up to screaming, Chris’s voice echoing in the house. I felt Matt stir from beneath me, pulling me closer as his lips pressed against my head. Soft snores escaped his parted lips, making my heart flutter from the sound. 

I giggle, pushing myself up and off of Matt’s chest. Matt huffs, his hand curling around my entire head, suctioning to my ear. “Ignore them, ‘m sorry.” I laugh at his lazy words, squirming out of his grip. I watch as his eyes squint open, his hands rubbing his face. “Come back.” He voices. 

I lean over him, feeling his arms wrap around my waist as I reach for my phone on his nightstand. I grab the device, pulling myself back. Matt pulls me down, crushing my nose against his chest. “Ow.” I say. His eyes darted open, his face grimacing as I held my nose. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes, his hands untangling from my waist. I move freely, sitting up against his head board. 

6:00 P.M. 

“I need to leave for babysitting soon. I have to walk home and then to Mrs. Evans house.” I say. Matt groans, flipping on his stomach and letting his arm fall over my lap. I laugh, lifting the limb and standing up. Matt’s head pops out from the pillow, his hair aloof. I smile at the sight, watching as he climbs out of bed. 

He walks over to his closest, pulling out a knit, buttoned, purple sweater. He hands it over to me as I grab the fabric hesitantly. “I’m going home, I don’t–” He holds up a hand, “It’s for my own selfish reasons, okay?” I laugh at his bluntness, nodding my head. 

“Can you just cover your eyes or something? I really do need to leave. I probably needed to leave a bit ago, honestly.” I remark. His hands cover his face as he lets his neck drop, facing the ground. I pull off the green hoodie, sighing at the red stain. I let the soft, knit sweater envelope around me. 

It’s so soft. “Oh my god, this is so soft.” I voice. I look down at the fabric that pools over the pajama pants I had yet to change out of. My dry skin admires the smooth fabric, my arms moving without an uncomfortable scratching feeling as I fold the green hoodie. 

Matt reaches out, grabbing the sweatshirt and throwing it onto the opposite side of the bed. “Don’t worry about it. Want some sweats–actually, don’t answer that. I’m giving you sweats.” I laugh at his statement. He pulls a pair of clean sweats down, handing them to me. 

I look at him knowingly. “Oh, yeah.” He covers his face, looking towards the ground. I let the pajamas fall off my legs, pulling on the sweats and tying the drawstring tightly, securing them on my hips to the best of my abilities. The fabric pools at the ground beneath my feet. 

“Uh, Matt?” He unveils his face, looking in the direction of my pointed finger. “I don’t think they–” I stop as he kneels to the floor. His hands reach out, folding the fabric until it comes to my ankle. He does the same to the other side, the neat folds not budging as I wiggle my foot in the air. 

“Thank you,” I said. He nods his head, holding out his hand for me. I place my hand in his, allowing him to guide me to the front door. He slips on his own shoes as I do the same. I look around, the room barren of a single person. “Can you tell your mom I said bye?” 

“Mhm, now let’s go.” I tilt my head at him as he grabs his keys. “Huh? I have to babysit—I’m walking home and then to the place.” He shakes his head. “No–I’m driving you home and then I’m driving you to whatever the address is for the house you’re babysitting at.” He pulls the coat from the coat rack. “--and put this on, you’ll be cold.’’ He pulls out my arm, sliding it in the arms of the coat and doing the same on the other side. 

He steps in front of me, his hands bringing the zipper of the jacket all the way below my chin. “Matt, you don’t need to–” His intense stare makes my words falter. “I’m not letting you walk, let’s go.” He pulls me by the hand out the door and to his car. 

I pull down the zipper, the warmth already becoming overbearing. Matt opens the car door for me as I sit in the passenger seat. He grabs the seatbelt, leaning over me and clicking it in. His eyes fall below my face, his hands reaching out and pulling the zipper. I feel the cold metal brush against my chin as he pulls away, shutting the door softly. 

I laugh quietly to myself, hearing his door open and shut. He turns the heat on, starting to drive. I pull down the zipper. I gasp, feeling the car come to a semi-abrupt stop. “What are you doing! You’re gonna get cold.” Matt mutters, reaching for the zipper. 

I push his hand away. “Matt,” I put his hand on the center console. “I’m sweating, okay? I’m gonna faint from heat exhaustion at this rate.” I state. His lips purse as he sways his head. “Okay.” He says softly, pulling off the brake. 

I watch as he reaches out, turning the AC down. I open up the coat, my fingers fiddling with the hem of the soft sweater. 

_

“Can I have a fourth wish, genie?” He asks. I look over, watching his hands turn the wheel. “Please.” He adds. 

I laugh at the question. “Sure, what’s your wish?” I urge. He pulls onto my street, my house visible from the few streetlights. He pulls over in front of my house, parking the car. He takes the keys out of the ignition, looking over at me. 

“Let me come in?” His eyes wander up. I look back, seeing the wooden house that seems almost abandoned. I sigh, looking back at him as his innocent smile plastered across his face. “Please.” He repeats. I suck in my bottom lip. 

Should I? Is my dad even here? 

“Pleaseeee. I just wanna see your room–plus, parents love me! I’m so cute, look!” He cheeses hard at me, making my giggle ring through the car. “That’s a yes, right? Great, come on!” He doesn’t give me time to respond as he gets out of the car, practically sprinting over to open my door. 

He pulls me up, dragging me to the front door as I pull out my keys. “Wait just one second, okay?” He nods, his arms swinging by his sides impatiently. I crack the door open, seeing nothing but darkness. I flick on the flights, seeing a barren living room. I listen for any sounds, hearing nothing but the wind pushing against the windows. 

I look back at him, nodding for him to follow. I shut the door behind us. “I just need to grab a couple things from my room, my dad might be in his room though–just,” I stop him at the bottom of the stairs. “--wait here for a minute.” He nods. 

I take a deep breath, the stairs creaking beneath my feet as I place one foot in front of the other. Reaching the top, I knock on his door. Silence meets me, but I don’t trust it. I slowly open the door, wincing at a screech of the rusted metal door hinges. 

I peek my head through the door, seeing him. He looks over at me blankly, a cigarette between his lips as he sits on the window sill. “What do you want? He grumbles. I feel my stomach churn at the sight of smoke falling from his lips. I bite back my tongue, shaking my head as I close the door with a soft thud. 

I look down at Matt, motioning for him to follow with my pointer finger pressed against my lips. He nods, walking up the steps quietly. I wait for him to reach the top of the stairs, swallow thickly as I look back at his door. 

I sigh, letting my shoulders sink with defeat. I walk towards my room, opening the door and shutting it as he walks through. I feel a boulder of embarrassment sink in my gut. I watch as his steps falter, scared to move as he analyzes the room. 

The twin mattress is on a cheap, metal frame in the center of the room. A ratted blanket is covering the mattress, the baby blue knitted blanket laying at the top by the singular pillow that lays flat and deflated. 

My anxiety shoots through my body as I watch him turn around. His eyebrows furrow before his lips tug into a slight smile. “Ya know,” he walks over closer to me. “--a stuffed animal would really make this feel more home-y.” He says. 

I tilt my head, holding back a smile. “Shut up.” I mumble, shoving past him and into the sliding closet. I pull out jeans, pulling down a bin full of my underwear. I shuffle around, pulling clothing out and into my hands. 

I hear Matt clear his throat, looking up to see him scratching the back of his neck nervously. He sucks in his lips between his teeth, avoiding my eyes. “You should, um…” I set the clothes down, crossing my arms over my chest. I raise an eyebrow at him as he meets my gaze. “You should bring some clothes over, just in case we wanna have more sleepovers unexpectedly, ya know?” He finishes. 

I hold back a laugh, shaking my head. I grab more underwear and bras out of the bin, placing them in my backpack. “Tired of me stealing all of yours?” I tease. 

“Nope, but I don’t exactly have women's underwear.” He holds up his hands in defense. My cheeks burn as I lick over my teeth. 

“Really?” I ask. My eyes flicker to his, watching as his eyes squint at me. “--I would’ve thought you had tons!” I remark sarcastically. He brings his hand up, smoothing over his forehead. 

“I–” His words are cut off by a pounding on the door. My eyes widen with fear, my fists clenching to my stomach. The door swings open a crack, my dad peeping his head in. “Listen, I’m sorry for–who is this?” He looks over to Matt, opening the door further. 

Matt gives a subtle wave, scratching at the back of his neck shyly. “I’m Matt, nice to meet you.” My dads eyes squint at him, cocking his head to the side. 

“Do I know you?” He asks. Matt shakes his head, “Nope, we just go to school together–I was gonna drive her to her babysitting job.” He answers. My dad hesitantly nods his head, looking back over at me. “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” He asks, his eyes staring down at me. 

I look back at Matt, giving him a small smile before walking out the open door. I hear my dad close it, dragging me down the hallway gently by my shoulder. “Who is that boy?” He interrogates. I shrug, “Matt–he’s a friend of mine, that’s all.” I answer. He furrowed his eyebrows, raising them as he rubbed his creased forehead. 

“Okay, just–no having sex, okay?” 

“Dad!” I whisper-shout. My eyes bulge out of my head as a heat of embarrassment and anger clouds my body. The audacity. “I can take care of myself, remember?” I spit. He moves his eyes, staring at the wall behind me with a sullen look on his face. 

“I…” he huffs. “--’m sorry, okay? I’m trying, I’m really fucking trying. I just–it’s really hard when you look more like her everyday. It hurts. I swear, I only bought cigs to curb the craving, okay? I…I never want to hurt you, not again.” He grabs out, caressing my forearm with his bottom lip pouted. 

My eyes swell with tears. Relief makes my breath fall with my shoulders. I look like her. Is that a blessing or a curse? “I…” I suck in a breath. “--I’ll do better with staying out of your business.” I say. He mumbles gratitude under his breath, patting my shoulder. 

“Okay, get to your babysitting whatnot. Are you coming home tonight?” He asks. I shrug, watching as he nods softly, walking in his own bedroom and closing the door. I sigh deeply, letting my feet float back to my room. 

I open the door, watching as Matt sits on my bed. His hand is caressing over the baby blue blanket with a soft face. “Ready to go?” He asks. I nod my head. 

I let my hand reach out. He stands up, walking over and placing his hand in mine. I smile at the comforting touch. He grabs my backpack from the floor, tossing it on his shoulder. I step out, leading us back down and out the door. 

_

I had put the address into his phone, holding it up for him to see the directions. Once he had parked on the side of the street, he sprinted out and opened my door for me. I grab his hand, giggling as he pulls me out of the car. 

My heart feels warm, my chest feels light, everything seems to be getting better. It’s not gonna last though, is it?

I shake off the thought as he walks me to the door. “Thank you for driving me. Really, you didn’t have to.” I say. He shrugs his shoulders, pulling me into his side. Before he can say anything, the front door swings open, revealing Mrs. Evans and her husband. 

“Hello! Oh–hi, Matt!” Mrs. Evans greets. Her husband grumbles something about getting the car from the garage, walking past us with a friendly smile. She grabs a purse, her sweater and jeans contrasting with her typical attire at school. She fixes her earring before clasping her hands together. “Will Hailey be having another buddy to hang out with, hm?” She questions. 

I watch as little hands grab at Mrs. Evans side, a small girl peeping her head around. Her brown, curly hair is done up in two pigtails with beads. Her brown skin, like most kids, looks buttery-soft. Her doe eyes look like honey from the porch light gleaming down on her. “I like your hair.” I compliment. The little girl blushes, hiding her face behind Mrs. Evans legs. 

“I get two friends, mom?!” Hailey exclaims, tugging on Mrs. Evans sweater. I let out an awkward laugh. “Well, he’s not staying, it’s just me.” I explain. Hailey’s smile falters, her eyes landing on Matt. 

“You don’t wanna be my friend?” Her eyes are teary as Matt immediately shakes his head. “No–I’d love to be your friend…” His eyes darted to mine with panic. “He’s just busy–” Hailey cuts me off, tugging Matt’s hand inside. 

Mrs. Evans laughs, holding her purse tightly as she rummages through the bag quickly. “The envelope on the counter is for you. I think I have everything,” she looks over, headlights beaming from behind me. “Okay, our reservation is in like ten minutes and it’s a fifteen minute drive. We’ll be back in around two hours-ish?” She walks off. “Just text if you need anything! Matt’s welcome to stay with you!” She winks before shutting the car door. 

I bite back a smile as I wave, walking into the house and shutting the door. I look up, my eyes bulging and my hand slapping over my mouth. I attempt to hold back the giggles, seeing Matt with wide-eyes sitting on the couch, Hailey decorating his hair with colorful beads and bows. 

“Do I look pretty?” He nervously asks. I nod, sitting on the couch next to him. “Very.” I answer. “You don’t, you don’t have to stay.” I point out. He shakes his head, “I want to, well–if that’s okay with you.” I nod my head, leaning my head on his shoulder as Hailey hums a song while fiddling with the bows in his hair above us. 

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[bakuchrome]

I loved awakening 🙇‍♀️

thank you, kind person

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 ✭ 𝐑𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!

“There’s nothing more dangerous than seeing a monster and recognizing something familiar in his eyes.”

You were assigned to monitor Sukuna after his resurrection into a temporary physical form.

Not host-bound. Not fully free. Just… borrowed time, tightly leashed with ancient seals and Jujutsu Kaisen’s highest security clearance.

He was supposed to be a ticking bomb.

A threat dressed in crimson and smirking malice.

And that’s exactly how you treated him for the first few months.

"I'm not here to entertain you," you snapped once, after he'd tried to flirt just to see you squirm.

"You're not entertaining," he replied smoothly. "But I enjoy watching you try so hard not to look at me."

You hated that he noticed.

You hated that you noticed— the slow, dangerous way he moved, the unnerving calm in his gaze, the cruel wit that only seemed to sharpen the longer he existed in silence.

You’d been trained to hate him. And for a long time, you did.

Until you didn't.

✭✭✭

There was a mission. One they shouldn't have let him attend.

You were the failsafe, the observer, the leash if things went wrong.

A cursed spirit lashed out at a child. And for a split second, you weren’t fast enough.

Sukuna was.

The aftermath was messy. The other sorcerers assumed he protected the child to preserve his freedom, that he was calculating.

But you’d seen his face.

You saw the flicker of anger— not at the spirit, but at himself. Like the idea of a helpless creature being slaughtered under his watch insulted him.

"I didn't do it for you," he said later, when you confronted him. "I know," you whispered. "Then why are you looking at me like that?"

You didn’t have an answer.

✭✭✭

It wasn't in the moments he talked— it was in the ones he didn’t.

When you caught him sitting quietly with an old scroll, reading something you knew was written in the time he lived. When you watched his eyes track the stars at night like he remembered them differently than they are now. When you found him kneeling beside a dying cursed animal, watching it pass with something close to reverence.

He didn’t speak often anymore. And when he did, it wasn’t always cruel.

"You act like I’m incapable of love,” he said one night, out of nowhere. You stared at him. “Aren’t you?” His voice was quiet. “I forget. Sometimes. But then you show up.”

You didn't sleep that night.

✭✭✭

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

You weren’t supposed to care.

You weren’t supposed to ache when he was dragged back from a mission with injuries, blood-soaked and laughing.

You weren’t supposed to look at his cracked lips and imagine what they’d taste like. Or how he’d sound saying your name without venom behind it.

It started to feel like drowning.

You began avoiding his eyes. His voice. The way he sometimes looked at you like he could see right through your walls and was… patiently waiting for them to fall.

You hated it.

Because you couldn’t see a way where it worked. He was Sukuna—the King of Curses. And you were a weapon trained to end his kind.

"I don't want this," you whispered one night, tears thick in your throat. "I don’t want to feel like this for you." He said nothing at first. Just watched you break in front of him. "Then why do you?" he asked softly.

You didn’t answer.

✭✭✭

It was a quiet afternoon.

No blood. No mission. No tension.

You sat beside him in the garden, reading.

He didn’t speak. Just watched you. Your hair falling over your shoulder, your lips mouthing the words of your book.

You looked up— and he wasn’t wearing his usual smirk.

He was just watching. Like you were a memory he didn’t want to forget.

“What?” you asked. “You’re beautiful when you’re calm,” he said. Your heart slammed in your chest. “I’m never calm around you.” “You’re always calm around me,” he said gently. “You just fight it.”

You kissed him that night.

It was hesitant. A question. A promise. A thousand what-ifs in one breathless moment.

He didn’t devour you like you expected.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for years.

✭✭✭

Even in the warmth of his touch, even in the quiet nights when he held you like something precious— there was always the lingering ache.

How does this end?

What kind of future is there for a girl and a curse?

You couldn’t picture it. You didn’t want to.

But he could.

One night, he curled a clawed hand around your wrist and murmured, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, almost against your will.

“Then let me make you mine properly.”

✭✭✭

They tried to separate you.

Tried to execute him, seal him, erase the bond between human and curse.

You stood in front of him when they came for him.

Tears streaming. Heart aching.

“You don’t know what he is,” you said. “No,” Sukuna said, stepping behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist, “they don’t know what you are to me.”

The choice was cruel. Walk away from your career. Your title. Everything you built.

Or leave him behind.

So you ran.

Together.

You live far away now. In a quiet place. A secret home wrapped in wards older than any curse.

He still jokes. Still growls. Still calls you "brat" when you're mad and "lover" when you're not.

But he never threatens. Never hurts you. Never lets go.

Sometimes you still wonder if it can work.

But then he reaches for you in the night, whispers your name like it’s sacred, and all that fear fades.

He was never meant to be loved.

But he is.

By you.

And for the first time in his eternal life, he loves back.

Taglist➥ @after-laughter-come-tears

☆𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭☆ ➥@𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭!!