#i'm on pace to blow through all the ones i'm familiar with in about a week

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

The Velvet Underground - La Cave, Cleveland, Ohio, April 28, 1968

Happy Sweet Sister Ray Day! This high holy day for Velvet Underground fanatics is always worth celebrating. But today, on the 57th anniversary, it's especially worth celebrating because Mr. Charlie has unearthed an "extraordinary, previously uncirculated low generation source tape" of this legendary Jamie Klimek recording, which has been bootlegged in inferior quality for decades now.

We're still talking about an audience tape from 1968, of course, but I'm going to agree that "extraordinary" is the right word to use — there's a new clarity and crispness here that blows away any previous version I've heard. And that is great news, because "Sweet Sister Ray" is one of my favorite things in the world. Thank you, Mr. Charlie! And thank you to the late/great Jamie Klimek for bringing his gear to La Cave all those years ago and capturing this unbelievable performance.

In case you need a deeper dive, you can read my long essay "The Velvet Underground's Elusive 'Sweet Sister Ray'" after the jump ...

Recorded at a tiny subterranean Cleveland, OH club called La Cave in late April of 1968, “Sweet Sister Ray” isn’t exactly a song, per se. It’s a close-to-40-minute jam, a languid, endless boogie. The audience tape we can listen to all these years later is murky, but that feels appropriate. “Sweet Sister Ray” is nothing if not a murky experience. 

The journey kicks off with the band (most likely just Cale, Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison; drummer Maureen Tucker isn’t audible here) chugging steadily, slowly over a spare, spidery riff. It’s easygoing, like they have no particular place to go, though there’s an underlying tension and menace. Reed’s guitar spirals off into a more abstract direction for a bit, almost reminiscent of Roger McGuinn’s flights of fancy on “Eight Miles High.” You lean in. What exactly is going on?  Is the band just warming up? Is there even anyone (aside from the taper) in the club? Through the murk, a decidedly surreal atmosphere develops. The music continues at a morphine-drip pace, drifting and droning, with Morrison playing a nervier counterpoint to Reed’s laconic fretwork, Cale rattling around in the background. At some point around the half-hour mark, Cale switches over to keyboards, lending the proceedings a curiously magisterial feel, as Reed begins coaxing beautiful, simmering feedback from his amp. It’s as if some new genre of music is being invented on the spot.

Extended live improvisations were, of course, nothing new to the VU. The aforementioned Columbus, OH show in 1966 features two marathon performances, “Melody Laughter” and “The Nothing Song,” that showcase the band’s most adventurous, avant-garde leanings.  But those pieces were created to complement the extravagant multimedia overload of Andy Warhol’s Exploding Plastic Inevitable, with dancers, lights and films adding to the experience. La Cave might’ve had a light show, but it was undoubtedly low-tech. On this particular night in Cleveland, it was just the Velvet Underground, the small audience and “Sweet Sister Ray.”

We haven’t even mentioned that throughout the song, Reed has been stepping up to the mic from time to time to sing a few verses. The lyrics may be off-the-cuff (Reed was known for his ability to generate lyrics at will), but they’re not indecipherable. In fact, they might even tell a fairly cohesive story, a veritable prequel to the actual “Sister Ray,” as our titular protagonist watches a movie — “the weirdest movie I’ve seen in my days.”

Reed goes on to sing about a topic he was intimately familiar with: electroshock therapy. “All the vaseline on your forehead / makes you feel so nice,” he deadpans. “My hair stood on end / and I thought I’d been frozen with a knife.” It’s a thinly veiled slice of autobiography — Reed was subjected to electroshock as a teenager to curb his homosexual tendencies — where you’d least expect it. And the final lyrics feel even more hauntingly personal, if still oblique: “Just then I saw a hole in the ground / and I jumped right in ‘cause there was no one around.” Down the rabbit hole young Lou eagerly goes, to rock and roll, to Warhol, to the dangerous and thrilling dreamscapes of “Sister Ray” itself. Which is right where the rest of the Velvets join him back in Cleveland, as Moe Tucker finally ambles onstage and beings thumping out that unmistakable beat and they segue into what was likely an even wilder excursion. Alas, it’s at this point that the tape fades out …

So where did “Sweet Sister Ray” go after La Cave? There’s some indication that it was further refined and developed into “Sweet Rock And Roll,” a mythical lost VU number from the summer of ‘68. Lou’s old sparring partner Lester Bangs is mostly responsible for the legend, calling the performance he witnessed in San Diego, CA “the most incredible musical experiences” of his life. “It was built on the most dolorous riff imaginable, just a few scales rising and falling mournfully, somewhat like ‘Venus In Furs’ but less creaky, more deliberate and eloquent.” Bangs even quotes some of the lyrics, which fall into line with what Reed was singing a few months earlier in Cleveland: “Sweet Sister Ray went to a movie / The floor was painted red and the walls were green / ‘Ooooh,’ she cried / ‘This is the strangest movie I’ve ever seen.’”

Will we ever hear “Sweet Rock And Roll”? Probably not. But Sterling Morrison claimed that a tape of the show Bangs wrote about was made, but quickly added that it was “stolen that very night. Stolen within seconds, actually. As soon as it ended, it vanished, never to reappear on this earth.”

[tenpoints4andy]

I should probably mention how I'm going about inktober

I'm trying to use a different brush/pen/pencil/marker each day. There are 31 days but only a handful of brushes that I use consistently, so this ought to be an adventure!

[acid-ixx]

young, just us?! (again &. again au)

ft. yandere young justice 98 x gn! reader

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

off-topic, but i've been hyperfixating so much on the young justice (98 vers), that i've been thinking of another timeline where the entire team falls in love with you during one of their trips to the manor. i mean, who wouldn't? they want to know more about your unshakeable, yet warm presence, but they couldn't due to their teammate's indifference towards the first biological child, you.

so someone assertive like cassie slaps some sense into tim drake for his obvious negligence of you whenever you try to talk to him in front of the team, with her harsh tone and squinted glare, just to make it hurt more, that it just leads you finally catching his eyes—

whilst you're unaware of everything happening in the background scene.

cue his interest being piqued regarding you, his obsessive research that spirals into the need to be a constant in your life, and his attempts at bonding with you before it's too late; but with his team of course, because it's now he realizes just how lonely you truly are, with the lack of friends and hobbies only done by yourself, for yourself, in the ghostly manor— whilst all your siblings are out there fighting crime, socializing, with so many adventures that no normal person could comprehend.

tim is familiar with what it's like living in an empty house, before he became robin.

he trusts his teammates, his friends with his life, so it wouldn't be a problem if you were to be acquainted with them; it would be a problem, though, if he soon doesn't quench their thirst to meet with you yet again.

so imagine, one day, you're just out there gardening, humming tunes as always like routine, the next you're being dragged in impulse's arms of all heroes, his hold on you too intimate for a stranger you met once. tim's voice echoes through intangible earphones, lightly threatening the speedster to keep you safe through your fast travel. you're sped from the manor to places unknown, kissed by the air cutting through your body, until you're at their secret cave, surrounded by his teammates, dumbly looking around until a girl rips you away from impulse's arm to hug you tightly.

she acts as a cushion for you to lay your head on, dizzy from the motion enough to make you nearly vomit. but all she does is coo at your swaying head and push her palm on your nape to have you stabilize in hold.

"you okay, sweetie? i swear, if bart got you sick, i'm going to punch him so hard right now."

you're quite unsure how to reply, mind too numb to register the speedster voicing his complaints, or the disgruntled sigh from your brother who shakes his head, commenting under his breath about "keeping affection to a low, for now."

you've never been held this tightly for years, but she beats you through your disoriented tears right after a moment's beat. through your speechless squeaks, she offers you a soft and warm, "welcome, buddy!" her blonde hair glimmers under the light compared to yours.

she calls herself arrowette, suzanne king-jones her personal identity, but insists just as quickly that you call her cissie with your sweet little voice, you nod hazily. everything's happening at a hasty pace that you couldn't even question why nobody's batting an eye at the identity reveal to a civilian, a stranger that is you.

but just as quickly as she introduces herself, your attention is dragged to an all-too familiar, handsome face, his infamous sunglasses resting on his nose, piercings on his eyebrows, and raven sidepart as he shakes your hands and blows you a kiss. a batarang slices through the air and nearly misses his head, you could tell your brother's seething by now.

it doesn't take much for everyone else to introduce themselves after the awkward tension from superboy telling you to call him "baby".

but your mind is still spinning either way, from the daze of impulse's speed, or all the names being thrown into your head, while they all repeatedly shower you with compliments that has you reeling from the foreign domain of affection you've stepped foot on.

just like that, the team takes advantage of your timidness, your eyes plastered on the ground as your face flushes with blazing heat, fighting each other with verbal insults whilst praising themselves in front of you in a battle to assert who's better. it's tim taking your arms and dragging you off to another room that makes for a perfect distraction, apologizing for the sudden intrusion in your life, and how he's willing to make up for the negligence he's caused you from every since he came to the manor— that these people are going to be your new friends.

he says it all so assertively, like he's done his research and the data he's received are all correct, as if he's sure this is the greatest course of action for your life.

the transition from silence to a room filled with chatters, words all directed to you, rather than from a passing glance, their efforts to communicate with someone inept at socializing yet never giving up... well, you couldn't quite comprehend it yet, but tim could see how your face flushes with warmth and the jitters of your fingers from excitement at the implication of new and better... friends.

the taste of the word feeling so distant yet welcomed, he watches the smile slowly plastered on your face and brings his hesitant palms to pat the crown of your head still turned down, tangling his fingers in each strand to ruffle your hair.

it's totally not a way for him to memorize every detail of your being.

"let's, uh... turn our backs away from the past alright, (name)?" he says with an awkward lilt to his voice. you look up through your lashes, and find his pale face incredulously red while his eyes dart around the room. suddenly, you don't feel so trapped right now, and feel yourself giggling at his unsure words and stooping posture.

he panics and gulps, scratching the back of his neck. his eyes still refuse to stare straight at yours.

"— shit, sorry, 'm still not used to this comforting jig, but i'm serious about all this, about making it up to you while it's still early. so, uhm, i hope my friends aren't too... overwhelming for you. they're too excited, that's it."

it's finally at the end of his sentence that his eyes crinkle at the sight of you. you're still standing awkwardly, hesitant to open up yet still willing to make an effort if what he's saying is true.

there's still a shadow of doubt in your head, that this was all a dream, but everything feels so real. his touch feels so real.

it takes a split second for you to reply, still taking in the events that happened to you.

"it's... alright, maybe i'll learn to... forgive you, tim." your whisper sliced through the silent air, breathless, fiddling with your fingers, stepping closer to your brother. he hesitates, but brings his hands to rest on both sides of your shoulder.

his palms eventually made their way to hover on your face, you don't flinch, but you don't bring them closer to you either. it's an air of neutral comfort you're threading on.

"i'm... real grateful that you're willing to put up an effort for me..." it's as if you couldn't fathom that someone so talented, so important as tim drake could notice you and even apologize wholly without excuses. it doesn't take away the years, all the times he turned his back on you, and even mistakenly calling out the wrong name and flat out ignoring you, but if someone like him was willing to try— to even go as far as to have his friends become your friends.

well... who's to say you could deny the slight flutter in your chest at the sweet gestures?

it was you who initiated the hug, burying your head in his slumped shoulders, tears dampening his costume. your brother pats your back, and awkwardly cradles your body in the silent expanse of the room.

you don't feel the haste of his heartbeats, nor the goosebumps pervading his skin.

"thank you..." you mutter, relinquishing the fear that this was all a sick prank your mind has put you through, and embrace the sounds of the door suddenly slamming while your head still rests on the crook of your brother's neck, giggling through tears from bart's high-pitched squeals, the ghostly sounds of greta's overdramatic gasps and cassie's complaints of tim taking all your attention for himself.

from there on out, your presence kind of becomes a staple for the chaotic atmosphere of the team, a voice of reason whenever tim or cassie is too unhinged to deal with the others, they always kept their arguments light for the sake of your happiness. they like to treat you, finding your praises for each individual refreshing and sweet. you're unaware of just how much they truly loved you from the moment their eyes laid on the shadows of your form in the manor.

and you'd rather it stay that way, too invested in the never flitting feeling of being loved.

there's a saying, ignorance is bliss. you're in a state of happiness because this was the first time you had spent your time with someone you could call your brother. you had friends, welcoming from the start, unafraid to display their affection for you. hugs, cuddle piles, pats on your head, kisses on your cheeks, a target for kon's adorable flirting, bart's endless mumblings, even sitting beside your brother is enjoyable as he sifts through the big monitors in front of you, because at least now there's a hand you could fiddle with every time you become too bored.

how could you want to leave them after all this?

at least, in this timeline, you've willingly stepped into your own cage.

a/n: i'm this 🤏 close to disappearing off of tumblr for a year or two again because of my writer's block despite me posting more and more lately. the lack of motivation to write, and forcing yourself to write out the ideas you have in your head bec you're afraid of forgetting is such a shitty feeling. i'm on the verge of a hiatus, my imposter syndrome is at an all time high and i feel as if my writing has been lacking lately. so apologies, i might just quit if i can't get rid of this feeling. otherwise, i think we need more young justice (not the tv show) content, they're like my favorite hero team. i don't know what to feel about this drabble.

[snowball-doie]

| pairing: sub!nerd!Mark x Dom!Reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI. Jerking him off. Oral. Slight edging. I'm like a broken record when it comes to writing about sucking Mark off, my b <3

| wc: 2.3k

Sometimes the best way for Mark to study was with an incentive system— A way for him to earn rewards if he did his work. He had a habit of getting disinterested in his work easily because you were a fantastic distraction from his textbooks, even if you weren’t doing a single thing aside from lounging on the couch in pajamas. Mark just… he couldn’t care less about anything else whenever you were around. You were his everything. But to you, his studies should have been his everything because he was so close to getting his master’s, it was stupid of him to throw that all away just because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. So you figured out when finals season approached and Mark was constantly throwing his work to the side to make out with you that if you gave him rewards for studying, Mark was eager to speed through his flashcards, textbooks, homework, and so on.

“When you’re done with your lab report, I’ll blow you.”

“When you’ve reviewed your final draft for your philosophy essay, you can kiss me.”

“Once you make your own comment on the assignment of the week, I’ll sit on your lap while you reply to two of your classmates’ comments.”

Mark had always been a good student, but somehow his grades were doing even better ever since you started the incentive idea. You were having to slow him down and stall on his rewards because, like a dog in training, he figured out that if he was a good student then you would touch him, so he was doing too much at once just for the chance to get your mouth on his cock, or even the opportunity to be inside of you. Usually he only got to fuck you after big projects worth about 20% of his grade… But since it was finals season, Mark was more worked up than usual, and he was incredibly stressed, so he was eager for more and more and more—

“I can’t keep doing this, baby, I’m too tired,” he whined, hiding his face in his hands before diving face-first against his open textbook. “If I have to read one more thing about how arteries work, I’m going to start tearing my hair out. Like, who doesn’t know this already! Why do I have to read seven chapters about bullshit I learned in high school!”

“How much more do you have left?” you asked, setting your phone to the side and sitting up on the couch.

“Two more chapters.”

“That’s nothing,” you whined back mockingly.

Mark lifted his head so that he could show you his pouting bottom lip and those big puppy-dog eyes behind his glasses. Why did you have to fall in love with a hot nerd, huh? A nerd would have sufficed. Or a hot jock. But a hot nerd was your kryptonite, and even though you knew he was baiting you to get what he wanted, there was no denying that he was irresistible when he was wearing his glasses, his hair long was a mess, and his pajamas were shifting around just enough to let you see the outline of his abs under his shirt and his cock in his pants. Ugh, he knew how to get you.

“Finish this chapter first,” you said, hoping to buy yourself some time.

Mark perked up thanks to the mysterious hope you’d provided him. His eyes began scanning the chapter at the normal, quick pace you were familiar with when he wasn’t protesting the idea of studying; and in the meantime, you pushed yourself off the couch and walked towards Mark. He hesitated briefly, but his gaze didn’t leave the textbook. He warily flipped the page, revealing that he was on the last few paragraphs before the next chapter. You watched over his shoulder to put some pressure on him to actually read and not just fuck around because even though you weren’t a nerd like him, you’d learned enough during his “rewards” to catch on whenever he was lying about doing his work just to get what he wanted.

“Done,” he cheered victoriously.

“How long’s the next chapter?”

Mark flipped a few pages in search of the chapter he didn’t have to read for homework. Six pages later, he found it and pointed.

“You think you can last ‘til then?”

Mark looked confused. “For what?”

With a wicked grin, you dropped down to your knees then crawled under the dining room table where Mark had set up shop with all of his study material in preparation for finals. You were having to eat meals on the couch since there was no room at the table anymore.

“Read the chapter aloud so I know you’re not lying,” you told him casually as you pried his knees apart to make room for yourself to settle between his legs. Mark leaned back so that he could watch you for a moment. “Don’t lose track of your spot either.”

As you grabbed the hem of his pajama pants, Mark aided your attempt to undress him by lifting his hips so that you could pull the fabric down, then he resettled on the wooden chair. Mark wasn’t unfamiliar with being naked on that chair— You liked to tie his hands behind his back and have him sit on that chair while you rode him until his head was spinning and he couldn’t get out a single word.

When you wrapped your hand around his length, Mark gulped, but he remembered what you wanted him to do in order to earn his reward, so he leaned forward again to put his focus on the last chapter of the night. You didn’t do anything to distract him for a bit. Despite his growing eagerness as shown by his hardening cock in your hand, you didn’t move or do something new— So Mark began reading the chapter aloud. Honestly, you weren’t paying attention. A lot of the science shit he studied went over your head, so even though you heard the words and learned a thing or two here and there, you never really… absorbed everything like he did…

Mark concentrated on the words in front of him, and as he began the next paragraph, that was when you began slowly pumping your hand up and down his long dick. He moaned suddenly. His ability to keep reading coherently faded, so you stopped your motions. Mark immediately bucked his hips upward to encourage you to keep going, but so long as he wasn’t studying, you weren’t going to give him his reward. When he recuperated, Mark slowly started reading again… You took a moment to believe him that he was actually ready, then you continued when you were doing. Mark moaned, but before you could stop again, he raced to keep reading at a faster pace, likely in the hopes that you would put him in your mouth or ride him, or let him fuck you…

Your tongue flicked Mark’s tip suddenly. The words of the textbook got caught in his throat, and within an instant he was leaning back to look down at you, his glasses hanging low on the bridge of his nose. You stopped to look up at him. He whined at the lack of stimulation, but you grinned while cocking your head to the side, waiting for him to say something, to admit that he wanted more, or perhaps he would silently return to his work. In fact, that was what he did. He read the next line casually to give you time to get back to what you were doing. Two lines later, you caught him off guard by sucking him off again, your tongue swirling around his tip, your fingers playing with his base and even teasing his balls a bit to really get him worked up.

The third page turn marked him reaching the halfway point of the chapter without any more issues. He did his best to ignore you so that he could focus on his work, despite the fact that you were slowly working his cock towards an orgasm which you didn’t plan on giving him quite yet. He knew that. He read as fast as he could in order to complete the assignment sooner, but every time he fucked up a word or lost his place in the paragraphs, you paused to give him a chance to figure out how to reset. Unfortunately, whenever you stopped, you also edged him. He hated that. But you loved how cute he sounded when he was all submissive and desperate.

By the fifth page, Mark was losing it. He was stuttering through every word, moaning between sentences, begging for more at the end of paragraphs. You tried to show him a little bit of mercy by going slower so that you didn’t have to edge him as often, but even that couldn’t really help Mark. Poor thing. Before you, he didn’t have a lot of experience— A personal choice until he met you. He’d only kissed a guy, some friend of his, and one girl in middle school; and he fully intended on never thinking about dating again until after his PhD when he could think about getting married. However, he saw you in his ethics class, a required course which he was less than excited to be attending instead of the courses required for his master’s degree, and once he laid eyes on you, he knew that he had to have you, but there was one thing in his way. He definitely didn’t deserve you. The fact that you were so gorgeous and perfect and amazing and— Mark couldn’t believe that someone like you would look twice in his direction. What he failed to recognize, though, was that he was actually way out of your league, according to you, so you couldn’t believe that someone as handsome as Mark Lee would even glance at you.

Now there the two of you were, moved in together, happily dating, supporting each other through your degrees, and even teasing the idea of marriage whenever Mark got really sappy during cuddle-time late at night. His experience obviously grew in that time too. Mark liked to experiment with his sexuality, and that led him to discovering that he liked being submissive from time to time, especially when it came to things like rewards and punishments— Having structure in his life provided by someone else gave him comfort.

“Can I cum?” he asked suddenly.

You pulled off of him.

“Wait, wait, please, don’t stop—”

“You have to finish the chapter first.”

Mark shuddered. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. I believe in you, baby.”

He swallowed a moan then continued reading. Something, something, arteries, something, something, blood, something— “I’m close! No, no, no…” His knuckles turned white as his fists tightened when you edged him again. Something, something… Nutrients… Something… Hormones… “Okay, I’m done, I finished, please!”

Sitting up on your knees slightly, you were able to angle yourself better to sink your mouth down over his tip while your hand continued to jerk off the first few inches down at his base. Mark grabbed your hair to hold onto something for balance. He didn’t push you down or buck upwards. He just let you take the lead while he used you to keep himself sane. Slowly, you swallowed every inch until there was no more room for your hand, and you could feel him tickling the back of your throat, which was uncomfortable just enough to cause you to go back up. Mark moaned with relief. Feeling your cheeks hollow out, your tongue dragging along his length, and your saliva coating every inch of him made his eyes roll behind those handsome glasses of his.

“Can I cum?” he begged desperately.

“Yeah,” you mumbled before sinking back down.

Mark squirmed, his tip hitting the inside of your wet cheek, then he thrusted upwards until he hit the back of your throat again, and even though you gagged a bit, he moaned and started cumming. He panted breathlessly through it. There wasn’t a lot since you’d drained him throughout the past couple of days, but the orgasm was strong enough that he threw his head back and clenched his thighs around your shoulders.

“F-feels so good… Fuck… Thank you… Thank you…”

As his orgasm passed, he slumped in the chair. You allowed him a minute to catch his breath while you also used that time to swallow every drop he gave you while also trying to regain your composure.

“Fuck, I’ve got a headache now.” Mark reached to help you to your feet.

You kissed his forehead. “Take a break from studying, then, we’ll get some rest for a bit.” You continued to hold his hands as you pulled him to his feet too then calmly led him to the bedroom. Mark crashed on the bed in an instant. “Gotta take these off first, babe.” You carefully slid his glasses off his face and set them on his bedside table. “There you go.”

Mark grabbed your waist and pulled you on top of him to cuddle close and nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck lovingly. “Do you think I’m going to pass my bio exam?”

“You’re studying more often than not, so, yes.”

He chuckled. “You’re biased.”

“Then why’d you ask me, silly?”

Mark squeezed you tight and rolled over so that you were laying beside him, giving you ample room to squeeze him back. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve helped me a lot this semester.”

You kissed the top of his head and played with the end of his long hair that laid against the back of his neck. “Any time.”

taglist: @theycallmesya @henderysposts @trash-number-one @botchedbrat @n0hyuck

@topmoondanse @shoetaroshoe @faeryus @junrenjun @october-saturn

@colorfulbunnyofcttn @jeongjaeleftbicep @g-bizz @highhjime @userntfnd

@gabbanagold @k44mii @scoobysnackszoo @babyjenono @i2608s

@daryaa8a @funnyvxlentine @crazylittlebisexual @armaegddn

[clarkeyzzz]

could you do one where the reader and george have an argument and she goes non verbal bcs of past trauma?

Bruises, Silence, and Bandages

george clarke x fem!reader

summary: a tense argument with george pulls you into the shadows of your past, but his patience and love remind you that healing doesn’t have to be done alone

warnings: Domestic Abuse, PTSD, Verbal Abuse, Physical Abuse, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Self-Worth Issues 

note: Hey everyone, I just want to say that I truly apologize if this chapter made anyone uncomfortable. I wrote this with the knowlegde of an outsider, someone who has seen the effects of abusive relationships and the struggles of healing after them. I’ve done my best to approach these themes with sensitivity and respect, but I understand that everyone’s experiences are different. If anything in this story resonates with you, please know that you are not alone, and I hope you have the support and love you deserve. Thank you for reading, and please take care of yourselves. My mesages are always open 🤍

6.8k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

The afternoon sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across your shared apartment. You stood in the kitchen, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the countertop. George paced back and forth in the living room, his usually cheerful face contorted with frustration.

"I just don't understand why you won't talk to me about this!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "We're supposed to be partners. How can we fix things if you won't even tell me what's wrong?"

You wanted to respond, to explain the tangled knot of emotions constricting your chest, but the words wouldn't come. It was as if an invisible hand had reached down your throat and stolen your voice. Your heart raced, and you felt the familiar panic rising.

George's voice grew louder, his accent thickening with emotion. "Is it something I did? Something I said in a video? For God's sake, just say something!"

The room began to spin, memories of past arguments crashing over you like waves. Your chest tightened as George's voice echoed through the apartment, his words blurring into distorted sounds. The room tilted, and you gripped the counter harder, your knuckles turning white. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm you.

Suddenly, you were back in that cramped, dimly lit apartment from years ago. The air was thick with the acrid smell of stale cigarettes and cheap beer. His voice—not George's, but his—rang in your ears, each word laced with venom. "You stupid bitch! Answer me when I'm talking to you!"

The sting of his palm against your cheek, the crash of a bottle shattering against the wall—it all felt so real, so present. You could almost feel the phantom ache of bruises long faded. You could feel yourself shrinking, becoming smaller and smaller until you were nothing but a speck of dust, desperate to be overlooked.

Back in the present, George's frustrated sighs pierced through the fog of your memories. "I don't understand," he muttered, his accent thicker than ever. "We were fine yesterday. What changed?"

You wanted to tell him, to explain that it wasn't his fault, that the raised voices and tense atmosphere had triggered something deep within you. But your throat constricted, and your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. The words were there, trapped behind a wall of fear and shame.

George's frustrated voice faded into the background as you sank deeper into the flashback. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps. The kitchen tiles beneath your feet seemed to tilt and sway.

"Are you even listening to me?" George demanded, his voice closer now. You flinched instinctively as he entered the kitchen, your body tensing for a blow that wouldn't come.

George's footsteps halted abruptly. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your ragged breathing. Slowly, you opened your eyes, blinking away the haze of memory. George stood frozen, his expression shifting from anger to concern as he took in your hunched posture and pale face.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice gentler now. "What's happening? Are you alright?"

You tried to nod, to reassure him, but your body wouldn't cooperate. Instead, you slid down to the floor, your back pressed against the cool cabinet doors. George hesitated for a moment before carefully lowering himself to sit beside you, leaving a respectful distance between you.

The familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of sandalwood and citrus—helped ground you in the present. You focused on it, using it as an anchor to pull yourself away from the memories threatening to drag you under.

"I'm sorry," George whispered, his accent softening the words. "I didn't mean to shout. I just... I worry about you, you know? When you go quiet like this, I feel so helpless."

You wanted to reach out, to squeeze his hand and tell him it wasn't his fault. But your body remained frozen, trapped between past and present. In your mind, you could still hear the other voice—his voice—berating you, mocking your silence, twisting it into another reason to lash out.

"You're pathetic," the voice in your head sneered, an echo of your ex-boyfriend's cruel words. "Can't even speak up for yourself. No wonder he hates you."

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the intrusive thoughts. But they persisted, a poisonous whisper in the back of your mind.

George shifted beside you, the fabric of his hoodie rustling softly. "I'm here," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever's going on, whatever you're feeling, I'm here."

His words, so gentle and understanding, were a stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your ex would fly into a rage at the slightest provocation. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, whenever you tried to leave during an argument.

You could almost feel the pain of those bruises now, your skin prickling with the memory of his touch. Your breath hitched, and you curled in on yourself, making your body as small as possible.

In your mind's eye, you saw yourself cowering in the corner of that dingy apartment, arms raised to protect your face from the blows you knew were coming. The smell of cheap vodka and sweat filled your nostrils, making your stomach churn. You could almost feel the cold, hard floor beneath you as you curled into yourself, trying to become as small as possible.

The memories shifted, and suddenly you were reliving the night you finally escaped. The adrenaline coursing through your veins as you hastily shoved clothes into a bag, the heart-stopping fear when you heard his key in the lock, the burning in your lungs as you ran down the street, not daring to look back.

In the present, George's warm hand gently touched your shoulder, causing you to flinch violently. "Love, you're scaring me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, tell me what's wrong."

You couldn't respond. Your mind was trapped in a loop of painful memories, each one more vivid than the last. The sound of shattering glass echoed in your ears, mingling with the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You remembered the feeling of rough hands gripping your arms, shaking you violently as angry words were spat in your face.

George noticed your constant flinching every time he he spoke. His brow furrowing with concern. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. "I would never hurt you. You're safe here, I promise."

A part of you wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But another part, the part still trapped in the past doubted every word.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's okay. You're safe here."

His words, so gentle and reassuring, stood in stark contrast to the memories swirling in your mind. You remembered the constant walking on eggshells, the way your stomach would churn with anxiety every time you heard keys in the lock. The other man—your ex—had been unpredictable, his moods shifting like quicksand beneath your feet.

There were good days, of course. Days when his smile was genuine, his touch tender. But those moments were fleeting, always overshadowed by the looming threat of his temper. You recalled the first time he'd struck you—a slap that left your ears ringing and your cheek stinging. He'd apologized profusely, showering you with gifts and promises to never do it again. You'd believed him, desperate to cling to the man you thought you loved.

But the violence escalated. Slaps turned to punches, shoves became throws. Your body became a canvas of bruises and cuts, each one carefully hidden beneath long sleeves and thick makeup. The physical pain was excruciating, but it paled in comparison to the emotional torment. His words cut deeper than any blow, chipping away at your self-worth until you felt hollow inside.

The night it all came to a head. He caught you in the middle of packing your bags. He had obviously been drinking heavily, his words slurring as he hurled insults at you. The bottle of whiskey in his hand glinted menacingly in the dim light of the apartment. You'd tried to leave, to escape the suffocating atmosphere, but he blocked your path.

"Where do you think you're going?" he'd snarled, his breath hot on your face. "You're nothing without me. No one else would ever want you."

The memory of his fingers digging into your arms made your skin crawl. You could almost feel the sting of glass shards as the whiskey bottle shattered against the wall, inches from your head. The fear had been paralyzing, rooting you to the spot as he towered over you, fist raised.

In that moment, something inside you had snapped. With strength born of desperation, you'd shoved him aside as hard as you physically could and ran. You remembered the burn in your lungs as you sprinted down the street, the icy rain soaking through your thin t-shirt. You'd left most of you things behind—clothes, possessions, your entire life—but you were finally free.

The months that followed were a blur of cheap motels and sleepless nights. Every shadow made you flinch, every loud noise sent your heart racing. You'd changed your number, your email, even your appearance, desperate to erase every trace of your past life.

Slowly, painfully, you'd begun to rebuild. A new job, a tiny studio apartment, a handful of cautious friendships. But the scars remained, both physical and emotional. You jumped at sudden noises, flinched away from physical contact, and struggled to trust anyone who showed interest in you.

Then George had entered your life like a whirlwind of laughter and warmth. His YouTube videos had been a source of comfort during your darkest days, his goofy smile and infectious laugh a balm for your wounded soul. Meeting him in person had been surreal, like a dream come to life.

At first, you'd been guarded, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But George had been patient, his kindness unwavering. He never pushed, never demanded more than you were ready to give. Slowly, you'd let your walls down, allowing yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved happiness.

Now, sitting on the cold kitchen floor with George beside you, you felt those walls threatening to rebuild themselves. The argument had triggered something deep within you, unleashing a flood of memories you'd tried so hard to suppress.

"Love," George's voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, soft and hesitant. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Can you look at me?"

You wanted to, to reassure him that this wasn't his fault. But your eyes remained trapped, held hostage by the ghosts of your past.

"Love," George's voice broke through the fog of your thoughts. "I can see you're struggling. Can I hold your hand?"

You wanted to say yes, to reach out and anchor yourself in his warmth, but your body remained frozen. Instead, you managed a small nod, the movement barely perceptible.

George slowly extended his hand, palm up, leaving it within your reach but not touching you. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured. "No rush."

His patience was a stark contrast to your ex's demanding nature. You remembered how he would grab you, forcing physical contact even when you shrank away. George's respect for your boundaries was both comforting and overwhelming.

You stared at George's outstretched hand, your vision blurring with unshed tears. The gentle invitation in his gesture was almost too much to bear. You wanted desperately to reach out, to feel the warmth of his skin against yours, but fear held you back.

Slowly, trembling, you extended your own hand. Your fingers hovered just above his palm, not quite touching. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in your bones.

George remained perfectly still, his breathing slow and measured. "Take your time," he whispered, his accent wrapping around the words like a soft blanket. "I'm not going anywhere."

The kindness in his voice made your chest ache. You remembered a time when gentle words were rare, when every interaction was laced with tension and fear. Your ex had wielded words like weapons, each syllable designed to cut and wound.

You recalled the way he would twist your silence against you, using it as justification for his anger. "Why won't you answer me?" he would snarl, his face contorted with rage. "Are you stupid? Can't you even speak?"

The memory made your throat constrict, choking off any words that might have formed. You curled your fingers into a fist, pulling your hand back towards your chest.

George's expression softened with understanding. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to if you're not ready."

With trembling fingers, you reached out, barely brushing George's palm. His hand remained perfectly still, allowing you to dictate the level of contact. Slowly, you pressed your palm against his, feeling the warmth of his skin seep into yours.

George's thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, the gesture soothing and grounding. "That's it," he whispered encouragingly. "You're doing great, love."

The gentle praise washed over you, chasing away some of the darkness clouding your mind. You focused on the sensation of George's hand in yours, using it as an anchor to pull yourself back to the present.

"I'm going to tell you five things I can see," George said softly, his voice steady and calm. "Is that okay?"

You managed another small nod, grateful for his attempt to ground you.

"Alright," he began. "I can see the sunlight filtering through the curtains, making patterns on the floor. I can see the little cactus on the windowsill that you bought last week. I can see the framed photo of us at the beach on the fridge. I can see the stack of cookbooks on the counter that we never use. And I can see you, love, right here with me."

As George spoke, you felt your breathing begin to slow, matching the rhythm of his words. The vivid flashbacks began to fade, replaced by the reality of your shared kitchen.

His last words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. You felt a flicker of warmth in your chest, a tiny spark pushing back against the darkness that had consumed you.

"Can you tell me four things you can feel?" George asked gently.

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the physical sensations around you. Your voice was barely audible as you whispered, "Your hand. The cold floor. My... my heartbeat. The cabinet against my back."

George's smile was soft and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well. How about three things you can hear?"

You closed your eyes, concentrating. "The clock ticking. A car outside. Your breathing."

"Perfect," George murmured. "Two things you can smell?"

"Your cologne," you said, the familiar scent bringing a sense of comfort. "And... coffee from earlier."

George's thumb continued its soothing motion across your hand. "Last one. Can you tell me one thing you can taste?"

You ran your tongue over your dry lips. "Salt," you whispered, realizing there were tears on your cheeks.

"There you go love," George said softly. "You're here, in our kitchen. You're safe."

The grounding exercise had helped pull you further from the grip of your memories. The kitchen came into sharper focus - the pale yellow walls you and George had painted together, laughing as you got more paint on each other than the walls. The mismatched chairs at the dinning table and the various pictures around the room.

George's smile was warm and encouraging. "That's brilliant, love. You're doing so well."

The praise washed over you like a soothing balm, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. You focused on your breathing, trying to match the slow, steady rhythm George had established.

"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice hoarse and unsteady. "I didn't mean to... to shut down like that."

George shook his head gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that."

You wanted to explain, to tell him about the memories that had overwhelmed you, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you tightened your grip on his hand trying to get rid of the pins and needles from your fingertips.

George's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand, his touch feather-light and comforting. "You don't have to explain anything right now," he murmured. "But whenever you're ready to talk, I'm here to listen."

His words, so full of patience and understanding, made your chest ache. You almost couldn’t believe that there was a time when silence was met with anger, when every moment of hesitation was twisted into an excuse for violence. Your ex had never been able to handle your non-verbal episodes, viewing them as a personal affront rather than a symptom of your trauma.

You could still hear his voice, harsh and mocking, echoing in your mind. "What's wrong with you? Can't even string a sentence together? Pathetic."

The memory made you flinch, your body tensing involuntarily. George noticed immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "It's okay," he soothed. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you."

You wanted to believe him, to trust in the sincerity of his words. But years of conditioning had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present. In your mind's eye, you could see your ex looming over you, his face contorted with rage. You remembered the sickening crack of his fist connecting with your jaw, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth.

The phantom pain made you wince, your free hand instinctively moving to touch your face. George watched the movement,his eyes widening with a mix of realization and horror. "Oh, love," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Did someone... did someone hurt you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, shame and fear warring within you. What if George saw you differently once he knew? What if he decided you were too broken, too damaged to love? Your silence was answer enough.

George's grip on your hand tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you in the present. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, his accent thickening with emotion. "I had no idea. I never meant to... God, I'm such an idiot."

His self-recrimination made you want to protest, to assure him that it wasn't his fault. But the words were stuck, your throat constricting around everything you want to tell him.

As if sensing your inner turmoil, George spoke again, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable with. But I want you to know that whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. And it doesn't change how I feel about you."

His words pierced through the fog of your anxiety, touching something deep within you. You felt the tears now slipping down your cheeks, then another, until you were crying silently, your body shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Can I..." George hesitated, his voice uncertain. "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

The question caught you off guard. Your ex had never asked for permission, taking what he wanted without regard for your feelings. George's consideration brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

Slowly, you nodded, uncurling yourself from the tight ball you'd formed. George moved carefully, telegraphing his movements as he shifted closer. He wrapped his arms around you, enveloping you in warmth and the comforting scent of his cologne.

For a moment, you tensed, your body remembering a time when embraces led to pain. But George's touch remained gentle, his arms loose enough that you could easily break free if you needed to.

"I've got you," he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. "You're safe. I promise."

Gradually, you allowed yourself to relax into his embrace, your tears soaking into the soft fabric of his hoodie. George held you patiently, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other cradled your head against his chest. You could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, its rhythm grounding you in the present.

As your sobs subsided, replaced by quiet sniffles, George began to hum softly. It was a familiar tune, one you recognized from his videos - a silly little jingle he'd made up for a brand deal. The gentle vibrations of his chest as he hummed sent a wave of comfort through you, chasing away the last tendrils of your panic.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that."

George's arms tightened around you fractionally. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said firmly. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I never meant to trigger you like that."

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at his face. George's eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks damp with tears of his own. The sight made your heart ache. You'd never meant to cause him pain.

"It's not your fault," you managed to say, your voice hoarse from crying. "You didn't know."

Slowly, you allowed yourself to relax against him, burying your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie.

George took a hesitant breathe, his hands rubbing your back. "It's okay," he murmured. "You don't have to tell me about it. Just... can you look at me? Please?"

Slowly, you raised your eyes to meet his. As George's eyes met yours, filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness that made your heart ache. "I love you," he said softly, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm embrace. "I love you, and I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with sincerity. You wanted to believe him, to trust in the love shining in his eyes. But years of abuse had left their mark, making it difficult to separate past from present.

"I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn't. Not on purpose. But..."

George waited patiently as you struggled to find the words, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. The gentle touch grounded you, giving you the courage to continue.

"My ex," you said, the words feeling like broken glass in your throat. "He... he wasn't a good person."

George's expression darkened, but he remained silent, allowing you to speak at your own pace.

"At first, it was great. He was charming, funny. Made me feel special," you continued, your gaze fixed on a point over George's shoulder. "But then... things changed."

You told him everything. The first time your ex raised his voice, making you flinch. The way he'd grab your arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises. The constant criticisms, chipping away at your self-esteem.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to continue. "It started small. He'd get angry over little things, yell and throw things. I told myself it wasn't that bad, that everyone argues sometimes. But then..."

Your voice trailed off, memories flooding back. George squeezed your hand gently, encouraging you to continue.

"The first time he hit me, I was so shocked I couldn't even cry," you whispered. "He apologized immediately, swore it would never happen again. I wanted to believe him."

George's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, letting you speak.

"It only got worse after that. The violence escalated, and so did the emotional abuse. He'd call me worthless, stupid, tell me no one else would ever want me. And I believed him."

Tears streamed down your face as you recounted the worst moments - the times you'd hidden bruises with makeup, the nights you'd lain awake in fear, the way you'd slowly lost touch with friends and family until he was your whole world.

"I lost myself," you admitted, tears streaming down your face. "I stopped talking to friends, quit my job. Everything I did, every decision I made, was about keeping him happy. But it was never enough."

George's arms tightened around you, a protective gesture that made your heart ache with a mixture of gratitude and residual fear.

"The night I left," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper, "He was angry about... God, I don't even remember what. Something small. Insignificant. He left. I could take it anymore, I started to pack. When he came home he was so angry.” You took a strained breathe as you continued.

“But that night, I thought he might kill me," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "He'd been drinking, and he was so so angry. Something in me just... snapped. I ran, and I didn't look back."

George's arms loosened around you as he took in the severities of you words, his own tears falling into your hair. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "You didn't deserve any of that. You're so strong, so brave. I'm in awe of you.

George's voice broke as he whispered, "I love you. I love you so much, and I swear I would never, ever hurt you like that."

His words, so earnest and heartfelt, broke something inside you. The dam you'd built around your emotions crumbled, and suddenly you were sobbing uncontrollably, your entire body shaking with the force of your cries.

George held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubbed soothing circles on your back. He murmured soft words of comfort, his accent thickening with emotion.

"It's okay, love. Let it out. I've got you. You're safe now."

You cried for what felt like hours, releasing years of pent-up fear, anger, and pain. George never wavered, his embrace warm and steady, anchoring you in the present.

As your sobs finally subsided into quiet hiccups, George gently pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes. His own were red-rimmed and puffy, his cheeks damp with tears.

"Thank you for telling me," he said softly. "I know how hard that must have been. You're so brave, love. So incredibly brave."

You shook your head, feeling anything but brave. "I should have left sooner. I should have been stronger."

George's expression grew fierce. "No," he said firmly. "You did everything you could to survive an impossible situation.”

George cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You are not weak. You are not stupid. You are a survivor, and I am in awe of your strength."

His words, so different from the cruel taunts you'd grown accustomed to, made fresh tears well up in your eyes. George continued, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I love you," he said, each word weighted with sincerity. "I love your kindness, your humor, your resilience. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about things you're passionate about. I love how you always remember to water the plants, even when I forget. I love the little dance you do when you're excited about something."

You felt a warmth blooming in your chest, pushing back against the cold fear that had gripped you earlier. George's words washed over you, soothing the jagged edges of your pain.

"I love the way you scrunch up your nose when you're concentrating," he continued, a soft smile playing at his lips. "I love how you always make sure to ask our delivery drivers if they want a bottle of water. I love your strength, your courage, your ability to keep going even when things get tough."

"I promise you," George continued, his accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket, "that I will spend every day showing you how much you're worth. I'll remind you of your strength when you forget. I'll hold you when the memories get too much. And I'll always, always ask before I touch you."

As if to demonstrate, he held out his hand, palm up. "May I hold your hand?"

The simple gesture, so respectful of your boundaries, brought fresh tears to your eyes. You couldn’t understand stand how you shed so many tries in such a short amount of time. Wordlessly you took his hand. His words, so full of admiration and love, broke something inside you. You sobbed openly, clinging to him as years of pent-up emotions poured out. George held you through it all, his presence steady and comforting.

As your tears subsided, George gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the lingering wetness on your cheeks. "Thank you for trusting me with this," he said softly. "I know it couldn't have been easy to talk about."

You managed a watery smile, feeling lighter than you had in years. "It wasn't. But... I'm glad you know now. I've been carrying this alone for so long. Thank you for listening," you whispered.

George pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Always," he promised. "You don't have to carry it alone anymore," he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "I'm here, whenever you need me. Whether that's to talk, or just to sit in silence, or... anything through everything. The good days, the bad days, and everything in between."

You leaned into his touch, allowing yourself to believe in the sincerity of his words. The fear and shame that had held you captive for so long began to loosen their grip, replaced by a tentative hope.

"I love you," George said again, his voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you. Your strength, your resilience, your kindness. I love the way you laugh at my terrible jokes, and how you always remember to water the plants even when I forget. I love how passionate you get about your favourite books, and the way your eyes light up when you talk about your work."

His words washed over you, chasing away the lingering shadows of your past. You looked up at him, really looked at him, taking in the sincerity in his warm brown eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, the faint stubble on his jaw that he'd forgotten to shave this morning.

"I love you too," you whispered, your voice hoarse but steady. "So much that it scares me sometimes."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. "Good scared or bad scared?" he asked, a hint of his usual playfulness creeping back into his tone.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound watery but genuine. "Good scared," you assured him. "Like... like standing at the edge of something amazing and wonderful, knowing that jumping in might change everything."

"Well," George said, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "I'm right here beside you, ready to jump whenever you are."

George's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way you adored. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't. Instead, you met him halfway, your lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and sweet and full of promise.

When you finally pulled apart, George rested his forehead against yours. "I know I can't erase what happened to you," he said softly. "But I promise, I'll spend every day trying to show you what real love looks like. If you'll let me."

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. George understood, pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Come on," he said, slowly getting to his feet and offering you his hand. "Let's get off this cold floor.

How about we make some tea?"

You nodded, allowing him to help you up. Your legs felt shaky, and you leaned against him for support as you made your way to the living room. George guided you to the couch, wrapping a soft throw blanket around your shoulders before heading to the kitchen.

You could hear him moving around, the familiar sounds of kettle boiling and mugs clinking providing a soothing backdrop. The apartment was bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon sunlight, casting long shadows across the floor. You focused on the little details around you - the framed photos on the wall, capturing moments of laughter and joy with George and your friends; the collection of houseplants on the windowsill, each one carefully tended; the stack of board games in the corner, evidence of cozy nights in.

George returned a few minutes later, carrying two steaming mugs. He handed you one - your favourite oversized mug, the one with little cartoon cats all over it. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, warm and comforting.

"Thank you," you murmured, wrapping your hands around the mug and letting its warmth seep into your palms.

George settled beside you on the couch, close enough that you could feel his presence but not so close as to crowd you. The two of you sat there on the couch, wrapped in each other's arms, as the afternoon sun slowly shifted across the room. The argument that had been forgotten.

As the afternoon light shifted, painting the room in soft golden hues, George spoke softly. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice gentle. "Maybe we could look into couples therapy? Not because there's anything wrong with us," he added quickly, "but to help us communicate better, especially about... about your past."

You considered his words, turning the idea over in your mind. The thought of opening up to a stranger was daunting, but the idea of having professional help to navigate your trauma and its impact on your relationship was appealing.

"I think... I think that might be good," you said slowly. "But can we maybe start with individual therapy for me first? I feel like I need to work through some things on my own before I'm ready to tackle them as a couple."

George's face lit up with a mixture of relief and pride. "Of course, love. Whatever you need. I'm so proud of you for considering it."

His words warmed you from the inside out, chasing away the last lingering chill of your earlier panic. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," you murmured. "For being so patient with me. For not giving up when I shut down."

George pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a moment. "I'll never give up on you," he murmured. "You're worth every bit of patience and understanding I can give."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, sipping your tea and watching the play of light across the room. As the shadows lengthened, George spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant.

"I've been thinking about my videos," he said. "I know I get pretty animated sometimes, especially when I'm gaming. Do the loud noises or sudden movements ever... trigger anything for you?"

You considered his question, touched by his thoughtfulness. "Sometimes," you admitted. "But it's not just you. Loud noises in general can be difficult. And when you get really competitive with the boys, the shouting can be a bit much."

George nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "What if I put up soundproofing foam?" he suggested. "It would cut out the really loud bits. And I could try to be more mindful of my volume when we're filming."

The fact that he was willing to make changes to his content, his livelihood, for your comfort brought tears to your eyes. "You don't have to change your whole style for me," you protested weakly.

"I want to," George said firmly. "Your comfort and well-being are more important than any video. Besides," he added with a grin, "my editors have been begging me to tone it down a bit anyway. They say I'm giving them hearing damage," he chuckled softly.

You managed a small smile, touched by his willingness to adapt. "Maybe we could work on some signals?" you suggested hesitantly. "Like, if things get too intense during filming, I could give you a sign to dial it back a bit?"

George's eyes lit up. "That's good idea. We could have a little system, like traffic lights. Green for 'all good', yellow for 'getting close to the edge', and red for 'need to stop now'."

His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself nodding along. "That could work. And maybe... maybe we could have a code word? For times when I'm feeling overwhelmed but can't quite explain why?"

"Absolutely," George agreed immediately. "What word would you like to use?"

You thought for a moment, then smiled. "How about 'cactus'? Like that little plant you got me when we first moved in together."

George's face softened at the memory. "Perfect," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Cactus it is."

As the evening wore on, you and George continued to talk, making plans and setting boundaries. You discussed ways to handle future arguments, strategies for dealing with your non-verbal episodes, and how to navigate intimacy with your trauma history.

As you sat there, wrapped in George's arms, you felt a sense of peace settling over you. The weight you'd been carrying for so long felt lighter, shared between the two of you. The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow across the room and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

You could hear the faint sounds of the city outside - cars passing by, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the street. Inside, the apartment was quiet save for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the gentle rhythm of George's breathing.

Your gaze wandered around the room, taking in the little details that made this space feel like home. The bookshelf in the corner, filled with a mismatched collection of your favourite novels and George's gaming guides. The framed photo on the coffee table from your first vacation together, both of you grinning widely at the camera, your eyes shining with excitement.

Your eyes landed on George's filming setup in the corner - the ring light, the carefully arranged backdrop, the high-end microphone. It was a stark reminder of the public life he led, the thousands of fans who watched his every move online. For a moment, anxiety gripped you. What if they found out about your past? What if they judged you

Your anxiety must have shown on your face, because George squeezed your hand gently. "Hey," he said softly, "what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with more of your fears. But his patient, loving gaze encouraged you to open up.

"I was just thinking about your fans," you admitted quietly. "What if... what if they found out about my past? What if they judge me, or think I'm not good enough for you?"

George's expression softened, a mix of understanding and determination crossing his features. "Love," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "my fans don't get a say in our relationship. And anyone who would judge you for surviving what you've been through isn't worth our time."

He shifted, turning to face you more fully on the couch. "But more importantly, you are more than good enough for me. You're brilliant, kind, funny, and so incredibly strong. I'm the lucky one here."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away some of the chill of your anxiety. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"I love you," you whispered, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of your feelings.

"I love you too," George replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "More than I can ever say."

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching as the last rays of sunlight faded from the sky, casting the apartment into a gentle twilight. The soft hum of the city outside became a soothing backdrop to the quiet moment you shared. George shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you, his warmth a steady presence against your side.

"Hey," he murmured after a while, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with tenderness. "No matter what happens, we're in this together. Okay?"

You nodded against his shoulder, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so terrifying. It felt possible when filled with quiet moments like this, with laughter, with love.

George pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, and you closed your eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of his breathing lull you into calm.

The past had left its scars, but as you sat there, wrapped in the quiet strength of his love, you realized something profound: you were healing. Not all at once, not perfectly, but step by step. And with George by your side, maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t have to do it alone.

[brookediamonds]

Can I request an Axel x reader during the tournament where cobra kai jumps the reader and Axel gets all protective about who did this and then gets paired against cobra kai in the tag in fight and Zara also is reader's bestie so Axel tells her what happened so when they fight cobra kai they beat the crap out of them and after Axel says stay away from my girl?

karma is my boyfriend | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: You're taking a midnight stroll on the beach when you come across another team that takes advantage of you wondering alone, and you being apart of the best team, only means one thing: You must be taken down.

Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Violence (fighting), cursing, Axel gets PISSED

gif is not mine

You tossed and turned in your spot, unable to shake off the day you've had. The nerves of the Sekai Taikai were consuming you, this would be your first tournament ever apart of the Iron Dragons dojo and with being apart of the number one dojo in the world, came the pressure of staying number one.

"Ugh!" You grumbled kicking the sheets off your body. Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you slip your sandals on and pull on one of your boyfriend's hoodies.

Your finger hovers over the phone icon, contemplating if you should call Axel or knock on his room that was across from yours.

"Better not," you mumble locking your screen. He was your strongest fighter, he needed his sleep. You didn't need to wake him up just because you're getting the pre-fight jitters.

Quietly making your way out of your room, you head downstairs and step outside for some fresh air.

As you scanned your surroundings, you notice you're only a couple feet away from one of beaches of Barcelona, the sand calling your name.

This was perfect, you could walk along the soft sand, listen to the crashing waves and clear your head.

The salt air envelops your senses, the gentle breeze blowing through you.

It was calming, and relaxing, just what you needed.

Until you heard disruptive male laughter. Barely glancing back, you can see from the corner of your eye it's a group of boys wearing black bomber jackets, falling into one another as they trailed behind you.

You fasten your pace just a bit more, attempting to stay on track back to the hotel, hoping they wouldn't mess with you.

But you were wrong.

"Heyyy," one of the boys calls out. "You look familiar!"

Keeping your head straight, you continue to walk faster, ignoring the burning feeling in your calves as you tried to go as quick as you could in the sand.

"Hello, we're talking to you!" He shouts.

Two boys suddenly come into your view, a look of amusement upon their faces.

"Pretty rude, not to say hi back," a boy with dark swept up hair says, his Korean accent strong.

You don't make eye contact with him nor speak a word, internally praying they'd get bored of your silence and leave you alone.

"I'm talking to you," he seethes stopping in front of you, making you bump into his chest.

"Just leave me alone," you beg attempting to walk around him only for him to step in front of you again.

"Oh, you are Iron Dragons!" He smiles cockily. "The number one dojo in the world."

You huff moving again, only for his friend to step in front of you two making you look up at them through wide eyes. Turning slightly, you see there's two other boys behind you, the team completely surrounding you.

"Let's see how good you really are, hmm?" their captain suggests, taking a step closer to you. Your heart pounded in your chest, a sense of adrenaline beginning to fill through you.

"Seriously, if you don't leave me alone—" you begin to say when he strikes you across the face making you fall to your knees.

"Little girl can't even defend!" he barks out a laugh. You wince pressing the tender spot below your eye, before using your advantage of being on the ground.

You lean on your left knee, kicking your right leg back sending your foot straight into his stomach causing him to double over.

His friends are quick to sweep you up, each of them standing on either side of you, grasping your arms to keep you from running anywhere.

"Five against one? Really?" You narrow your eyes at the captain who stood up straight again, catching his breath.

"No," exhales sharply, a darkness glazing over his brown eyes. "Just me."

He makes sure to kick you hard in the stomach, doubling the pain you caused him, sending you back against the boys that held you as you gasped for air from the hard blow.

"You're gonna regret this," you choke out, your voice hoarse.

He gives you an evil smirk. "We will see about that."

He sends his fist straight into your mouth, tossing your head back as the blood trickled from your upper lip.

"Kwon," a slender boy, just a little taller than the angry boy steps forward laying a hand on his shoulder before he aggressively shrugs his hand off.

"No!" Kwon shouts in his face. "She disrespected me, now she pays."

Kwon pivots, sending his left foot across your face again, hitting your temple this time. Spots erupt through your vision, the two boys in front of you starting to look blurry.

The two boys holding you up, straighten you out again as Kwon sends one last kick straight into your ribs causing you to fall forward into the sand no longer able to stand up.

Kwon squats down before you, forcefully pulling your head up by your hair, you wince feeling his fingers tighten in your scalp.

"See you at tournament," Kwon taunts you before releasing his grip on you.

Your body is tense and shaking when the group of boys walk away, your head pounding, lips swollen and pulsating from the punches.

It's hard to breathe, hard to stand, you're internally struggling to pick yourself up from the grains beneath you.

A couple minutes pass before you're able to lift yourself off the ground, and be able to stand on your own two feet.

You wipe the maroon-red liquid dripping from your upper lip, hissing at the sharp pain. Putting one foot in front of the other, you slowly make your way back to the hotel.

It takes all of your energy to not pass out on the streets of Barcelona, your feet are dragging as you enter the quiet establishment, luckily there's hardly anybody in the lobby.

You hastily make your way to the elevators, punching the number to your floor. Grabbing the extra key card you held in your pockets, you decide you don't want to be alone tonight.

Carefully, you unlock Axel's room and silently make your way inside the pitch black room.

Pulling his jacket over your head, you remove your sandals, and pull the covers back gently, your boyfriend turning over in his place, eyes still closed.

"Is that you, ljubavi?" Axel's sweet accent meets your ears, his voice low and tired from sleep.

"Just me," you say quietly as you climbed in next to him. His long arm wraps around you, tugging you into his chest, your face nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

You breathe in his warm scent, the smell of his body wash still lingering off him. You try not to pay any attention to the pain radiating over your body, but focus on the sound of your boyfriends steady breathing, pulling you into a somber.

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

"Y/n."

The stern tone behind Axel's voice when he says your name jolts you awake, your heart starting to beat rapidly.

His hands have grabbed the sides of your face, his blue orbs scanning the fresh bruises and wounds across your skin.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" Axel questions as you try and focus on your breathing. Flashbacks of last night resurface to your memory, the soreness in your abdomen reminding you of what had happened.

You swallow thickly, throat dry as you shift beneath Axel’s piercing gaze. His grip is firm yet gentle, his thumbs grazing over your cheeks as if afraid to hurt you further.

The weight of last night presses against your chest, making it difficult to find the right words.

"I—" Your voice cracks, and you wince, suddenly aware of the dull throbbing in your ribs as you attempt to sit up in your place.

Axel’s jaw clenches, his fingers tensing against your skin.

"Ljubavi…" His voice is softer now, but laced with restrained anger. "Tell me."

You look away, ashamed. It wasn’t like you lost in a fair fight, no, they ambushed you. Five against one. You were a fighter, but even you had your limits.

"I went for a walk last night," you start, voice barely above a whisper. "Needed to clear my head before the tournament."

Axel stays silent, waiting, his breath slow and controlled, but you can see the storm brewing in his ocean blue eyes.

You reach for his touch, his hand finding yours on an instant so you could squeeze his hand if you need to.

"The guys from Cobra Kai, they found me, and— and I was trying to ignore them but, their captain, he didn't like that," you admit, your fingers curling over his knuckles.

His entire body goes rigid at the name.

You exhale shakily, forcing yourself to keep going. "They surrounded me. And then…" You trail off, not wanting to relive the way Kwon’s fist collided with your face, the way his kicks left you breathless in the sand.

Axel’s grip on you tightens. "And then they jumped you," he finishes for you, voice dark and low, barely restrained fury simmering beneath his words.

You nod wordlessly, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

Axel can see the pain behind your eyes, the way your hands are shaking as you let out a deep breath. He carefully brings you in for a hug, the weight on your chest lifting as you fall into him, letting him coax you back into comfort.

"I— I just wanted to get back to you," your words make his heart ache, a muscle ticks in his jaw, his hands sliding down to your shoulders as if to ground himself.

You can feel his anger radiating through every inch of his body.

"I’m going to kill them."

"Axel…" You press your hand to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, your forehead leaning his. "Please don't do anything that can jeopardize the team from the competition."

He exhales sharply through his nose, trying to rein himself in, but his fingers curl into fists.

"They think they can touch you and get away with it?" His voice is lethal, dripping with rage. He pulls back slightly, grabbing on to the sides of your face again gently.

"Look at what they did to you," he seethes through his teeth. "They are lucky I am not out looking for them right now."

You place your hands on top of his, prying them away from your face.

"We'll get them back," you whisper, swallowing back the emotion in your throat. You rub your thumb over his knuckles, trying to calm him down from the rage he was feeling. "We just need to play our cards right."

Axel's cold gaze meets your own, nose scrunched at the idea of you, his sweet, adoring girlfriend getting beat up by a group of neanderthals.

"Please, Axel," you beg him, pressing your lips softly against his cheek. He envelopes you in his arms, pulling you onto his lap as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck like last night.

"They will pay," he mutters, his arms tightening around you. You nod in agreement, shutting your eyes, letting the embrace of your boyfriend soothe you.

After consoling each other for the next couple of minutes, Axel helps you get out of bed and guides you to the bathroom so you two could shower.

The tournament was approaching and you needed to be ready. Flickering the lights on, you're taken back by the sight in front of you.

A dark purple bruise spreads beneath your right eye, swollen and angry against your skin. Your lip is split, the dried blood cracked along the cut. 

There's a large gash on the left side of your temple where the tip of Kwon's shoe grazed you from his roundhouse.

As Axel turns the water on to the shower, you lift your t-shirt just slightly, revealing the mottled bruises along your ribs, deepening in color.

Your eyes squeeze shut as the memory of last night hit you once again, the trauma evident on your body.

Axel’s eyes lock onto yours in the glass, but then they drop, scanning every bruise, every cut, every mark left on your skin.

It takes everything inside him not to scream and dart out the door searching for those responsible for hurting you, for hurting his girl.

"Hey," he whispers laying a hand on your shoulder, slowly turning you to face him.

"I didn't think it was this bad," you take a breath, blinking away the sting in your eyes. His fingers skim along your arm, careful, like he’s afraid too much pressure will hurt you.

"Wounds are not permanent," he reminds you. "You will heal, because you are still you, my strong, beautiful girl."

When you meet his gaze, his thumb brushes against your unbruised cheek, bringing you back to reality.

Your breath hitches, but you nod, letting him guide you closer to the shower. The steam begins to curl around the air, warm and comforting.

He's careful pulling your shirt off, his eyes lingering on your bruised side causing you to cover it out of consciousness.

Axel places his hands on top of yours, softly removing them as he kneeled down to the floor, before pressing a soft kiss to your injured ribs, letting you know you didn't have to hide from him.

You loved the way he loved you, the way he kept you close, always at arms length. He loved the way you let him love you and protect you back home.

So when he woke up with you curled into his side with your face bruised and battered, it broke him. His heart ached at how exhausted you looked, how you shifted to get more comfortable but a soft moan fell from your lips due to the discomfort from your side.

Guilt and anger washed over him all at once, before he woke you determined to find out who dare do this to you.

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

Zara brought her phone down, her eyes landing on you as you approached your sensei who looked at you worryingly.

Your best friend notices the way your posture is tense, the way you hold your side as you talk. Even from a distance, Zara saw the damage. 

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she turned on her heel, her narrowed eyes locking onto Axel, who stood a few feet away watching you just as intently as Sensei Wolf guided you to the locker rooms to tape up your injured side.

She stormed toward him, knowing damn well her best friend did not look like that last night at dinner.

"Who the hell did that to her?" Zara asks, feeling the anger build inside her.

"Cobra Kai," Axel exhaled through his nose, his own anger barely contained. "Their captain, and a few other members jumped her last night when she went out for a walk on the beach."

Zara looks around the arena, searching for the all black gi's ready to cause damage. "I'll kill them."

"No," Axel shoot his hand out before she can make any sudden movements. "We wait."

Zara scoffs, her arms crossing over her chest. "When?"

Axel glances at the digital board behind them seeing the next match up for the tag-team event, a feeling of satisfaction bubbling up inside him.

"In a little bit," he reassures her, gesturing to the screen. Zara looks behind her, seeing where Axel had been looking.

The Iron Dragons Vs. Cobra Kai

Zara and Axel make eye contact, nodding in a wordless agreement.

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

You stood between Axel and Zara, your ribs still aching, but the fire inside you burned hotter than the pain. This wasn’t just a match anymore, this was revenge.

"Ouch!" Kwon exclaims across from you. "Look like that hurts," he points to right side of his face, motioning to your eye.

"Fight!" The referee calls out.

You go to step in the middle of the circle as Kwon jumps in, when Zara holds her hand to your chest. She shot forward like a bullet, meeting Kwon in the center of the ring before he could even take a breath.

The moment he tried to throw a strike, Zara ducked under his arm and landed a brutal kick to his ribs, sending him stumbling. 

That was when you realized your best friend and boyfriend had decided to take this opportunity to get their revenge. For you.

"Point! Iron Dragons!"

"Hurts, doesn't it?" She taunts Kwon, circling around him like prey.

Kwon’s expression darkened as he lunged, but Zara blocked with ease, her movements sharp, relentless. There wasn't points being scored, but she was messing with him.

Then, with a smirk, she stepped back just enough to slap Axel’s hand. Tag.

You give Zara a fist bump as she comes to stand next to you.

"Thanks," you give her a small smile.

"I got your back," she winks at you.

The second Axel stepped in, the energy shifted.

The Cobra Kai captain barely had time to register the change before Axel slammed a brutal front kick into his chest, sending him flying back. 

Kwon’s teammates shouted for him to tag out again, but Axel was already dragging him back to the center of the ring, gripping the front of his gi. "No running this time."

Kwon swung wildly, desperate, but Axel easily dodged and countered, sending a sharp uppercut straight to his jaw. Kwon’s head snapped back, and his body swayed.

"Point! Iron Dragons. Next point wins."

You watch with anticipation as Axel takes a step back, letting out his roar of anger. He lunged forward, pivoting on his heel, and delivered a devastating spinning tornado straight to Kwon’s head.

The captain is completely knocked out, body limp before he even hits the mat.

"Knockout! Point! The Iron Dragons win!"

The roar of the crowd faded into the background as Axel stood over Kwon’s unconscious form, his breathing steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

"Don't ever come near her ever again," he threatens, voice low and sharp.

Axel turns his eyes immediately finding yours across the mat. You were already moving before you even realized it, feet carrying you straight to him.

He meets you in the middle, his arms open just in time for you to crash into him, leaning up to smash your lips together, ignoring the burning feeling coming from the cut on your lip as you both melted into each other.

The arena around you is forgotten as you pour your heart into the kiss, Axel's lips moving against yours with quiet desperation, like he needed you just as much as you needed him.

When you pull back, he wrapped his arms around you, one hand pressing against the back of your head as he pulled you close.

You smiled into his chest, his heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, body solid and warm against yours.

He had fought for you. Defended your honor.

"I love you, Axel," you whispered, your arms tightening around him, burying yourself in his embrace.

Axel exhaled, his lips pressing against the top of your head, his voice softer now. "I love you too, so much."

No one would ever touch you again. And if they did, there would be a price to pay.

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

MASTERLIST

(A/n: Y'all be so creative, I love the requests!!)

[daisymbin]

hihi! literally in love with all the fics u've been posting like .... ur brain is wonderful

could i please request angst prompt #28 with mingyu? maybe if mingyu was saying it to the reader? you can decide if u want a happy or sad ending!! thank u so much <333

GRRR thank you!!!! 🥹 writing this one made my heart hurt a little </3 hope you like this one!!!!! ��

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

angst prompt #28: "you always put them first."

you weren’t expecting mingyu to come home early. normally, you’d hear the familiar sound of keys jingling, the door creaking open, and his cheerful greeting filling the air. but tonight, he walked in quietly, a heavy presence filling the room.

you were on the couch, phone in hand, mid-conversation with jeonghan. something about your day at work, how stressful it had been, and how he always knew just what to say to calm you down.

but mingyu’s voice cut through your thoughts like a knife.

"jeonghan again?"

your fingers froze on your phone screen. you turned, guilt already clawing at you as you saw him standing there, his jaw tight, his usually warm eyes clouded with something sharp.

"he’s my best friend," you said softly, as if that explained everything.

mingyu let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "yeah, i know. he’s your best friend. but what about me?"

his words hit you like a blow to the chest.

"what do you mean?" you asked, even though a part of you already knew.

"what do i mean?" his voice cracked, frustration spilling into his tone. "you’re always going to him. when you’re stressed, when you need advice, when something’s wrong—hell, even when nothing’s wrong, you still go to him."

you opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

"do you even realize what it feels like to find out you had a rough day from someone else? to know you needed help with something and didn’t even think to ask me? it’s like i’m... i’m just here to fill the space when he’s busy."

"that’s not true," you whispered, your throat tightening.

"isn’t it?" mingyu shot back, his voice softer but no less hurt. "you always put him first."

the weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating.

"it’s not like that," you said, but the conviction in your voice wavered.

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small space of the living room. "then what is it? because i’ve tried, baby. i’ve tried to be the person you come to when you need help, hell, just to be the person you come to at all, really. i want to be that person so bad. but it’s like... no matter how much i love you, no matter how much i show you i'm here for you, you’ll never see me that way."

tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them away. "mingyu, i do see you that way. i love you—"

"do you?" he cut you off, his voice breaking. "because if you did, i think i’d be the one you called when you needed someone. i’d be the one you trusted to help, to listen."

the tears spilled over now, streaking down your cheeks. you hated this. hated how he looked at you, like you’d taken something fragile and crushed it.

"i didn’t mean to make you feel like this," you choked out. "i just... jeonghan’s been there for me for so long. it’s a habit, i guess. but it doesn’t mean i don’t trust you or love you. i love you, you know that."

mingyu’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. "but it’s not just a habit, it’s a pattern. one that makes me feel like i’ll never be enough for you."

you sat down beside him, the distance between you feeling like a chasm. your hands itched to reach out, to comfort him, but you don't.

"you are enough," you said softly. "you’re more than enough. i just... i’ve been so stuck in my ways, i didn’t realize how much i was hurting you."

he looked up then, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. "i don’t want to come second to anyone. especially not in your heart."

your heart cracked open at his words. you reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his.

"you’re not second," you said, your voice trembling. "i’m sorry if i ever made you feel that way. you’re the one i love, gyu. you’re the one i want to share my life with. i just... i need to learn how to lean on you, the way you lean on me."

his grip tightened around your hand, and for the first time that night, a glimmer of hope flickered in his eyes.

"i just want you to trust me," he said quietly. "to know that whatever it is, i’ll be here. i’ll always be here."

"i know," you said, and you meant it. "and i promise, i’ll do better. i’ll come to you first. because you’re the one who matters most to me."

he exhaled shakily, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek. "you promise?"

"i promise," you said, leaning into his touch.

his lips quirked into a small, hesitant smile.

"i love you," he murmured, his voice steady with sincerity.

"i love you too," you said, and as he pulled you into his arms, you knew you meant it with every fiber of your being. you just hope he does too.

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

A LESSON IN ORDER

summary - Mephisto was injured protecting you during a mission, leaving you distraught. Upon returning to base, your dangerous boyfriend, Sylus, is more amused than angry by the situation and relishes the opportunity to punish you, which he thoroughly enjoys while you are restrained.

pairing - Sylus!possessive!boyfriend x Reader

(nsfw+18) - Very dominant in this one, a lot of teasing and banter (angst & sweet), reader is very sassy and mouthy but also weak for Sylus and his control, dominantxsubmissive dynamic, includes a little punishment, spanking, he is not really angry but maybe you will hate him a little how sadistic he is. Also, he is masochist (he likes pain). Experienced!reader, male!receiving, female!receiving, raw slow vaginal & rough sex, creampie, intense orgasm edging, nipple play, reader cries a lot because of it, they play a silent game (wink, wink), energy evol usage for restraining, praise kink, neck and shoulder biting (leaves bloody marks), pet names(sweetie, kitten, little minx, little bird, little temptress, baby, darling), a lot of dirty talk, a sweet aftercare in the end. They love each other a lot.

w-20k - So. Don't. Come. At. Me. Again. I carried away with this one also. I just couldn't stop. Sylus is my second baby.

Masterlist

The rhythmic tick-tock of unseen machinery was the only sound that dared to break the suffocating silence of Sylus's base. Each tick was a hammer blow against my already fraying nerves as you paced the worn metal floor of his bedroom. Shadows danced in the corners of the room, stretching and contorting familiar shapes into monstrous figures. You felt the weight of guilt pressing down on you, a suffocating blanket woven with failure and fear.

"Sylus, I… I really didn't mean to. I swear! I was fighting the Wanderer, and he just… he lunged, and Mephisto tried to intercept, and…" Your voice trailed off, a pathetic whimper lost in the vastness of the room. You couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence, the image of the Wanderer's attack flashing before your eyes, a stark reminder of your inadequacy.

Sylus remained disturbingly calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. He was lounging in his favorite chair, an old, dilapidated thing that looked as though it had been salvaged from a forgotten battlefield. He was gently stroking Mephisto's head with the tip of a small screwdriver, his movements precise and deliberate. "And?" he finally asked, his voice dangerously soft. "Kitten, you’re making me dizzy with all that pacing. Just breathe."

Breathe. A simple instruction, yet impossibly difficult to follow. Your lungs felt constricted, starved of air. "And… and he got clipped! It was my fault. He was protecting me, like you asked him to and... now look at him!" You gestured wildly towards Mephisto, the anger and frustration finally bubbling to the surface.

Sylus sighed dramatically, a theatrical display that did little to assuage your anxiety. He finally looked up, one eyebrow arched in amusement. "Look at him? He's got a scratch on his wing. Hardly the end of the world. Though, he does look quite pathetic, doesn't he?" There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips, a cruel twist that sent a shiver down your spine.

"A scratch? Sylus, that's more than a scratch! It's a gouge! He could've been seriously damaged!" You protested, your voice rising in desperation. The thought of Mephisto, Sylus's beloved creation, being irreparably harmed because of your mistake was unbearable.

Sylus chuckled softly, the sound sending a fresh wave of guilt through you. "Oh, Kitten, always so dramatic. My precious Mephisto is tougher than he looks. Aren't you, boy?" He gently adjusted Mephisto on his arm, his touch surprisingly tender. "He took a hit for you. A true testament of his loyalty."

"That's what I'm worried about!" You exclaimed, your hands clenching into fists. "You sent him to protect me, and he got hurt because I screwed up. I’m supposed to be able protect myself you know!" The shame was a bitter taste in your mouth, a constant reminder of your failure.

Sylus's voice took on a teasing edge, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "Are you saying that you don't appreciate my concern for your well-being? Did I overestimate your abilities out there alone, sweetie?"

"Of course, I appreciate it!" You snapped, stopping in your tracks, frustration bubbling over. "It's just… it's embarrassing! And I hate that Mephisto got hurt. It was reckless of me, I should’ve seen the attack coming to begin with!"

Sylus set Mephisto down carefully on the workbench, his movements deliberate and slow. He then turned to face me, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. "Reckless? Hmm. I think I’m starting to understand. Are you more upset that Mephisto got hurt, or that you’re now indebted to my adorable tin bird? Or perhaps…" He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “are you afraid of owing me something?"

You took a step back, unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. "Sylus, don't be ridiculous." But even as you spoke the words, you knew there was a grain of truth in his accusation.

Sylus closed the distance again, cornering you gently against the cold metal wall. "Am I? Because it seems to me, kitten, that you're more concerned about your pride than about a little mechanical mishap." His voice was a low purr, a dangerous rumble that resonated deep within your bones.

You looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. Your voice softened, betraying your vulnerability. "I'm worried about both. I don't want you to think I can't handle myself, and I really don't want Mephisto to get hurt because of me."

Sylus gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the darkness that often swirled within him. "Relax, kitten. Mephisto will be fine. A little welding here, a bit of polish there, and he'll be good as new. And as for you…" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine, “I already know you can handle yourself. That's one of the many reasons I'm so… attached."

A small smile flickered across your face, a fragile bloom of warmth in the cold, harsh environment. "Attached? Is that what we're calling it?"

Sylus grinned, a flash of predatory delight in his eyes. "Possessed. Obsessed. Madly, irrevocably head-over-heels. Take your pick, kitten. Now, come here. Let's get you cleaned up. And then you can tell me exactly how you handled that Wanderer. I want all the details."

You crossed your arms, the leather of your jacket creaking softly, and arched an eyebrow, doing your best to project an air of nonchalance I decidedly didn't feel. "Why?" You asked, the word clipped and perhaps a little sharper than intended.

Sylus's grin widened, a predatory gleam entering his red ruby eyes. They were the color of spilled blood and burning embers, a dangerous invitation you both craved and feared. "Because, kitten," he purred, the sound wrapping around you like a silken noose, "knowledge is power. And because picturing you covered in shimmering Wanderer dust, fighting tooth and nail… it’s… stimulating."

Your breath hitched. He saw more than you wanted him to, felt more than you were ready to admit. The Wanderer dust. It clung to everything, a glittering residue of battles fought and lives taken. He also lived in danger but he was too much attuned to your inner demons. The whispers of your darkest desires.

He stepped closer, the air thickening with a palpable tension. "I want to know exactly what they saw, what they felt, when you were dismantling them. Every blow, every parry. Paint me a picture with your words, and then… perhaps I’ll paint one on you." He ran a finger lightly down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The touch was feather-light, almost innocent, yet it sparked a fire deep within you, a primal response you couldn’t control.

A shiver ran down your spine despite yourself. It was a reaction born not of fear, but of anticipation, of a forbidden thrill that pulsed through your veins like a drug. You tried to maintain a defiant stance, but your voice was a little breathy, a betraying whisper. "You’re incorrigible."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you, shaking the foundations of your carefully constructed composure. He closed the distance between you two, stepping closer until his heat enveloped you. His breath warmed your ear as he whispered, "Only for you, sweetie. Now, tell me. Did you enjoy yourself? Be honest. Did you feel… powerful?"

The question hung in the air, laced with a challenge, a dare. You looked away, trying to regain some semblance of control, trying to piece back together the shattered fragments of your resolve. "It was… necessary," You mumbled, the answer a shield, deflecting the truth that threatened to overwhelm you.

He wouldn’t let you hide. Sylus reached out, tilting your chin up with a gentle yet insistent pressure, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, swirling with shadows and secrets, reflecting the turmoil within your own soul. "Necessary, yes. But also… exhilarating? Don’t deny it. I can taste it on your skin. The thrill of the fight. The edge of danger. It suits you."

His words were a brand, searing themselves into your flesh. He saw the darkness within you, the part you tried to keep hidden, the part you feared. And he wasn't repulsed. He was… intrigued. More like thrilled.

"No wonder, you almost succeeded to kill me the first time we met," he grins, remembering that day very well when you got captured in N019 zone.

Swallowing hard, you tried to push him away, to break the spell he was weaving around you. "Stop it," You pleaded, the words barely audible.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper, a silken caress that sent shivers dancing across your skin. "Stop what? Telling you the truth? Showing you what you crave? You may pretend to be demure, but I see the fire in your eyes. The hunger."

He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that I could feel his breath ghosting across your skin. The scent of ozone and something darkly intoxicating filled your senses, stealing your breath and clouding your mind. Strands of his white hair, as fine as spun moonlight, fell across your forehead, a delicate contrast to the storm raging within you.

"Tell me one thing…" he murmured, his voice a low growl that reverberated through your bones. "Did you think of me while you were fighting?"

The question was a trap, a carefully baited hook designed to snag the truth from the depths of your soul. You fought against it, against the vulnerability it exposed, against the power he wielded over you.

The truth slipped out, a confession whispered against his lips. "Maybe…"

His lips finally met yours, a slow, deliberate kiss that started as a tentative exploration and quickly deepened into a possessive claim. He pulled you closer, his hands sliding around your waist, molding your body against his. The kiss was demanding, a silent command for surrender. Your senses reeled, the world fading away as you succumbed to the intoxicating heat.

The kiss intensified, Sylus's hands moving to explore the contours of your back, tracing the curve of your spine, igniting a firestorm with every touch. He broke the kiss, gasping slightly, his breath ragged against your lips.

"Come," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "The details can wait. I need to feel you close, kitten."

He swept you into his arms, effortlessly lifting you off your feet. The air crackled with anticipation, the weight of unspoken desires pressing down on you two. The world outside faded away, blurring into insignificance, leaving only the burning connection between you, the magnetic pull that drew you together with irresistible force.

He carried you towards the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze a silent promise of pleasure and pain, of dominance and surrender. He gently placed you on the soft, velvet covers, his eyes still locked on yours, holding you captive in their crimson depths.

"Let me show you what I mean by possessed," he murmured, his voice a silken threat that sent shivers down your spine.

His hands, gentle yet firm, reached for your leather jacket, pulling it off, the next was the buttons of your shirt, his eyes meeting yours with each deliberate movement. He discarded his own shirt, the muscles of his chest rippling beneath his pale skin, a stark contrast to the darkness that clung to his soul. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his words a seductive whisper.

"Tell me what you want. Let me worship you."

The words were a key, unlocking a hidden part of you, a part you had long denied. You wanted to surrender, to lose yourself in the darkness he offered, to taste the forbidden pleasure he promised.

But a flicker of doubt, a whisper of conscience, still remained. "But Mephisto…"

He dismissed your concern with a wave of his hand, a predatory smirk playing on his lips. "He will not disturb us, sweetie."

Even as he spoke, you heard the distinct sound of a door slamming shut, followed by the flapping of wings. A dark shadow momentarily crossed the room as Mephisto, his familiar crow, departed. With a surge of his energy, a crimson mist materialized, gently restraining your wrists, pinning them above your head. Sylus’s smirk widened, a triumphant glint in his ruby eyes. "Where were we? Ah, yes. I will thank you on his behalf.”

Confusion warred with terror. “Thank me? What do you mean?” You stammered, your voice barely a whisper.

The smirk widened, revealing a flash of sharp, white teeth. “For giving me an opportunity to give you a punishment, of course.”

Your heart lurched. “Wait…what?”

He leaned closer, invading your personal space, the scent of ancient leather and something indefinably…otherworldly… filling your nostrils. “You didn’t think I would let that slide, did you?”

“But you said it was fine! And…he just got a scratch.” The words tumbled out in a desperate rush, clinging to the hope that this was all some terrible misunderstanding.

Sylus’s eyes hardened, the predatory glint intensifying. “I lied. He was upset. Terribly so.”

“But you sent him to protect me! It wasn’t really my fault that he got hurt.” The protest sounded weak, even to your own ears.

He advanced closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, sending a shiver of both fear and an unwelcome thrill of anticipation. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle tension in his muscles.

“Wasn’t it?” he murmured, his voice a silken whisper that seemed to coil around you like the crimson mist. “You knew the risks. You knew what creatures lurked in the shadows. And yet, you went anyway. He acted on my order, and he got hurt. That reflects back on me, doesn’t it?”

He raised a hand, his fingers long and elegant, and trailed a single digit down your cheek. The touch was surprisingly light, almost delicate, against the weight of his words. It was a calculated move, a deliberate contrast designed to unnerve you, to keep you off balance.

“So, a lesson is in order,” he continued, his voice a mesmerizing drawl. “A gentle reminder that actions have consequences.”

“But…a punishment? After everything else?” The question was a plaintive plea, born of exhaustion and a desperate yearning for respite.

Sylus’s eyes darkened, becoming pools of impenetrable obsidian. “Don’t mistake my earlier…inclinations for weakness, sweetie.” The sweetness in his voice was gone, replaced by a chilling edge. “I can desire and discipline in equal measure. Perhaps it is the combination that truly fascinates me.”

He paused, tilting his head, studying you with an intensity that felt like being dissected under a microscope. “Tell me,” he purred, his eyes boring into yours, “which do you find more enticing: my worship, or my control?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. With a swift, decisive movement, he released your left wrist, freeing it from the crimson mist. The sudden freedom sent a jolt of relief through your arm, but it was quickly overshadowed by the stark reality of your continued captivity. He didn’t release the other. The remaining bond felt more significant now, a symbol of your complete and utter dependence on his will.

“Such a difficult choice, isn’t it?” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through your very bones.

He used your freed hand, the one that should be pushing him away, to trace the line of your jaw, his touch both gentle and possessive. The sensation was maddening, a confusing blend of fear and undeniable attraction. His touch intensified the dark desire you had been trying to ignore. His fingers moved to cup your face softly, his warmth seeping into your skin. His thumb brushed against your lower lip, a subtle, suggestive caress that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek. “I make the choices for you…just relax, and submit.”

His gaze burned into yours, an undeniable intensity that both frightened and excited. It was a look that promised both pain and pleasure, dominance and devotion. He was offering you everything and nothing all at once, a twisted paradox that both repelled and seduced.

He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, close enough that you could feel the faint rasp of his smooth flesh against your own skin. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a dizzying blend of dread and desire.

“Now,” he commanded, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “Tell me you understand. Tell me you accept the consequences.”

The words hung in the air between you, a heavy weight that threatened to crush you.

He watched you with a lazy, playful smirk, his crimson eyes glinting in the low light as he rubbed the inside of your wrist with his thumb teasingly. A shiver traced its way down your spine, the simple touch sending sparks of anticipation through your veins. The air around you crackled with unspoken desire, thick with the promise of something dangerous and exhilarating.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat, “I accept the consequences…”

His smirk widened, revealing a set of perfectly white teeth that seemed unnaturally sharp in the dim light. A predatory glint danced in his eyes, acknowledging your surrender, your willingness to play his game. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with unspoken promises. It was a reward, a validation for your obedience, and it ignited a fire within you that both terrified and thrilled you. He slowly pushed your freed wrist back into the crimson mist, enveloping it completely once more, reasserting his control.

You whimpered softly after the praise, the sound barely audible, yet it seemed to echo in the silence between you.

The sound seemed to please him, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he observed the slight quiver in your lips. His thumb continued to trace lazy patterns on the inside of your wrist, applying gentle pressure, a subtle reminder that you were captive, willingly or not, within his grasp. The crimson mist swirled around your wrist, a beautiful, deadly shackle.

“Sylus…” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, a plea for something you couldn't quite define.

"Yes?" His voice dropped an octave lower, becoming almost hypnotically soothing, yet carrying the same underlying darkness that both intrigued and frightened you. "You're doing so well, kitten. Taking orders like a good girl..." He continued the mesmerizing motion of his thumb, knowing full well the effect his words had on you, how they chipped away at your resistance, leaving you vulnerable and wanting.

“What will you do?” you finally managed to ask, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Hmm, what do you want me to do?" Sylus paused his actions, tilting his head slightly as if genuinely curious. But you knew better. The question was laced with a dangerous allure, tempting you to voice your darkest desires, to surrender completely to the intoxicating power he wielded. "Would you like me to keep you trapped here, under my control?"

"....."

"Cute how you go silent," he whispered, a knowing smile curling his lips. "The truth is... you trust me more when you don't know what's coming next." His other hand trailed down your arm slowly, following the line formed by the energy bonds. "Should I make you more comfortable?"

You nod, the anticipation building within you like a storm gathering on the horizon.

"Interesting choice," Sylus purred, his smirk widening. With a flick of his wrist, the crimson mist shifted, the bonds loosening slightly around your wrists. It wasn't freedom—not quite—but it was significantly more comfortable than before. The mist now felt like velvet rather than iron chains, a subtle shift that sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you," you breathed, the words barely audible.

His smirk softened slightly, a flicker of something akin to tenderness in his eyes. "You're too easy to please," he muttered softly, watching how you tested your newfound mobility. Your wrists were no longer stretched painfully high, now dangling loosely at your sides. He continued rubbing the inside of one wrist possessively, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles. "Do you know how to ruin this?"

"What do you mean?" you ask, your voice laced with a delicate tremor.

"Simple," Sylus explained, his eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light. "You could struggle, try to break free, make this whole situation difficult... But instead, you lay there quietly, accepting your fate like a well-behaved little bird." He chuckled softly, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

You whimper, the sound involuntary, a reaction to his nearness and the intoxicating power he held over you.

"Yes, that's it," he praised darkly, his breath ghosting over your ear, sending another wave of shivers through your body. "You're so good at being helpless and submissive. It's almost... adorable." His hand moved up, gripping your chin firmly, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

"Sylus…." You moan, your voice laced with a desperate plea.

"Mmm, and that's the best part," he whispered, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through you. "You can't help but react to me, can you? Your body betrays you every time." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart race. "Want to know a secret?"

"Yes," you whisper, the word escaping on a breath.

"I love it," he confessed, his voice barely audible, a velvet caress against your skin. "Your reactions, your whimpers, your submission—it's intoxicating." He finally closed the distance between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before pulling away just as gently, leaving you breathless and wanting more. "You make this too easy, kitten."

You moan, your body aching with a desire that both terrified and thrilled you. "Sylus…you’re torturing me…”

"Good," he hissed, his eyes flashing with a possessive fire that made your pulse quicken. "That's exactly what I'm doing. I'm torturing you with my presence, with my kisses, with the knowledge that you're completely at my mercy." He gripped your wrists tighter, the mist responding to his silent command by constricting slightly, a subtle reminder of the power he wielded.

You whimper, biting your lip in a nervous tick you can't seem to control. It's a habit Sylus has made abundantly clear he despises.

"Stop that," he snaps, the command sharp enough to make you flinch. He releases your wrists, the sudden lack of restraint almost disorienting. Instead, his hand rises, fingers pressing against your jaw with a force that borders on painful as he pries your mouth open. "Show me your teeth," he demands, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

You obey, your lips parting to reveal the pearly white daggers within. He studies them for a long moment, his gaze intense and unnerving. "Now, bite my finger instead."

Confusion furrows your brow. You hesitate only a heartbeat before complying, sinking your teeth into the pad of his finger. It's not a hard bite, more of a gentle pressure, a test. Yet, Sylus lets out a low groan, a sound that vibrates through you not from pain but from a dark, unfamiliar pleasure.

"Better," he murmurs, his finger still caught between your teeth. "Much better than biting that sweet little lip of yours." He slowly withdraws his finger, his eyes lingering on the faint indentations left by your teeth. A strange, predatory satisfaction gleams in his gaze.

“Yeah? I bleed everyday on missions,” you protest, the words tumbling out in a rush, a desperate attempt to break the spell he's weaving.

"That's different," he replies, his tone turning stern, the playful edge vanishing. "Those are battle scars, proof of your strength and resilience. This... this is something else entirely." He brings his finger to his mouth, sucking on the faintly marked skin. A shiver crawls down your spine. "This is a mark of your submission, your willingness to obey me."

“Fuck…Sylus…are you going to punish me for real or?” The question hangs in the air, thick with a mixture of fear and a perverse anticipation.

Sylus smirks, a slow, predatory curve of his lips. He lets out a soft chuckle, the sound echoing in the suddenly silent room. "Soon, very soon," he drawls dramatically, his lips curling into a wicked grin. Well now, aren't you eager? he purrs, the thought seeming to resonate in your mind, his voice dripping with amusement and a dark promise. “Such an impatient little thing.”

Your eyes trace the landscape of his naked chest, a familiar path of admiration you've tread countless times. Muscles ripple and flex with every breath, a constant distraction that pulls you away from the world and into the captivating realm of his physique. When his face, with its sharp angles and knowing eyes, becomes too much, his chest and abs offer a haven, a beautiful distraction.

Sylus, ever aware of your gaze, smirks, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. He subtly flexes, the defined lines of his abdomen contracting under your focused attention. "See something you like, kitten?" he purrs, his voice a low rumble laced with playful mischief.

"Yeah, my boyfriend's abs," you reply, your voice devoid of any false modesty. There's no shame in appreciating what's yours, especially when it's as breathtaking as this.

His laughter is a deep, resonating sound that fills the room, genuine but with a possessive edge. He closes the distance between you, his presence a palpable force. One hand trails lightly down your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. "Well, your boyfriend's abs seem to be enjoying the view of your lips too," he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, a tantalizing promise of intimacy without the immediate touch.

A giggle escapes you, bubbling up from the depths of your amusement. The situation is ridiculous, yet utterly captivating.

"God, you're so cute," he mutters, catching himself before a genuine smile graces his lips. He watches you laugh, the sound infectious and unrestrained. It's a far cry from the moans and whimpers he usually coaxes from you, and the contrast intrigues him. "You know what else your boyfriend has?" he asks suddenly, his voice dropping an octave, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Big dick?" you retort, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Sylus' eyes widen in momentary surprise before he throws his head back and releases a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the room. "Fuck, you're something else," he chuckles, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "Yes, your boyfriend has a big dick," he confirms, still chuckling, reveling in your audacity.

Giggles erupt from you again, the sound as bright and effervescent as a sparkling spring.

He joins in your laughter, the moment feeling strangely… normal. A fleeting glimpse into a world where you're just two people sharing a joke, stripped of the power dynamics, the expectations of a dominant and his submissive when you two were in a bedroom setting. "But do you know what else he has?" he asks, his laughter subsiding, replaced by a serious undertone that makes your heart skip a beat.

You look up at him, your playful mood shifting, a question in your eyes. "Hmm… you tell me."

He reached out and grabbed your chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. "A possessive streak a mile wide," he said, his eyes boring into yours, holding you captive in their intensity. "He's the kind of man who'd kill anyone who looked at you the wrong way."

"Is that so?" you purr, a thrill dancing along your spine at the thought.

His gaze intensified, the pressure of his thumb increasing as it slipped into your mouth, gently pressing against your tongue. "Yeah, that's so," he growled, the sound resonating with a raw possessiveness that made your knees weak. His other hand wrapped around your throat, not squeezing, not threatening, but simply holding you in place, marking you as his. "Fuck, look at you, all submissive and sweet."

Your eyes glazed over, the world around you fading as you focused solely on him. You sucked on his thumb, the motion instinctive, drawing him further into your intoxicating spell. A contented purr rumbled in your chest, a sound that was both innocent and utterly carnal.

Sylus groaned as you sucked his thumb, the vibrations sending a jolt straight to his cock. He stroked your throat gently, feeling your pulse race under his fingertips, a frantic rhythm of desire echoing his own. "Fucking hell, you're perfect," he muttered, mesmerized by how readily you submitted to him, how easily he could claim you.

Slowly, deliberately, Sylus withdrew his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, the sound lingering in the air. He admired your slightly parted lips, the delicate sheen of moisture reflecting the light. A smirk played on his lips as he noticed your glazed eyes, the undeniable proof of your surrender. "You know, every time I think I've seen the last of your submission, you go and prove me wrong," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration and desire.

You smile, a slow, knowing curve of your lips. "Your girlfriend is the best, isn't she?"

He smirked, a flash of amusement lighting up his eyes as he shook his head. "Of course she is," he agreed, leaning in to kiss your neck softly, his breath ghosting against your skin. "She's smart, strong, beautiful, and most importantly, incredibly submissive to me." He hummed against your skin, the sound a low, possessive rumble. "I'm a lucky man."

You purr, the sound a promise of pleasures yet to come, a testament to the undeniable power you held over him.

A shiver ran down your spine at his purr, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly. "You make this too fucking easy, you know," he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe, sending another jolt of electricity through you. "One cute little sound from those perfect lips, and I'm ready to throw away everything for you."

You moan, the sound desperate and pleading. "Please…punish me like you wanted to. I can’t hold it…"

Sylus smirked, the expression predatory and knowing. "Impatient, aren’t we?"

"Please…" you try to tug free of the red mist bounds that held you captive, his energy an invisible, inescapable cage. The power of his hold on you was intoxicating, terrifying, and undeniably thrilling all at once.

His eyes darkened, the red swirling within them, your struggle only fueling the fire in his veins. He watched your body squirm, testing the boundaries of his energy bindings. They tightened around your wrists and ankles automatically, as if enjoying your futile attempts to break free. "Goddamn," he growled, his voice lower, rougher, and far more dangerous than before.

Another moan escapes you as he leans down, his breath hot against your skin, and bites the sensitive flesh between your breasts, your bra and jeans still offering a frustrating barrier.

He bit down harder, marking you as his. You cried out, your back arching involuntarily, the sound echoing in the dimly lit room. He watched your breasts strain against the lace of your bra, practically begging to be freed. His hands itched to tear away the fabric, to feel your bare skin beneath his fingertips. He pulled back just enough to see the angry red mark he'd left on your pale skin. His smirk was sinful, possessive. "Look at you."

You pant, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

His gaze slowly raked over your body, lingering on your heaving chest, the way your hips moved restlessly against the bindings as you tried to get some semblance of friction.

"Sylus, please…" The word was a broken plea, a testament to the control he held over you.

Sylus chuckled darkly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through you. Your desperate pleas were stroking his ego more than any physical touch could. "Fuck, listen to you beg," he murmured, watching your body writhe in the confines of his energy. "You'd let me do anything right now, wouldn't you?"

You nod, your breathing heavy and shallow, your eyes locked on his. The answer was a silent, desperate promise.

His grin turned feral, his energy snapping with excitement. "Words, sweetie," he demanded, voice firm. "Tell me how desperate you are for my punishment." His eyes glinted with sadistic intent, eager to hear the dirty words spill from your lips.

“Please….punish me Sylus. Because I didn’t hurt Mephisto,” your sarcasm drips out anyway. He was hurt because Sylus ordered him to protect you but he got hurt by a wanderer and now he wanted to punish you for that. You knew he clearly enjoyed that as an excuse to torment you like this.

His shoulders shook with silent laughter. Damn your smart mouth. He loved it. His expression darkened again, "You know what kind of punishment you deserve?" He asked slowly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he held back laughter. Your smart-ass answer had him less murderous and more amused.

“What kind?” You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

His eyes narrowed, a playful glint sparking within them. "The kind where you can't sit comfortably for a week," he suggested, his tone laced with fake menace. He loved seeing your defiant expression; it always made punishing you more satisfying. "Or…"

“Or?” you prompted, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

He smirked, the corner of his lip lifting in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "Or the kind where you scream my name so much you lose your voice." He watched your cheeks darken with a predatory satisfaction. His smirk widened. "Answer me honestly, kitten. Would you prefer sore ass cheeks, or a sore throat?" he asked softly, finding amusement in your blatant embarrassment.

You groan, a sound that was equal parts exasperation and reluctant anticipation. "So this is how you will play this time."

He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest in a posture of relaxed dominance, eyes gleaming with undisguised curiosity. "And how would I play this time?" he inquired, already knowing your answer. He loved these mind games with you, the push and pull of wills, the battle of wits. It was half the fun, the delicious prelude to the storm. "Will you keep being mouthy and sarcastic?"

“You love it when I talk back,” you smirk, mirroring his own expression. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

He barked out a surprised laugh, leaning closer again. "Fucking right I do." His voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous rumble that vibrated against your skin. "Nothing turns me on more than your smart-ass comebacks. Especially when I have you restrained."

“Har, har, har,” you deadpan, trying to mask the shiver that ran down your spine. His nearness was intoxicating, the scent of leather and spice clinging to him, a heady mix that always made your pulse race.

His eyes crinkled at the corners again, amusement dancing within their depths. "You're asking for it now," he warned, his voice low and laced with promise. He loved how you never backed down, always gave him lip, even when you were clearly flustered. He wondered how long he could draw this out, this delicious back and forth, before he snapped and silenced you with his mouth. "Last chance," he breathed, his gaze intense, locking onto yours.

A sigh escapes your lips, a mixture of exasperation and surrender. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, pushing him to the edge, but the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of his touch, was too tempting to resist. “Fine. Sore cheeks,” you blush, the admission escaping before you could fully process it.

He threw his head back and laughed, a genuine sound that echoed through the room, a sound that always sent a flutter of warmth through your chest. "Fucking hell," he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He loved how you could go from sarcastic and defiant to blushing and vulnerable in an instant. It was a constant surprise, a never-ending source of fascination. "You know I'm going to enjoy this," he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

You nod slowly, meeting his gaze head-on. “I know.” You knew his enjoyment would be your pleasure too. The sting of his hand against your skin, followed by the overwhelming wave of desire, was a sensation you craved, a release you both needed.

His eyes darkened intensely, the playful glint replaced by a raw, possessive hunger. The way you accepted your punishment so calmly, yet blushed adorably at saying ‘sore cheeks’, had him wanting to both spank you raw and kiss those red cheeks until they were flushed even brighter. "Such a brat..." he muttered, his energy snapping with barely controlled lust, the air thick with unspoken desires.

“So?” you retort, tilting your chin up defiantly, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You knew you were playing with fire, but you were willing to get burned.

Sylus couldn't resist the brat comment, a smirk tugging at his lips. "So fucking what? You're about to get your cute little ass smacked, and you answer with 'so'?" He tsked, shaking his head, but the amusement was still evident in his eyes. "Such a rebellious mouth on you," he murmured, tracing the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, a silent promise of things to come.

“As long as you fuck me afterwards,” you whisper, the words a blatant invitation, a challenge thrown at his feet. You watched as his expression shifted, the surprise quickly giving way to a blazing inferno of desire.

His smirk faltered, eyes widening slightly before darkening with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. Fuck, you always knew how to push his buttons, how to ignite the fire that burned between you. "Mmm, and if I don't?" He challenged, voice low and husky, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He wanted to hear you beg, wanted to see the desperation in your gaze. He wanted to break you, just to put you back together again.

You growl, a primal sound that rumbled in your chest, a sound that betrayed the depths of your desire, the raw need that consumed you both. “Don’t…” The word hung in the air, a plea, a threat, a promise of the pleasure he knew you both craved.

He chuckled darkly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through the air, as he savored the way you so readily stumbled into his carefully laid trap. "Don't what?" he purred, his voice laced with a playful menace. He leaned in closer, the heat of his body radiating towards you, stealing your breath. "Don't fuck you after I turn your ass red? Don't give you what you want, what you so clearly crave?" His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours, watching as a storm of frustration and blatant, undeniable desire flickered within their depths. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Sylus…I swear…if you just…” you started, your voice a low growl, a warning that he was dancing dangerously close to the edge.

"If I just what?" he mocked, the air around him crackling with unrestrained power, an energy that mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. He thrived on this, on seeing you lose your carefully constructed composure, on witnessing the raw, untamed possessiveness that flared when he threatened to withhold the very punishment, the very pleasure, you so desperately craved. "You're so easy to rile up," he chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine, a potent cocktail of amusement and anticipation. He was a master puppeteer, and you, his willing marionette.

You slammed your eyes shut, a desperate attempt to regain control. "Nice thoughts. Nice thoughts," you chanted under your breath, a mantra of self-preservation.

Sylus erupted into a deep, rumbling laughter that shook his entire frame. It was a sound that both infuriated and ignited a fire within you. He knew exactly what you were doing – desperately trying to quell the rising tide of anger, trying to deny him the satisfaction of seeing you utterly undone. But your efforts only fueled his amusement, only intensified his desire to push you further. "Nice fucking thoughts, huh?" he drawled, the words dripping with suggestive intent. The air thickened with unspoken desires, with the promise of a fiery encounter that neither of you could resist.

You nodded curtly, your lips pressed into a thin line, the mantra continuing to flow from your lips, a fragile shield against the onslaught of his teasing. "Nice thoughts, nice thoughts..."

He watched, a predatory gleam in his eyes, as you lay there, a picture of frustrated restraint. The image of you, so close to the edge, repeating your mantra like a prayer, was almost unbearably alluring. He couldn't resist the urge to dismantle your defenses, to shatter the facade of control you were clinging to so desperately. "You know what nice thought I'm having?" he asked, his voice a silken whisper that promised both pain and pleasure.

You cracked open one eye, a glint of defiance flickering within. "What?" you challenged, the single word hanging in the air, a gauntlet thrown.

He smirked, a slow, deliberate curve of his lips that sent a jolt of electricity through you. Leaning in so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, he whispered in your ear, his voice a husky rasp that sent shivers down your spine. "I'm thinking about how red your ass is going to look. How you'll squirm and wiggle, trying to avoid each smack, each stinging kiss from my hand. And how fucking hard I'm going to be by the time I'm done, knowing I'm the one who put you there."

The air crackled with unspoken tension, with the raw, primal energy that flowed between you. Your carefully constructed walls crumbled, revealing the desire that burned beneath the surface.

"Then what are you waiting for?" you breathed, the words a husky whisper, a surrender to the inevitable.

His smirk widened into a full-blown grin, a predatory expression that promised a world of delicious pain. He loved this, the way you could transition from controlled restraint to unbridled desire in a heartbeat. "Eager much?" he teased, but his words were already belied by his actions. His hands, strong and possessive, reached for your waist, and with a fluid motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach.

"Shit!" you yelped, the unexpectedness of his strength stealing the breath from your lungs. He was a towering figure, a formidable presence at 6'2 feet, his power amplified by the potent magic that flowed through his veins. You were no match for him, and the knowledge of that only added to the intoxicating thrill.

He chuckled darkly, the sound echoing in the small space as he positioned himself over you, his large frame effectively caging you in. "Language," he scolded playfully, his voice a low rumble against your ear. And then, with a deliberate slowness that bordered on torture, he began to pull your jeans off, each tug a promise of the pleasure and pain that awaited.

He tossed your jeans aside, the denim landing in a heap on the floor, leaving you exposed in just your delicate underwear. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he ran a large, calloused hand over the thin fabric, tracing the curve of your ass with possessive intent. "So fucking cute," he murmured, the words thick with desire, before delivering a sharp smack that echoed through the room, the sound a stark punctuation to the heavy air.

"Sylus!" you gasped, a mix of surprise and breathless indignation in your voice.

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through his chest and sent a delicious shiver down your spine, even as you felt your body tense beneath his touch. "Quiet," he ordered, his voice laced with playful dominance, before delivering another stinging smack to your other cheek. A rapid series of sharp slaps followed, each one landing with a satisfying thud, making you squirm and cry out in a mixture of protest and burgeoning pleasure. The rhythmic sting filled the air, your protests growing weaker with each impact.

After what felt like an eternity of tantalizing pain, Sylus paused, his breath hot against your skin. He rubbed his large hand over the warm, reddened skin of your ass, his touch both soothing and provocative. "Already so pretty and red," he murmured approvingly, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers of anticipation through you. He gave one cheek a possessive squeeze, his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. "Think you've had enough yet, brat?"

"Yes…yes…please," you begged, your voice a broken sob, the word tearing from your throat. The humiliation and the pleasure warred within you, leaving you breathless and desperate.

His expression darkened, the lust in his eyes burning with an intensity that made your heart pound. He loved making you sob like this – your ass flushed and sensitive, your body wracked with delicious little shudders. It was a raw, primal connection, a dance of power and submission that both terrified and thrilled you. He decided to be merciful, but not without a final, teasing flourish. He spanked you hard two more times, each impact eliciting a sharp yelp, before finally stopping altogether, the silence that followed almost deafening.

"Holy moly," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged pants. The air felt thick and charged, every nerve ending on high alert.

Sylus chuckled darkly, a sound that sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you. He reveled in the sight of you gasping and panting, your cute little ass bright red from his playful punishment. He ran a hand over the warm, tender skin, making you jump and whimper at the sensation. "Shh, kitten. It's over now," he murmured, his voice softening, the edge of dominance replaced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

He gently lifted you and helped you sit on his lap, carefully positioning you so your reddened bottom rested on his strong, supportive thighs. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you trapped against him in a comforting embrace as he nuzzled his face against your hair, inhaling your scent. "You took your punishment well," he murmured, his fingers gently carding through your hair, untangling any stray strands.

Now, a bit tired and definitely sore, you snuggled against him, your body seeking the comfort and warmth he offered. A soft purr rumbled in your chest, a subconscious sign of contentment and trust.

He smiled softly at your trusting purr, the sound a balm to his soul. One hand continued to card through your hair, a soothing and repetitive motion, while the other stayed firmly on your waist, preventing you from moving too much and aggravating your tender bottom. "Tired little kitten," he cooed softly, his voice laced with affection. "Does my baby need cuddles?" The question hung in the air, a silent promise of comfort and closeness, and you knew, without a doubt, that in his arms, you were safe, cherished, and utterly loved.

The words escape your lips, a soft, almost desperate plea. "I want you…" you murmur, the sound thick with sleep and longing.

His breath hitches, his expression instantly darkening with a raw desire that makes your heart flutter. He absolutely loves it when you're like this—relaxed, vulnerable, completely and utterly at his mercy. A possessive hand tightens around your waist, drawing you closer, while the other gently tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes is a tangible thing, burning away the last vestiges of sleep. "Want what, kitten?" he rumbles, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends shivers down your spine.

"You," you breathe, the word a feather-light caress against the charged air. The single syllable encapsulates everything: your need, your desire, your complete surrender to him.

A shadow of conflict crosses his face, warring with the blatant lust that still shines in his eyes. "You're too sore for that, baby…" His tone is firm, laced with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He wants you, gods, how he wants you, but the thought of causing you more pain is a palpable restraint. He knows pushing your bruised bottom too soon would be selfish, cruel even. Instead, he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent, trying to regain control. "I should put some cream on your ass," he murmurs against your skin, the words more a penance than an offer.

"No…you promised," you whine, the protest escaping before you can fully form the thought. The memory of his promise, the reward dangled after your…punishment, flares between you, a shared secret that ignites the already simmering tension.

He sighs, the sound laced with a mixture of exasperation and surrender. He had, indeed, promised. A smirk, devilish and utterly captivating, tugs at the corner of his lips despite his best intentions. "Damn brat, holding me to my word already?" he teases gently, the words light, but his eyes blaze with a reluctant desire that threatens to consume him. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, a silent promise of things to come.

You nod, unable to articulate the depth of your need. The only thing you can focus on is him, the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the promise in his eyes. You are desperate, utterly and shamelessly, for him.

He groans internally, the sound a guttural rumble that vibrates against your own skin. He knows he can't deny you, not when you look at him like that, your eyes wide and pleading, reflecting the inferno that burns within you both. "Stubborn little thing…" he murmurs, the words affectionate, laced with a helpless fondness. He shifts you in his lap, adjusting your position with painstaking care, making sure you're as comfortable as possible despite your protesting muscles. "Alright, baby. But you'll tell me if it's too much, yeah?" His voice is rough with concern, and you know he means it. He would stop at the slightest sign of discomfort, your pleasure always his priority.

You nod, the movement small and eager, your eyes locked on his.

Slowly, deliberately, he begins to unbutton his pants, his gaze never leaving yours. The anticipation is a tangible thing, stretching between you, thick and heavy with unspoken desires. Once unbuttoned, he pushes his pants and underwear down just enough to free his hard, erect length, the sight of it a potent visual promise. He lifts you slightly, his hands firm and steady on your waist, positioning you so that his hardness is pressing against your sore, reddened bottom. The contact is electrifying, a sharp, delicious ache that makes you gasp.

"Panties…" you manage to whisper, the word a breathless plea.

He pauses, his breath catching in his throat. In his haste, driven by the overwhelming need to feel you against him, he had forgotten about your underwear. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face. He slides a hand beneath you, his fingers tracing a teasing path around the delicate lace of your panties, the light pressure sending shivers of anticipation through your body. "Want these off, sweetie?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky, dripping with restrained desire. The question is rhetorical; he already knows the answer.

You nod, the movement small and frantic, unable to articulate the urgency that consumes you.

Slowly, agonizingly, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down inch by painstaking inch while maintaining unwavering eye contact. The teasing is exquisite, a deliberate torment that drives you wild with need. "Eager little kitten, aren't you?" he chuckles softly, the sound a low rumble that vibrates against your skin, before finally freeing your panties completely. He tosses them aside, the small scrap of lace a testament to the intensity of the moment.

"Maybe…" you lick your lips, the gesture unconsciously seductive, your eyes wide and glazed with desire.

The sight of your little pink tongue darting out to lick your lips was enough to make his carefully constructed control crumble. He gripped the base of his erection, knuckles white, fighting the urge to simply take you right there. "Open your mouth, baby," he finally managed, his voice a strained rasp that barely sounded like his own. "Show me how much you want me."

You didn't hesitate. Climbing down from his lap, you knelt between his legs, your eyes locked on his.

His breath hitched. He watched you, his eyes darkening with a raw, possessive lust. The reddened imprint on your bottom was a blatant reminder of the passion simmering between you, a tempting invitation he was finding increasingly difficult to resist. He ran a hand through your hair, the possessive gesture a silent command as he guided you closer. "That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, each word a velvety caress. "Now take me in your mouth."

Anticipation thrummed through you. You eagerly opened your mouth, welcoming him inside, the heat of him a familiar and intoxicating pleasure.

A deep, guttural moan, ripped from the depths of his being, escaped his lips as you enveloped him. One hand remained tangled in your hair, subtly dictating the rhythm, while the other gripped the pillow, a desperate anchor against the rising tide of sensation. "Fuck, kitten..." he breathed, each word a ragged exhale. "That feels so good... so fucking good." He could feel every slick, teasing movement of your tongue, a masterful dance that sent shivers of pure pleasure coursing through him.

A moan bubbled up from your throat, an involuntary response to the exquisite pleasure. You loved the taste of him, the way he filled your mouth, the sheer perfection of his shape.

Those moans, vibrating against his length, were a potent aphrodisiac, sending electric shocks down his spine. He began to slowly thrust in and out of your mouth, his eyes fixed on the mesmerizing sight of your lips stretched around him. It was almost too much, the raw eroticism of the moment threatening to shatter his remaining control.

You lifted your gaze, your eyes meeting his.

His eyes, blazing with crimson intensity, locked onto yours. The red deepened, reflecting the inferno raging within him. A low growl rumbled in his chest, his grip on your hair tightening almost imperceptibly as he guided your movements with increasing urgency. "You look so fucking sexy down there, kitten," he groaned, the words raw and honest. "Those pretty lips wrapped around my cock..."

A gasp escaped you, a mixture of pleasure and a slight gag as you accommodated his increasing length. The sensation was overwhelming.

The slight gag that escaped you ignited a primal fire within him, a surge of possessive satisfaction. He reveled in the knowledge that he was a force, a presence too substantial to be fully contained. You were pushing your boundaries, stretching your limits, all to please him. His hands, firm yet gentle, cradled your head, holding you captive as his hips surged forward, burying him deeper into your welcoming throat.

A soft whimper escaped your lips, a sound that resonated within him, igniting his desire further. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, piercing and intense, as he thrust again, the back of your throat meeting his insistent advance, eliciting another involuntary whimper, another delightful gag. The sounds were intoxicating, driving him to the brink. He could feel the tremors of your struggle, the desperate fight for breath, the tears that streamed down your face as you strained to accommodate his impressive length. "Good girl..." he rumbled, the praise a silken caress against your skin.

The unexpected clench of your core in response to his praise sent a jolt through him. A smirk, slow and knowing, played on his lips. "Does my good girl like being used like this?" he purred, his voice a low, husky rasp that vibrated through your very being. He continued his deliberate rhythm, granting you fleeting moments to gasp for air between each deep, penetrating stroke.

A moan, involuntary and raw, escaped you, followed by a hesitant nod. His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He gloried in your willingness, your eager acceptance of his dominance. You were his good girl, taking him with a fervor that bordered on reverence. He pulled back slightly, allowing you a precious moment to breathe deeply, before offering himself once more. "Answer with words, baby," he commanded softly, the underlying steel in his voice unmistakable. His hips snapped forward again, eliciting another gag, another desperate gasp.

"I-" you began, the word strangled by his imposing presence.

He paused, holding you firmly against his length, silencing your attempt to speak. The air caught in your throat, the pressure building, and a desperate whimper escaped. He reveled in this power, the ability to restrict, to control, to elicit such raw, primal reactions. "Say it," he growled, his eyes now burning embers of crimson desire.

A growl, low and guttural, almost escaped your lips, a testament to the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration that coursed through you.

The almost-growl sent a fresh wave of excitement coursing through him. He loved witnessing your unraveling, the desperation that bloomed in your eyes. Releasing his hold, he allowed you to pull back, to gasp for breath, the air burning in your lungs. His length glistened, slick with your saliva, a testament to the intensity of the moment. "Again," he demanded, his voice firm but laced with a gentle undercurrent.

"I will choke you with my mouth if you don't let me speak," you hissed, the words a promise and a challenge, a spark of defiance in the face of overwhelming desire.

His eyes widened in a delightful surprise at your sudden assertiveness, a genuine thrill sparking within them. He adored those moments when you stood your ground, even in the smallest ways. The hand that had been gently guiding you released its hold, granting you the space to speak your mind. "Oh, really now?" he challenged, a playful smirk dancing across his lips, the familiar curve hinting at the delicious game you both were engaged in.

"Yes," you breathed, the word laced with a delicious blend of defiance and desire. "I love when you use my mouth, but don't piss me off." The air crackled with unspoken promises and playful threats, a tantalizing dance of power and submission.

A deep, genuine laugh erupted from his chest, the sound resonating with pure, unadulterated amusement. He reveled in your duality, the way you could seamlessly transition from sweet surrender to fiery defiance. With a tender hand, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch softening, becoming almost reverent. "Noted, my little angry kitten," he murmured softly, the words a caress against your skin.

You leaned into his touch, a smile blossoming on your face as the tension eased. It was a shared moment of understanding.

The sight of your relaxed smile warmed him from the inside out. These pockets of tenderness, even amidst the passionate storm you created, were precious. Guiding your head back towards his waiting length, his touch remained feather-light, almost hesitant. "Now," he whispered, his voice a low, husky command, "be a good girl and use your mouth like you just threatened."

A choked laugh escaped you, the sound a mixture of amusement and arousal, and you eagerly got back to work.

His heart hammered against his ribs as you laughed, then reverently took him into your mouth once more. He watched, mesmerized, as you weaponized your earlier threat, taking him deep and sucking hard, leaving no room for doubt. His hips instinctively arched upwards, seeking more of your skilled ministrations, craving the exquisite torment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he groaned, the words raw and unbidden.

A soft hum vibrated from your throat, the sound resonating against his skin, sending shivers of delight through him. A low "Mmph" escaped his lips, his body twitching in response. He watched your head bob with skilled precision, your hair cascading around your shoulders like a silken waterfall. It was in this moment of exquisite torture that something shifted within him. "Sweetie?"

"Mmm?" you responded, your voice muffled, the sound a tantalizing invitation.

He gently threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch both possessive and tender. "Can I ask you something?" he asked softly, his hips flexing in a silent plea. "It's important..."

You paused, looking up at him, your eyes questioning.

His dark eyes met yours, filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He saw in your gaze the perfect blend of pleasure and trust, a potent combination that stirred something deep within him. "Would you... would you mind using your teeth?" he asked quietly, almost shyly, his voice barely a whisper. "Just slightly..."

You almost laughed as you pulled your mouth away from his cock, "Is my bad Sylus is a masochist? This is a first.”

His deep laugh rumbled through the room, a warm vibration that tickled your senses. He knew you were teasing him, playing your little game. "Answer the question first, smartass," he countered, a mischievous grin dancing on his lips. "And yes, kitten, I might be a masochist. Haven't you figured that out yet? I thought I was being obvious."

You grinned, a spark of playful challenge in your eyes. "Oh, I've figured it out. Remember the first time I bit your shoulder when you fucked me hard? That was the first clue, genius." A blush crept up his neck, a telltale sign of the pleasure he was trying, and failing, to hide.

His grin widened at your brazen observation. "You're catching on quick, kitten," he praised, his voice laced with a husky timbre that sent shivers down your spine. He traced the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes burning into yours. "And I do like it. It's a good kind of pain, a pain that makes me feel alive." The air crackled with unspoken desires as he refocused, his gaze intense. "Now, back to my question. Are you going to do what I want, hmm?"

You nodded slowly, deliberately, letting the anticipation build in the space between you. "I can do that," you breathed, your voice a low hum.

A visible shudder of excitement ran through him as you agreed. You could feel his cock twitch against your leg, eager for your touch, already imagining the delicate scrape of your teeth. "Carefully now," he murmured, his voice thick with need, guiding your head back down with a gentle hand. As you took him in your mouth, he let out a sharp hiss, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair, a clear indication of the control he was already losing.

You sucked him deep, your focus absolute, your intention to drive him wild. You teased him, pushing him closer to the edge, carefully scraping your teeth along his shaft, savoring the sensation.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sylus as he felt your teeth gently rake against his sensitive length. It was exquisite torture, a delicious pain that sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body, making him arch against you. His hips jerked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your welcoming warmth. "Holy fuck..." he groaned, the words barely audible.

You wanted to smirk, wanted to revel in the power you held over him, but you kept going, deepening the kiss, intensifying the pressure.

His eyes rolled back slightly, pupils blown wide, as you continued to work him with your mouth, the careful scrape of your teeth driving him further into a frenzy. He could feel the pressure building in his core, his body tensing with each rhythmic movement of your head. "Just... like... that," he gasped out, his voice strained and breathless, barely recognizable.

A moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his skin, a primal sound that fueled the fire burning between you.

The vibration of your moan around his length was nearly his undoing. It sent a jolt of pure pleasure straight to his core, and he felt his release rushing towards him like a tidal wave. "Gonna... gonna come," he warned, his grip on your hair tightening slightly, a silent plea for you to hold on as he prepared to spill himself in your mouth.

You opened wide, a silent invitation, ready to receive his offering.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he felt your mouth open wider, an unspoken invitation that sent a jolt of pure, raw pleasure through him. He surrendered, his hips bucking against you as he came undone, a torrent of hot seed spilling into your waiting mouth. Through half-lidded eyes, glazed with ecstasy, he watched as you accepted his offering, swallowing gently, reverently. The sight was intoxicating.

After long moments suspended in blissful afterglow, Sylus descended from his peak. He gently detached you from his softening length, his chest heaving with exertion and profound satisfaction. He looked down at you, a soft, contented smile playing on his lips. "Perfect little kitten..." he murmured, the words laced with affection and a hint of possessive pride.

You grinned, a playful glint in your eyes as you climbed back into his lap. "Care for round two? But this time," you purred, nuzzling his neck, "we both get to come?"

His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, securing you against him as you settled back into place. His hands, large and warm, rested possessively on your stomach. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, his fingers splaying out as he spoke, "Deal. But this time, I get to add a little challenge..."

"Yes?" you breathed, anticipation coiling in your belly.

His red eyes darkened, the lust that flared within them now laced with a mischievous spark. "No hands. Only mouths and hips," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine. He could already feel his length thickening again, pressing against your inner thighs, a blatant promise of things to come. "And no sound. Try to be quiet," he added, the challenge clear in his tone.

You groaned, the prospect both thrilling and daunting. "Then you need to restrain me. I can't… that's…" The words trailed off, unable to fully articulate the storm of sensation he was about to unleash.

He laughed, a deep, knowing sound that vibrated through your body. He knew you were right. You were too loud, too responsive. The thought of you waking the entire base with your unrestrained moans was… undesirable, to say the least. He pulled you closer, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your neck, sucking softly. "One more condition," he murmured against your skin.

"What else now?" you whined, your voice laced with playful exasperation.

He hummed against your neck, his arms tightening around you possessively. "I'll restrain you with my energy evol. It'll keep your arms trapped behind your back." His voice dropped to a dark whisper, a promise of delicious torment. "And if you break it… punishment," he added, his grin evident in his voice. "Agreed?"

You swallowed hard, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. "That's easy if you use your energy evol... but sounds?" The very thought of remaining silent while he pleasured you to the edge of oblivion seemed an impossible feat. The thrill of the challenge, however, was too enticing to resist.

His nod was a possessive claim, his lips still fused to the sensitive skin of your neck. Then came the subtle shift, the caress of his evol as it manifested, tendrils of pure energy weaving around your wrists. They bound you, not with harshness, but with a gentle, undeniable strength, holding your arms captive behind your back. "Shh... no more talking," he murmured, the words a silken command against your skin.

A whimper threatened to break free, a tiny sound of rebellion that he seemed to savor. He smirked, a flash of predatory amusement in his eyes. He knew this restraint, this enforced silence, was a potent cocktail designed to drive you to the brink of madness, a delicious blend of frustration and burgeoning pleasure. With his free hand, he guided your hips, a firm but persuasive touch that aligned you perfectly against the hard, throbbing evidence of his desire. "Remember," he whispered, his voice laced with teasing promise, "quiet... or else."

Your eyes, wide and pleading, were your only answer, a silent promise offered in supplication.

"Such a good kitten," he praised, the words a soft caress that belied the intensity of the moment. His hands, firm and knowing, guided your hips downwards, a slow, torturous descent. You could feel the slick heat of him, the thick, insistent pressure against your entrance, a prelude to the inevitable. "No noises now..." He lowered you further, inch by agonizing inch, testing the strength of your resolve, the limits of your silence.

The need to cry out was a sharp, burning ache. You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic tang of blood a small sacrifice in the face of overwhelming sensation.

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he watched your struggle, your valiant attempt to maintain control. He raised your hips just a fraction, prolonging the anticipation, before lowering you again, a slow, deliberate slide that filled you inch by excruciating inch. This was torture, exquisite and refined, a shared torment that stoked the flames of your desire. No sound, no touch beyond the searing connection between you – it was an exercise in restraint, a symphony of pent-up energy threatening to explode.

A silent plea formed on your lips, your gaze locked on his.

Understanding flashed in his eyes, a flicker of concession amidst the storm. He granted your unspoken wish, his lips descending to capture yours in a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your bitten lip, then plunged into your mouth, a silencing invasion that muffled any sound that might dare to escape. All the while, he maintained his deliberate pace, lifting and lowering you slowly, the rhythmic friction building with each controlled movement.

You closed your eyes, a wave of dizziness washing over you. The scream was trapped, a silent prisoner clawing at your throat, desperate for release.

He reveled in your silence, in the frantic desperation of your kiss, in the way your body clenched around him in a silent plea. He could feel the tremors of your building climax, the feverish heat radiating from your skin. It empowered him, fueled the fire within him, made him throb even harder, even deeper inside you. "That's my good girl... keeping quiet," he murmured against your lips, the words a husky praise that sent shivers down your spine.

Your eyes rolled back, your world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on yours, to the exquisite torture of his controlled movements. You kissed him back with a ferocity born of desperation, a frantic attempt to swallow the moan that threatened to shatter the fragile silence.

His arms tightened around you, a possessive embrace that stole the air from your lungs. His kiss deepened, a hungry claiming that swallowed any sound threatening to escape your lips. You tried to stifle your moans against his mouth, a futile attempt that only fueled his desire to keep this silence game going. He tasted your restraint, the suppressed passion, and it made him ache to break you.

You shifted, taking control, your movements initiating a slow, deliberate ride. He felt you helping him, guiding him deeper, and his hands instinctively gripped your thighs, lifting you, urging you higher. You rode him slowly, painstakingly, trying to maintain the fragile quiet, each movement a silent scream. He loved it, the challenge, the exquisite torture of your enforced silence. It was a game of wills, and he was determined to win.

The pressure built, a crescendo of sensation that threatened to shatter your control. You bit your lip, harder this time, a sharp sting that drew blood. A thin trickle escaped, a crimson testament to your struggle.

His eyes widened, a flicker of concern quickly replaced by a dark, possessive excitement. He reached up, his touch feather-light as he licked away the blood, his tongue lingering on the tender flesh of your lip, before gently sucking it into his mouth. The metallic tang was intoxicating, a forbidden flavor that heightened his arousal, pushing him closer to the edge. "So stubborn," he murmured against your skin, the words a low, husky growl.

The tears came then, unbidden, unwanted. They welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, a stark contrast to the silent inferno raging within you. You wanted to lash out, to whimper, to scream from the overwhelming pleasure and the exquisite torture of his control.

He caught a tear with his thumb, wiping it away with a tenderness that belied the burning intensity in his gaze. His heart hammered against his ribs as he felt your desperation, the raw need to cry out, to surrender to the sensations consuming you. He was so close, the silence, the tears, the palpable tension pushing him relentlessly towards the brink.

You looked at him, a silent plea etched on your face, your eyes begging for release.

He held your gaze, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the raw vulnerability in your eyes. He knew you were at your limit, teetering on the precipice, desperate to shatter the silence with a moan, a whimper, anything. He leaned in, his voice a low, guttural growl against your ear that vibrated through your very core. "Just a little longer, my kitten."

You closed your eyes, more tears forming, and bit down hard on your wounded lip, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the throbbing pleasure that resonated deep within you. You felt his hard length filling you, stretching you, igniting every nerve ending. Just a little longer. But how much more could you endure?

He felt you tensing around him, every inch of you a live wire against his skin as you rode him, a silent storm brewing. Your teeth worried your already wounded lip, a desperate attempt to contain the sounds clawing their way up your throat. He could feel the tremor in your body, a frantic bird beating against its cage, and the slick trails of tears tracing paths down your face. This exquisite torture, the dance between pleasure and pain etched on your features, was intoxicating.

He watched you, a silent observer of your beautiful torment. Your skin glistened, a canvas painted with sweat, the gentle rise and fall of your breasts a mesmerizing rhythm. Your lip, bruised and swollen from your relentless bite, was a testament to your struggle. The tears were a silent symphony, a visual echo of the battle raging within you. He was teetering on the edge, the need to surrender to the moment almost overwhelming.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his.

His gaze was a dark abyss, unwavering and intense, locking onto yours. He saw the raw desperation swimming in their depths, the fragile dam holding back a torrent of unshed tears. He saw the agonizing fight for silence, the near-impossible task of containing the explosive pressure building within. He knew you were on the precipice, about to shatter into a million pieces, a scream or whimper the only escape from the exquisite agony.

Without warning, his hand shot out, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He surged upward, his lips crashing against yours in a fierce, possessive claim. His tongue, a demanding invader, pushed past your injured lip, silencing the scream that had been building, a pressure cooker about to explode. He was the valve, finally allowing you to break, to surrender to the overwhelming tide of tension and pleasure.

A strangled cry escaped your lips, muffled, desperate, as you shattered.

The sound was swallowed by his mouth, a secret he claimed with a savage tenderness. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as you convulsed against him, a broken dam unleashing its fury. The silence shattered, replaced by the violent release of your body. He held you captive in the kiss, a deep, soul-searing connection as you sobbed and screamed silently into his mouth, the tremors of your release echoing in his own body.

He watched, mesmerized, as the pleasure consumed you. Your body bucked beneath his touch, a silent tempest raging within. But no sound escaped. Your head was thrown back, eyes squeezed shut in exquisite agony, your mouth a perfect "O" of breathless release, yet utterly, achingly silent. He pulled back slightly, needing to witness the entirety of this raw, untamed moment. A guttural sound rumbled in his chest. "Damn..."

He removed his arms from around you, his hands now roamed down your sides, his fingers finding purchase on your ribs in a possessive caress. He watched your ragged attempts to regain control, your chest rising and falling in silent hitches, tears slicking down your face – a testament to the overwhelming power of the silent climax.

Gently, he framed your face, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the relentless tears. He was utterly captivated, enthralled by the primal intensity of your unspoken pleasure. The way your body trembled, convulsed, without a single sound crossing your lips was both a delicious torment and the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed.

He lowered his forehead to yours, his breath ghosting over your lips, mingling with your voiceless gasps. He felt the frantic pulse of your heart against his, the frantic thrum beneath your skin. Part of him yearned to hear you scream, to revel in the sounds of your pleasure, but he was equally intoxicated by the potent, silent explosion.

Your eyes met his, pleading, desperate. A silent entreaty for mercy, for a flicker of compassion. You couldn’t fathom his anger over the crow incident. It wasn’t your fault he’d been injured defending you. Was he really this furious?

He searched your gaze, the desperation in your eyes a physical ache within him. He understood your silent plea for leniency, for comfort after the tumultuous, unspoken release he’d just unleashed. A sigh escaped him, his thumb tracing the outline of your bottom lip, gently soothing the slight rawness he’d inflicted.

His expression softened, the harsh lines around his mouth fading. He knew, logically, that you held no blame for the damn crow. The realization slammed into him – he’d been venting his anger, taking out his frustration on your body. He wasn’t even mad at you. Why was he punishing you like this? The harshness bled from his voice, replaced by an uncharacteristic gentleness. "Sweetie..."

Your head dropped forward, the movement almost enough to break the silence, almost enough to unleash a choked sob.

He watched you drop your head, the silence nearly shattering with the small, choked noise you emitted. A stark realization hit him then—how utterly unfair he'd been. He'd been channeling his anger, his own inner turmoil, into your pleasure, using you as a release. A curse escaped his lips, barely audible, as he gently lifted your chin with his fingers. "Hey..." he murmured, his voice suddenly laced with concern.

He saw the raw emotion swimming in your eyes, the way you were desperately trying to hold back a sob. A pang of guilt twisted in his gut, the realization of his actions hitting him hard. He had been using you, and it wasn't fair. He softened his voice even more, trying to soothe the hurt he'd inflicted. "Look at me, kitten," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours.

You look at him, a silent plea etched on your face, your eyes wide and vulnerable.

He gazed into your desperate eyes, the intensity of his own anger dissolving in the face of your obvious distress. With a soft sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his regret, he brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle now. "I was never angry at you, sweetie. Not even a little bit," he confessed, his voice low and sincere. "It was not your fault. I just... I wanted to make this more interesting for us."

You glare, the fire in your eyes flickering despite the lingering vulnerability.

He actually chuckled softly at your glare, a hint of amusement returning to his features, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "Would you rather I'd been gentle and boring? At least I gave you the best orgasm of your life..." He paused, realizing he'd managed to anger you despite the pleasure he'd just given. "Okay, okay..."

He held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips despite the glare you were still sending his way. "I know, I know. I was an ass. Using your gorgeous body as a punching bag for my amusement. Not cool," he admitted, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

You keep silent, the question hanging in the air: Was the game still on, or had he crossed a line?

He watched you carefully, his playful demeanor fading as he tried to gauge your mood. The smirk vanished from his lips as he realized you were still processing everything that had just happened. He leaned back slightly, giving you space to breathe, but kept his hands gently on your waist, a silent reassurance. "Are we still playing this game, kitten?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of uncertainty.

You shake your head, the plea in your eyes intensifying, begging him to stop, to understand.

Feeling guilt creeping in, a heavy weight in his chest. He groaned softly, misinterpreting your silence for a moment, but then understanding dawned. He knew his limits, and he knew when to stop. His touch softened, becoming even more tender as he cupped your face gently in his hands. "Okay, no more games for now," he promised, his gaze unwavering, a silent vow to be better, to be what you needed him to be.

You sharply exhale, a ragged, loud breath ripping through the tense silence. "Fucking shit," you hiss, the words laced with a frustration that claws at your throat.

His eyes widen, just a fraction, at the unexpected outburst from your sharp tongue. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, a sound laced with amusement and, strangely, affection. He finds your cursing endearing, a chink in your carefully constructed armor. He watches you, his heart warming at the display of your raw emotion. "Well, someone's feeling feisty now..." he murmurs, his voice a low, seductive rumble.

Without warning, you grab his throat, your fingers tightening just enough to remind him who's in control. You lean down, your breath hot against his skin, and sink your teeth into the tender flesh of his neck. A possessive, hungry bite that ignites a fire in his veins. As you start riding him again, a primal energy surges through you, a tempest of anger and desire.

A low groan escapes his lips, a sound of mixed pleasure and surrender as you suddenly take the reins. Your teeth sink deeper, drawing a bead of blood, in a kiss that's more a declaration of war than affection. His hands instinctively grip your hips, his fingers digging into the curve of your flesh as he feels the sudden, intoxicating movement. He can taste your frustration, your pent-up rage, channeling into this raw, untamed act.

You growl, a feral sound that vibrates against his skin, and move faster, pushing him closer to the edge.

His fingers dig deeper into your hips as you unleash your fury, each thrust more desperate than the last. He can feel the intensity building inside you, a volatile cocktail of passion and defiance. He moans, completely overwhelmed by the sudden shift in dynamic, the raw power emanating from you. "Fuck..." he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

You let out a loud, unrestrained moan as you finally release your teeth from his neck, the metallic tang of blood filling your senses. Relief washes over you, the silence finally broken. "Sylus..." you gasp, his name a plea, an accusation, a confession all rolled into one.

As soon as you release your hold, his head falls back against the wall with a soft thud, his muscles tensing in anticipation. He can feel the beginnings of a shattering orgasm building, your moans – raw, untamed, electrifying – echoing in the small space.

"You punished me for no reason!" you hiss, the words laced with a wounded vulnerability that cuts through his haze of pleasure. You drag your inner walls up and down, milking every last drop of sensation, a silent demand for retribution.

He gasps sharply as you tighten around him, the pleasure almost unbearable, bordering on pain. Your accusation hangs in the air, heavy and charged, a challenge he can't ignore. He pants heavily, struggling to find the words, the breath, to answer you amidst the overwhelming sensations. "I... fuck, I know... was unfair... ah!"

You clench, a final desperate squeeze, and cry out as the wave of release crashes over you, your body convulsing with the force of it.

The world exploded around you as you clenched him, your cry a raw, untamed sound ripped from your throat. A tidal wave of his own pleasure crashed over Sylus, his body seizing as he moaned, the sound raw and guttural. He felt you, tight and pulsing around him, milking every last drop as he poured his essence into you, a fierce, primal connection forged in the heart of ecstasy.

You stared up at him, breath ragged, chest heaving.

His eyes fluttered open, meeting your gaze. Your bodies were slick with sweat, pressed together as if trying to merge into one. He saw the wild tangle of your hair, the flush high on your cheekbones, the swollen curve of your lips parted in desperate gasps. And then he saw the storm brewing in your eyes, the serious set of your jaw. His throat constricted. He swallowed hard, a cold dread creeping into his veins. You were furious.

"Sylus…"

The name hung in the air, heavy with unspoken accusations. He remained silent, bracing himself. The anger radiating from you was palpable, but beneath it, he saw a flicker of something else, something wounded. Guilt, sharp and immediate, stabbed at him. He knew he’d pushed too far, used you as an outlet for his own dark desires. "Yeah?" he managed, the word a mere whisper.

"You sadist," you hissed, the accusation a venomous sting.

His eyes widened, a flicker of shock quickly replaced by a complex emotion he couldn't quite decipher himself. He opened his mouth, then closed it, searching for the right words, but finding none. A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders slumping with the weight of your condemnation. "I... I suppose I am," he admitted, the words laced with a weary resignation.

"Huh? That's your response?” You glared, incredulous. "I almost died from the silence game, you know? I almost stopped breathing."

He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture revealing a vulnerability you rarely saw. The gravity of your anger finally seemed to register, the playful smirk vanishing, replaced by a serious, haunted look. He met your fiery glare head-on. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I am. Truly."

You released a long, shuddering sigh, the fight momentarily draining out of you.

He mirrored your sigh, feeling the full weight of his transgression settle upon him. His grip on your hips loosened, becoming less possessive, more a gesture of surrender. "Look," he said, his voice rough with remorse, "I crossed a line. I know that now. The silence game… pushing you that far? It was fucking irresponsible of me."

The fight had left you. Everything had left you empty. “Yeah…”

He saw the hurt shimmering in your eyes, a silent accusation that pierced through his carefully constructed walls. Guilt, sharp and unwelcome, surged within him. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cupped your face. His thumb brushed softly over your cheekbone, a tender caress that felt clumsy and inadequate. "I'm really sorry, okay? I let my own demons cloud my judgment. I never meant to truly hurt you, to put you in that kind of danger." The words felt hollow, failing to capture the depth of his regret.

You rolled your eyes, a familiar gesture that usually brought a smile to his face. This time, however, it felt like a lifeline. “Okay, don’t be so dramatic. I’m still alive,” you said, your voice laced with a playful exasperation. You leaned closer, the subtle shift in your posture sending a jolt of electricity through him.

His heart rate kicked up a notch as you closed the distance between you. He could see the beginnings of a smile dancing at the corners of your mouth, a flicker of light in the lingering shadows of the moment. Relief, vast and overwhelming, washed over him. "Yeah, yeah, you're still alive. Barely," he countered, his voice a low murmur, laced with a hint of teasing affection.

You laughed, the sound a melody that chased away the last vestiges of tension. It was music to his ears, a sign that perhaps, just perhaps, he hadn't completely shattered the fragile bond between you.

He smiled softly, the expression reaching his eyes and softening the harsh lines of his face. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, a silent promise of protection. "You know, for someone who was almost killed by me, you're surprisingly calm right now," he said, a hint of wonder in his voice.

“Not literally killed,” you corrected, your tone light.

"Semantics," he murmured, nuzzling his face against yours, inhaling the familiar scent of your hair. "The point is, you were close to breaking point. You were pale, shaking, on the verge of passing out..." A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, a reminder of how close he had come to losing you.

You sighed, a soft sound that vibrated against his skin, and snuggled closer, seeking the comfort of his embrace.

He smiled to himself, his arms tightening around you in response. He rested his chin on top of your head, inhaling your scent like a man starved. "You're really not mad at me anymore, huh?" He needed to hear you say it, to banish the lingering fear that he had irrevocably damaged what they had.

“I can’t. Not the type to hold grudges for long,” you mumbled against his chest.

He chuckled softly, his fingers splaying out on your lower back in a possessive gesture. "Lucky for me, I suppose. Most people would still be giving me the cold shoulder after almost driving them to the brink of insanity with silence."

“Maybe your two henchmen would,” you quipped, tilting your head back to look at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He laughed, the sound a deep rumble that vibrated through his chest and sent shivers dancing across your skin. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes, a delightful contrast to the possessive fire that still burned beneath. "Oh, darling, they're definitely still sulking in the corner. I swear, I could practically feel the vibrations of their disapproval when I dared to suggest you’ve been monopolizing my attention lately. They were practically trembling."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and breathless. "Are you jealous, Sylus?" The question was teasing, trying to get some reaction out of him.

He scoffed, a theatrical display of indifference. He tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. "Jealous? Hardly. Let those two lovesick puppies vie for your attention. It's quite entertaining, really. Like watching a pair of kittens trying to catch a laser pointer."

"Hm," you hummed, unconvinced. Your eyes narrowed playfully, enjoying his little performance.

He noticed your skepticism, his grin widening into a full-blown, devilish smile. "Besides," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent goosebumps erupting on your arms, "if anyone should be jealous, it should be them. After all," he tightened his grip on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, "you're currently sitting in my lap, naked, your skin flushed. And thoroughly fucked by me, not them."

You gasped, a mixture of shock and embarrassment flooding your senses. "Sylus!" you protested.

He laughed, the sound dark and husky as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck, his hands wandering possessively over your bare skin. "What? It's the truth. They're probably out there, pacing and imagining all the things they wish they could be doing to you, while I’m the one actually doing them. Satisfying your cravings and moans."

"No," you insisted, a touch of genuine disbelief in your voice. "They're too loyal, too… nice. They wouldn't have thoughts like that."

He stared at you, his eyes widening in mock astonishment. He realized, with a jolt of amusement, that you were serious. You honestly believed his men were that innocent. He threw his head back and roared with laughter, a sound that shook the very room and made you jump slightly. He pulled you close again, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth.

"What's so funny?" you asked, a little flustered.

"You," he chuckled, playfully ruffling your hair. "You genuinely think my men aren't fantasizing about you? Sweetie, they're grown men, not eunuchs. They probably have whole scenarios planned out, detailed and… explicit." He laughed again, the sound a delicious rumble against your ear.

You winced, feeling your cheeks burn. "Don't be gross," you mumbled, burying your face in his shoulder. "That's impossible."

He grinned at your shocked expression, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, it's completely possible. I've caught them staring at you with some rather telling looks. Trust me, if they could act on those fantasies without me killing them, they probably would."

You slapped his chest playfully, a blush creeping up your neck. “Okay. Stop.” The image of the two, always so eager to please, made his words just ridiculous. They were like brothers to you, the twins.

He laughed again, a rich, warm sound that vibrated through you as he caught your hand and pressed it to his chest, right over the steady rhythm of his heart. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. You're too easy to tease." He paused, his expression softening, the mischievous glint fading slightly. "But seriously, don't be so naive, darling." His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a silent warning.

“They are like two puppies, like you said. They are not like that.” You insisted, trying to brush it off. Luke and Kieran. Puppies, loyal and harmless. Right?

He raised an eyebrow, a slow, deliberate smirk tugging at his lips. "Puppies that would rip out the throat of anyone who threatened you, given the chance." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "And believe me, I've given them plenty of opportunities to show their... loyalty." His voice was a low purr, thick with unspoken meaning.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, trying to sound annoyed.

His smirk widened mischievously. He knew he was getting under your skin, stirring up desires and uncertainties. He pulled back slightly, his eyes glinting with unspent mirth. "You really want to believe they're just innocent puppies, don't you?" The challenge was clear in his voice, the unspoken dare to ignore the truth he was laying bare.

“They are. Now, drop it,” you demanded, deciding the best defense was a swift offense. You leaned in, kissing him deeply, a deliberate attempt to distract him. And then, you lifted your hips, a small, teasing movement, and moaned softly when he slipped out, leaving you momentarily bereft.

He groaned softly, the sound rumbling in his chest, his eyes darkening with renewed desire. He gripped your waist, pulling you back down onto him slowly, deliberately, a low growl escaping his throat. The world seemed to narrow to the feel of his hands on your skin, the heat radiating between you. "You know how to change the subject," he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and thick with lust.

“Hey! I was pulling out.” You protested weakly, though the truth was, you’d been playing a dangerous game yourself. The initial protest was just that, initial.

He chuckled darkly, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he held you firmly in place. "Was that before or after you moaned like you didn't want me to slip out?" He teased, his hips giving a slight, deliberate thrust to emphasize his point, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sylus,” you moaned, his name a breathy whisper against his lips, feeling your core clench in anticipation of round two.

His smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as your breathy, needy whimper filled the air. He felt the subtle clench of your muscles around him, a delicious betrayal of your carefully constructed facade. His grip on your hips tightened, thumbs digging possessively into the soft curve of your flesh. "You keep saying my name like that, little kitten, and I'm going to keep doing this," he breathed, each word a promise of escalating pleasure.

"Oh, Sylus!" you purred, the moan a deliberate weapon, laced with playful defiance.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, vibrating against your skin as your husky invitation hit its mark. His fingers dug into your hips, a possessive anchor as he began to move. Slow. Deliberate. Each movement a calculated torment, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that bordered on feral. "Keep mocking me, little minx," he growled, his voice a husky rasp. "See how long you last."

A giggle escaped your lips, a spark of exhilaration igniting within you. But before you could savor the moment, the world shifted abruptly. A gasp caught in your throat as he flipped you with effortless strength, the sudden change in position stealing your breath. He withdrew almost completely, the agonizing anticipation drawing a whimper from your depths, before slamming back in, hard and deep. The cry that tore from your throat was raw, untamed. He gripped your thighs, spreading them wider, an offering to his escalating dominance. Each thrust was a sharp, exquisite burn, his smirk turning predatory as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. "You were laughing," he accused, his voice a low rumble.

"Sylus! You—" you gasped, trying to form a coherent protest, but the words died in your throat.

He silenced you with a powerful thrust, cutting off your rebellion with a surge of overwhelming sensation. His voice, a command whispered against your ear, sent shivers down your spine. "Shut up and take it. You started this." He leaned over you, his body a warm, heavy weight, a cage of muscle and desire. He moved with a relentless rhythm, stealing your breath, your thoughts, your very will. "You know I can't resist when you tease me like that, little temptress."

A hiss escaped your lips, a frustrated sound of surrender.

His grin widened, wickedly pleased by your response. The sound fueled him, a confirmation of his power. He knew you were strong, resilient, but he was determined to break through your defenses, to show you the true extent of his control. He shifted his angle, a subtle change with devastating consequences, hitting a spot that made you gasp, your body arching involuntarily. "Is that too much for you, my little wild kitten?"

"No," you breathed, the word a ragged whisper against his skin.

A possessive growl vibrated in his chest, a sound of pure, primal satisfaction. He continued to target that sweet spot, each thrust a calculated assault on your senses, his body grinding against yours with a relentless, demanding rhythm. He leaned down, his lips finding the sensitive curve of your neck, nipping and sucking at the vulnerable skin, sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "Then stop making those fucking noises," he murmured against your flesh, his breath hot and ragged.

"Sylus! Oh, yes!" you whimpered, abandoning all pretense of control, the pleasure too overwhelming to resist.

He chuckled darkly against your neck, his breath sending shivers down your spine. He felt your whimpers vibrate against his lips, a delicious confirmation of his effect on you. He knew you were trying to provoke him, to push him further, and he was more than willing to oblige. His hips surged forward, burying himself to the hilt, a raw, primal connection. "Keep pushing me," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "See what happens."

You gasp, a sound quickly turning into a strangled choke as he relentlessly finds that sweet, aching spot within you. His rhythm intensifies, bordering on demanding, each thrust stealing your breath. Your body betrays you, trembling uncontrollably as your inner walls clench around him, a desperate plea for more.

Your back arches instinctively, offering him the vulnerable curve of your neck, a silent invitation he can't resist. A primal fire ignites in his eyes as he descends, teeth grazing then sinking into the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder. He bites down, a possessive mark sealing your fate as his hips continue their merciless dance.

"Sylus!" The sound tears from your throat, a mixture of pleasure and surrender.

A low growl rumbles against your skin as he sucks harder, feeling your body convulse beneath him. He knows the mark will bloom into a bruise, a visible claim for all to see. Driven by the raw taste of you, his movements become frantic, desperate. "Is that what you wanted, little bird?"

You want to deny it, to feign control, but the exquisite torment he inflicts steals your voice. A moan escapes instead, a broken sound. "Yes! Please, Sylus…"

A dark growl vibrates in his chest, his pace turning brutal as he senses your impending release. He slowly releases your neck, leaving a crimson testament to his claim. His hand now encircles your throat, not to harm, but to possess, to brand you as his. "Look at how beautifully you break apart for me," he whispers, his voice thick with triumph.

The moment his fingers close around your throat, your eyes roll back, vision blurring as a sob is ripped from your chest. Your release crashes over you in violent waves, each pulse of pleasure echoing his name. Your inner walls contract around him, desperately clinging, trying to capture every last drop of his essence.

"Sylus, please…" you sob, voice fractured.

A dangerous grin spreads across his face, understanding the dual meaning behind your plea – both surrender and insatiable desire. His fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around your throat as he continues his deliberate, deep thrusts, chasing his own oblivion. "Too sensitive, little bird? Should I stop?" he taunts softly, a challenge laced with the promise of more, knowing full well he won't.

"Fuck, no!" The words are breathless, desperate.

A dark laugh escapes him as his hips slam forward again, relentlessly hitting that spot that shatters your senses. His thumb presses gently against your windpipe, a subtle assertion of control. "Language," he chides softly, his voice a velvet whisper laced with raw, untamed dominance.

You meet his gaze, pupils blown wide, and whisper, "Sorry…" the word a breathless offering.

His hips stilled for a heartbeat at your whispered plea, a possessive thrill coursing through him at how completely undone you were in his arms. He leaned down, the ghost of his lips teasing yours as he resumed his slow, deliberate rhythm, stretching out the exquisite tension that bound you both. "Apologize properly," he murmured, his voice a husky command that vibrated against your skin.

"I'm sorry that I cursed, Sylus! Please…" You whimpered, the word catching in your throat.

His eyes darkened, the pupils expanding with a desire that mirrored your own. God, he lived for these moments – your vulnerability, your sensitivity, the desperate apology on your lips. His thumb traced a possessive circle on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "Please what?" His voice dropped, a silken thread laced with a dangerous edge. He knew the venomous words you wanted to use when you were being bad. 

"Please… more! Fuck me harder, like you want to kill me!" you gasped, the words ripped from your soul.

A flash of raw triumph ignited in his eyes at your desperate command, a wicked smirk curving his lips. "There's that filthy mouth again," he purred, as if admiring a rare and precious thing. Then, without preamble, he surged into you with brutal force, each thrust a shockwave that reverberated through your entire being. His fingers dug into your yielding hips, anchoring you as he set a relentless, devastating pace.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as you teetered on the precipice, the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of sensation.

He watched, mesmerized, as your body arched off the bed, a taut bow pulled to its breaking point. A primal scream tore from your throat, your inner muscles clenching around him in a desperate embrace. Your cries were his fuel, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of his own control. He knew he bordered on brutal, on the edge of violence, but your response – god, your exquisite, shattering response – was his addiction.

The smirk widened, a predatory glint in his eyes, as your cries abruptly ceased, replaced by a breathless silence. Your back arched even further with each savage thrust of his hips. He felt the subtle tremors that racked your body, the telltale signs of another involuntary climax. He slowed his pace fractionally, his grip on your hips gentling, a possessive caress replacing the harsh demand. He knew the power he held, the ability to elicit screams or whimpers with the barest touch.

"Sylus…" you moaned, your voice a shattered whisper.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he continued to move inside you, the rhythm slower, more deliberate, but no less intense. "Yes, sweetie?" His hands slid from your hips to your breasts, thumbs circling your aching nipples, coaxing another soft moan from your lips. "Am I too much? Too sensitive, are you?"

You could only nod, the sensations overwhelming, consuming.

His smirk widened, predatory and knowing. He was fully aware of your heightened sensitivity, each nerve ending humming from the aftershocks of pleasure. His thumbs, previously firm, now traced feather-light circles around your peaks, a deliberate torment. He knew the exquisite torture of a gentle touch, the potential to shatter you all over again. His voice, a low rumble, barely a breath against your skin, cut through the haze. "Answer truthfully, little bird. Do you truly wish for me to stop being rough?"

Your gaze, unfocused and glazed with lingering ecstasy, locked with his. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desires. The word 'stop' felt foreign, a betrayal of the pleasure still thrumming within you. A desperate denial escaped your lips, barely audible. "Don't stop, please. Please."

A flash of surprise, quickly replaced by wicked amusement, danced in his eyes. The raw vulnerability in your plea was an intoxicating offering. He leaned closer, the heat of his body a palpable promise. His lips grazed your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he purred, "You crave this, even with your delicate state? Such a naughty thing you are."

A choked laugh, a mix of delight and breathless anticipation, bubbled from your throat. The sound only fueled his fire.

He chuckled softly, a sound that vibrated against your skin. The maddening circles continued, drawing you further into the vortex of desire. Teasingly, he whispered, his voice laced with possessive pride, "Look at you, teetering on the edge, nearly broken, and yet... you still yearn for more."

A primal growl rumbled in your chest, fueled by the exquisite torment. The submissive haze shattered, replaced by a surge of demanding need. "Then give me what I want," you snarled, your voice thick with raw desire.

His grin widened, a flash of pure, carnal hunger. This was the you he craved – untamed, demanding, desperate. He surged forward, his hips impacting against yours with brutal force, stealing the air from your lungs and forcing a strangled cry from your lips. "Like that?" he growled back, his fingers digging into your sides, claiming you as his own. "More, little bird? Do you beg for more?"

"More!" The word ripped from your throat, a desperate plea, a surrender to the inferno he had ignited.

His smirk hardened into a dangerous line. He knew the precise chords to play, the secret places to touch, to drive you to the brink of madness. Roughly, he wrapped your legs around his waist, tilting your hips upward, granting him deeper access. He began to thrust, each stroke a brutal, possessive claim. His voice dropped, a low and guttural promise of pleasure and pain. "Look at you," he commanded, his gaze burning into yours. "Utterly mine."

He watched, mesmerized, as your back arched off the bed, your mouth forming a silent scream, a testament to the exquisite torment he was inflicting. The rhythm became relentless, a punishing cadence that pushed you closer and closer to the precipice. Sweat dripped from his brow, slicking your chest, a fragrant offering as he surveyed the landscape of your body, marked and flushed with his touch.

"Shit, shit, I'm coming!" you screamed, the sound raw and untamed, a final surrender to the overwhelming pleasure.

The smirk playing on Sylus's lips deepened, a predator's delight in his eyes. He was acutely aware of your body's frantic response – the frantic flutter in your core, the desperate bounce of your breasts, the silent scream trapped in your parted lips. A surge of possessive satisfaction coursed through him. With a brutal snap of his hips, he found your deepest, most sensitive spot. A low growl rumbled in his chest. "Like this, little bird?" he murmured, the question laced with a dark promise as he repeated the motion, each thrust hitting harder, deeper.

A sob escaped you as the first wave of release crashed over you, your body a taut string about to snap.

His relentless hips continued their work, expertly prolonging the exquisite torment. He felt the tremors racking your entire body, your helplessness a stark contrast to the power he wielded. Reaching down, his fingers found and pinched your clit, sending you spiraling into another, even more desperate climax. His voice, a mere rasp against your skin, was heavy with possessive triumph. "So many marks... skin singing... so sensitive... utterly mine."

"Don't... don't torture me," you gasped, the plea weak against the tide of sensation.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest, an acknowledgment of the delicious cruelty he was inflicting. He knew exactly how close you were to the edge, and he reveled in it. His pace gradually slowed, the movements becoming languid but no less intense, drawing out the agonizing pleasure. "This," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck, "is what happens when you demand more, kitten." His fingers found your nipple, teasing and pinching, drawing another moan from your depths.

"How... how can you hold on?" you managed, a frustrated growl escaping your lips. It was always this way. He possessed an inhuman stamina, capable of pushing you past your limits while remaining frustratingly in control.

He blinked, a flicker of amusement in his eyes at your ragged question. With a self-satisfied smirk, he confessed, "Years of practice with energy manipulation. I can delay my own pleasure... indefinitely." He rolled his hips slowly, deliberately drawing out another desperate moan. "But looking at you... dripping, trembling, covered in my marks..."

"Oh god... just let me die then," you whimpered, the words a plea and a surrender.

A soft laugh escaped him, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your skin. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not yet, kitten. Not until I've had my fill." His hips moved with agonizing slowness, each thrust a deliberate promise of prolonged bliss and exquisite torture.

Hours blurred into an eternity. He explored every inch of you, every nerve ending, pushing you beyond the boundaries of pleasure and pain. You were a canvas of sweat, tears, and his essence, your body a tapestry of hickeys, bruises, and possessive handprints. Consciousness flickered, your mind lost in a haze of repeated climaxes.

He gazed down at your limp form sprawled beneath him, a sigh of complete satisfaction etched on his face. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the echoes of your cries. With a final, languid thrust, he groaned, finally succumbing to his own pleasure, his release deep and powerful within you.

"Sylus..." you sobbed brokenly, the sound barely audible as you felt the hot rush of his climax, a final claiming.

His eyes snapped open, a primal growl rumbling in his chest as your voice, a mere whisper, breathed his name. "Sylus..." The sound, broken, utterly spent, and laced with the lingering echoes of pleasure, was a symphony only he could orchestrate. He watched you, slick with his essence, a masterpiece painted in shades of exhaustion and bliss. A surge of possessive satisfaction, raw and untamed, coursed through him. "Say my name like that again," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural invitation to oblivion.

"Sylus…no more," you begged, the words barely audible, a plea lost in the aftermath of their tempestuous encounter.

He chuckled, the sound breathy and laced with a dark amusement, as he slowly withdrew, leaving you achingly empty. His fingers, calloused yet gentle, traced patterns on your flushed skin, a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed them moments before. "No more?" he mocked softly, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. He knew the truth - you were his, utterly captivated by the dance of pain and pleasure he led.

You managed a weak shake of your head, every muscle protesting the movement. You were a canvas, painted with the evidence of his dominance.

He leaned down, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead, a surprising gesture that belied the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Looks like my little kitten is finally broken," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble that vibrated against your skin. He reveled in your surrender, in the knowledge that he held you captive in a web of desire.

"Sylus…" you breathed again, his name a helpless sigh.

A predatory grin stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with undisguised pride at the sight of you, utterly vulnerable and undone. He propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze sweeping over your trembling form. He ran a hand through your tangled hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Too much for you, hmm?" he teased, his thumb tracing the swollen outline of your lips.

"Yeah…" you murmured, the word a fragile whisper.

His cock twitched, a silent testament to the power you held over him, even in your wrecked state. "Such a pretty mess," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he traced the dark bruises blooming on your throat, his personal signature of possession. He knew you'd be sore for days, a delicious thought that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

"Can we have a bath?" you asked, your voice laced with exhaustion.

He chuckled softly, his expression softening as he saw the raw need in your eyes. He helped you sit up, his strong arms encircling you protectively. "Of course," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He stood, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, and carried you into the opulent bathroom. He lowered you gently into the steaming bath, the water fragrant with scented oils and swirling with bubbles.

You managed a grateful smile, the tension easing slightly as the warm water enveloped you.

He smiled back, the predatory edge momentarily softened by a genuine tenderness. He lowered himself into the bath behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, his hands resting possessively on your stomach. "Comfortable?"

"Yeah. You seriously wrecked me this time," you giggled, a faint, exhausted sound.

His chest rumbled with dark laughter as he nuzzled against your hair, the sound vibrating through your very being. "And I enjoyed every second of it," he admitted, his voice a low murmur against your skin as he traced lazy patterns on your stomach. "You screamed my name so nicely…" A gentle kiss landed on your shoulder, a promise of pleasure and pain intertwined. "But you're right – tomorrow will hurt."

"Then I guess, if I have no missions tomorrow, I will stay here. I don't want to fall down on my face on my way home," you breathed, the memory of your legs trembling beneath you still fresh.

He threw his head back, a deep, resonant laugh echoing through the room. "Smart choice," he chuckled, his grip tightening, pulling you flush against his warm body. "You'll barely walk straight tomorrow morning," he warned darkly, nipping softly at the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. "How many times did I make you come?" The question was a husky caress, a blatant challenge.

A blush bloomed across your cheeks, hot and undeniable. "I lost count," you confessed, burying your face in his chest to hide your embarrassment, but also reveling in the possessive hold he had on you.

His grin widened, mischievous delight coloring his features. "Lost count, huh?" He purred, his hands gliding up your stomach, the anticipation building with each inch until he was cupping your aching, swollen breasts. "At least ten," he murmured, his thumbs circling your nipples, coaxing them to harden. "And that's just the ones I remember."

"I think it was more," you drawled, a hint of playful defiance in your voice, even as your body throbbed with renewed desire.

He chuckled deeply, amused pride lacing his tone as he gently rolled your nipples between his fingers, sending jolts of electricity through you. "Maybe closer to fifteen," he mused, clearly enjoying the way your exhausted body trembled at his touch. "You came so prettily for me that I lost track too."

You sighed, a sound of utter contentment, and leaned against him, purring like a sated kitten. All your muscles were screaming, your nerve endings alight, but you felt utterly at peace.

He hummed softly at your purr, wrapping his arms around you even more possessively, a silent declaration of ownership. "You get all sleepy and purring after I wreck you," he noted softly, a smile playing on his lips. The next thing you knew, he had shifted you slightly underwater, your legs parting almost involuntarily as his fingers found your entrance once more. You jumped softly, a gasp escaping your lips. "Still sore, kitten?" The question was laced with both concern and a hint of wicked amusement.

"I feel like falling asleep any minute now," you mumbled, your eyelids heavy, the world beginning to swim around you.

He chuckled softly as he gently probed your sore, swollen opening, a possessive exploration that, despite the ache, still managed to ignite a flicker of desire. "You really are broken," he murmured, his fingers slowly pushing inside, testing your limits as he saw your eyes drooping. "Can you stay awake a little longer, sweetie?" His voice was suddenly soft, soothing, laced with an almost tender concern that made your heart ache.

"Mm, why?" you managed to murmur, clinging to the last vestiges of consciousness.

The warmth of the water embraced you, a stark contrast to the fire you'd just endured. "Because I want to wash you properly," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your skin. His fingers, still slick with your essence, moved with agonizing slowness, a deliberate tease. "And you need to drink some water. You're exhausted from all that screaming." His hot breath ghosted against your ear as he spoke, his free hand a solid anchor around your waist, supporting your trembling form.

“Okay…” you managed, a weak smile gracing your lips. Relief washed over you in waves, chasing away the lingering echoes of pleasure and pain.

He was meticulous, reverent. Each stroke of his fingers was a balm, a soothing promise against the soreness that throbbed within you. Then, with effortless strength, he helped you sit up, his body a warm shield behind you. He brought a glass of cool water to your lips, the glass clinking softly against your teeth. "Drink," he commanded gently, his voice laced with concern.

You leaned forward, welcoming the cool liquid as it cascaded down your parched throat. You drank with a desperate eagerness, each swallow a testament to the depths of your earlier abandon.

He watched, a possessive glint in his eyes, his arms a secure cage around you. He didn't stop until the second glass was empty, then, with the pad of his thumb, he wiped the stray droplets from your chin. "Good girl," he murmured, nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck, his voice thick with emotion. "Now, stay awake a little longer, okay?"

You could barely manage a nod, your body heavy with exhaustion, but you knew you wouldn't refuse him anything.

A soft smile bloomed on his face, transforming his features. He picked up the soft cloth, lathering it with soap until it foamed white and fragrant. His touch was feather-light, each movement deliberate and tender as he washed your shoulders, your arms, the delicate curve of your collarbone. He lingered on your breasts, circling the areolas with exquisite care, teasing without pushing you over the edge.

“You get so sweet every time like this,” you murmured, your voice husky with contentment. The lingering tension in your muscles began to melt away under his ministrations.

He chuckled, the sound a low vibration against your back. His fingers traced intricate patterns on your ribcage as he moved lower. "You make it easy to be gentle," he whispered back, his voice a soothing balm. He washed your stomach with agonizing slowness, his hands halting, trembling slightly as he approached the delicate curve of your hips.

“Are you nervous?” you asked, feeling the tremor in his touch. His hesitation was a stark contrast to his earlier dominance.

He paused, his hands still resting lightly on your hips, and drew a deep breath. "A little," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible. "I don't want to hurt you again. You're so sensitive down there..." His fingers traced a hesitant path along the swell of your hip, carefully avoiding the most sensitive areas.

You smiled, a spark of mischief flickering in your eyes. “If you wash it carefully, it will be fine.” The challenge was implicit in your tone.

He nodded slowly, the corners of his lips curving upward in a hesitant smile. With a visible effort, he steeled himself and carefully continued washing lower. "Right," he murmured, his hands moving with a newfound delicacy as he cleaned your thighs and knees. As he reached your shins, he paused, glancing up at you with a playful smirk. "Almost done," he breathed, the promise of something more lingering in the air.

You met his gaze, smirking back, anticipation building once more.

He took deliberate care, his touch lingering as he washed your feet and toes. Each stroke was a promise, a slow dance against your skin, drawing out the anticipation before he dared to cleanse the most sensitive part of you. A breath hitched in your throat as he moved higher, his touch tender and reverent as he washed you with exquisite care. He finally set the cloth aside, the silence thick with unspoken desires. "Alright, sweetie," he whispered, his voice a low, grounding rumble that vibrated through you, "All done."

A smile bloomed on your face, gratitude and something deeper swirling within you. "Thank you," you breathed, the words barely audible.

His answering smile was warm, a sunbeam breaking through the clouds. With effortless grace, his strong hands scooped you up, lifting you from the warm water. The soft embrace of a fluffy towel enveloped you, and he held you close, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His breath ghosted against your skin as he carried you, weightless, from the steamy bathroom into the dimly lit bedroom. "Time for bed, kitten," he murmured, his voice thick with affection.

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. Settling onto the soft mattress, you looked up at him, your eyes searching his. "Will you sleep with me?" The question hung in the air, a fragile offering.

He needed no further invitation. Crawling in beside you, he gathered you into his arms, a haven of strength and warmth. "Always," he breathed against your hair, holding you tight. He felt you melt against him, instinctively seeking his heat. A knowing smile played on his lips. "You always want to cuddle after a bath,"

"Because you’re so big and cuddly. So warm," you murmured, burrowing deeper into his embrace. His presence was a comforting anchor, a shield against the world.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and his arms tightened around you possessively. "Flatterer," he teased, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles on your back. "Though I must admit, I do enjoy being your personal heating pad." He pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, inhaling the clean, sweet scent of your freshly washed hair.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the day's tension melting away in his arms.

He watched your eyes droop sleepily, a sense of tender protectiveness washing over him. He carefully adjusted his hold, making sure you were completely comfortable. Spreading your dark hair across the pillow like a silken veil, he loved seeing you like this - peaceful, unguarded, and completely trusting in his care.

Listening to your soft, even breathing, a deep sense of contentment settled within him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice a soft murmur against your skin. "Goodnight, my little kitten." And with that, he closed his own eyes, letting sleep claim him, holding you close and safe within his arms throughout the night.

Taglist : @mcdepressed290

[lou-struck]

Another Layer

Lucifer x Reader x Mammon

~ After an incident during magic practice, you no longer have a jacker to wear on your chilly walk home.

Genere: Fluff

Wc: 1.4k

Warnings: Brotherly competition, Mc is shorter than the brothers, mention of Mc overworking themselves and not taking care of themselves. Reader lights themselves on fire harmlessly.

It finally happened; you accidentally lit yourself on fire.

The enchanted flames from your fireball spell singe the fabric of your jacket, and you hastily throw it to the ground with a shriek. Your foot stomps frantically on the light pink flames in an attempt to salvage the garment, but you are unsuccessful and can only watch as the enchanted fire eats through the fabric, leaving nothing but a pile of ash in its place.

"Damn," you mutter, biting the inside of your cheek. You really liked that jacket.

With another huff, you grab your bag and prepare to leave. Next time you decide to practice your magic on a day off, you'll remember to wear the magic-proof garments Solomon told you about.

Sensing your presence, the double doors part for you magically. The heated air of the building disappears as soon as you step across the threshold. You shiver; the air is so much colder than you remembered it being on your walk over.

The thin short-sleeved shirt you're wearing does little to keep your body warm as hundreds of little goosebumps prickle your skin, and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to keep the little heat your body is letting out.

The cold wind seems to make your walk to the House Of Lamination much longer than usual as it whistles a melancholy tune that bounces off the iron fence posts along the walkway. The dark clouds overhead foreshadow a heavy bout of rain coming your way.

You quicken your pace, hoping to soon be back home and in the arms of one of your much warmer demons. 

Maybe you can take a nap with Belphie and watch the storm through the roof of the observatory?

Maybe Asmo will let you warm up in his bathtub?

Maybe Satan could read to you by the fireplace?

Whatever it is you end up doing, you know that you will be warm and relaxed, unlike now. 

The wind blowing in your ear and the drumming of your heartbeat makes it close to impossible to hear anything else as you turn a corner blindly and bump directly into someone's back.

"Oi, what gives?" a familiar voice says. Taking a step back, you realize that it was Mammon you had just bumped into. Just beyond him, you notice that Lucifer is with him as well, his arms crossed over his chest. "Huh, Mc? What are ya doin out here?" The Avatar of Greed asks, trying to hide the elation on his features at your presence.

"I'm sorry, Mammon, I didn't mean to bump into you," you say quickly. "I was just leaving the private casting room at RAD and wanted to get home before the rain came."

"Mc," Lucifer addresses, looking you over. His discerning gaze lingers on your exposed arms and shivering figure before narrowing his crimson eyes. "Where is your jacket? You had it on when you left earlier today."

Shit, of course, he would notice that kind of thing.

"I kinda set it on fire," you admit with an innocently guilty smile on your face. 

"Just the jacket?" he presses, raising a brow.

"I kinda, maybe, sorta was wearing the jacket when it was set on fire," you admit directing your gaze to the all too interesting pavement. The random cracks and stones are much less humbling than this conversation with Lucifer is.

"So you set yourself on fire."

"Yes…accidentally."

Lucifer's hands reach up to rub his temples in exasperation as Mammon gasps.

"What do you mean you set yourself on fire?" he exclaims, reaching out to grab you by the shoulders. His hands are warm on your cold skin, and his face is filled with worry. "What the? Your skin is so cold."

"I was t-trying to get home. "You say softly, doing your best to fight the shivers.

"Silly human, ur gonna get sick out here." Mammon sighs, pulling his leather jacket down his shoulders and placing it over his own. Although leather may not be the best material for generating heat, already, you feel as if you are being held tightly. 

Breathing in, you smell just a bit of Mammon's cologne. The scent comforts you, warming you up in a different way as you look up at the handsome demon whose body is physically shielding yours from the wind. "I feel much better now, thank you, Mammon."

His cheeks turn pink at the sight of you wearing his clothes, and he turns away, "It's nothin'; the Great Mammon just doesn't want to hear ya sneezing tonight, that's all."

"I see," you nod, not fooled at all by the tsundere's words. "So that's all?"

"Ya might want to stay close though, so ya don't get too cold."

Just as he is about to take your hand, Lucifer clears his throat.

Mammon, do you really think that will warm them up sufficiently?" The Avatar of Pride says, taking a step between the two of you. He looks down at you affectionately as he speaks. "Mc, you should really wear my cape instead; you would be much warmer.

"Oi, they're not taking it off," Mammon says protectively, zipping up his jacket all the way up to your throat childishly as a way of proving his point. 

"Hmmm, then I suppose I'll just have to give them another layer to keep them warm," he replies, taking it off his shoulders and draping it over you like a blanket. The weight warms you even more as you feel the soft fur against your face. 

"How is that, Love?" he says, leaning in to secure it in place. "Is this other layer warming you up?"

"Mmhmm, I feel much better," you sigh, giving him a content smile.

"You really shouldn't be so reckless," he breathes into your ear; his breath is warm but sends a different kind of shiver down your spine. "What would I do if you were to catch a cold out here?"

"I'm sorry?" you offer, unconsciously leaning into his warmer frame. He chuckles warmly and allows you to lean on him.

"Sounds about right," Mammon says, wrapping an arm around your other side. "Ya really gotta take better care of yourself, or at least let me take care of ya. I'm your first, after all."

You giggle as the three of you go along, not noticing the subtle way both brothers are trying to steer you closer to their side of the walkway. 

"Oh," Lucifer says, placing a hand on your shoulder. "It seems the cape is a bit too long for you; I wouldn't want you to fall. Allow me to take you back." 

Looking down, you see that he is right; the dark fabric of his cape is dragging behind you. "Are you sure?" you ask. "We are almost back at the house; I can walk the rest of the way."

"Don't be silly; the rain is about to come down, so it's better if I carry you," he says with the persuasion expected of a demon such as himself. You find yourself nodding, and he scoops you into his arms effortlessly.

"I wanted to take them," Mammon whines, reaching a hand out to you with puppy dog eyes. 

"You didn't ask Mammon," Lucifer smirks at his younger brother before looking at you with a loving expression. "Is this comfortable?"

"Very," you nod, resting your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of the two demons' clothing enveloping you.

Lucifer is too proud to ever admit it, but getting to take care of you like this is one of his guiltiest pleasures. Especially when you are draped in his clothing and secure in his arms. 

You work too hard, and they all know it. 

"Not fair," Mammon pouts, reaching out to hold your hand in hopes of getting some kind of physical contact with you.

You smile and give his hand a squeeze. "Just you wait, Mc; when we get back, I'll make ya the best cup of tea you've ever had, and then we can go and watch a movie under all those blankets you like."

"That sounds good." you say, "We could all watch something together by the fireplace; I can even show you guys the spell I was working on."

Lucifer and Mammon lock eyes worriedly, "Uhhh, maybe not." the white-haired demon says.

"Perhaps you should rest for now." Lucifer offers. "You can go and get changed, and I'll take care of the fire."

[bahrtofane]

here we go again - pt.2

pt.1, pt.3

jude x fem!reader , trent x fem!reader

empty promise after another leaves you walking in the cold. alone. on valentines day. youre never speaking to another player again. but, a familair face is here to save the day

word count - 2.2k+

watch it - jude is still an ass sorrehhh. angsy angst and more angst ! ur welcome

-----

You don't know where the hell you are, what time it is. A few more minutes you're going to forget your own name and start screaming to feel something other than misery. So  much for the holiday of love. You are feeling so much love you could jump out of a plane. With no parachute. And land on a pile of rocks. 

You kick a trash can out of frustration and groan at the impact it gives your poor exposed and suffering toes. 

You can not believe the events of today. Everything keeps replaying over and over like a broken projector. The fact that he got you to dress up in your favorite special occasion floor length dress just to have it drag across the grimy dirty fucking disgusting club floor. Oh god you want him dead. 

You're deep into Birmingham nightlife by the time your senses come back to you enough to fish your phone out of your bag. The bag is a birthday gift from your mother of all people forced to be seen among that bunch of people,it makes you seeth. 

You should have known taking you to Birmingham wasn't a good idea. It made no sense in your head, why fly from Madrid to god damn Birmingham. You both live and work in Madrid? Your sweet naive mind thought he came up with something unique, something sweet. 

You groan the second your phone turns on. One too many notifications to keep up with and by the looks of it they aren't stopping anytime soon. Twitter is blowing up, you already know what it is. A bunch of low quality pixels of you entering with him and looking lost with a bunch of tacky headlines. You'll get that settled when you get home. You go to order an uber, but your phone manages to die on you miraculously. How lucky. All the times you spent trying to get a hold of Jude really drained the battery. You clench your jaw. 

Good god. You shove your phone back in your purse and keep stomping through birmingham. Shivering with each step. You didn't bring a jacket, how foolish.

You try to follow streets you think you know, but it's not going very well. There aren't very many people this far out. Leave it to fucking Jude to take you to the worlds more obscure club location. It's been about an hour since you left him at the club you think. An hour of walking through alley ways and neighborhoods that only raise the hair on the back of your neck. He couldn't even get you a ride home?

You think the last person you saw was a nurse chucking coffee at a bus station, the bus that you tried to catch but it sped away faster than your aching legs could take you. Better night than yours you're sure. You wander about trying to find at least a store open to be able to call for a taxi. 

You hear the crunch of slowing tires come up behind you, and you instantly quicken up your pace. You almost swear you hear your name shouted, but you don't stop. The second time, it's a little too clear to be mistaken for anyone else's name as the car comes to a crawl side by side to you. 

You turn on your heel harshly, “why in god's name-“ your voice dies the moment you recognize the familiar car model, and its driver. Trent. Oh.

“Get in the car." he dead pans, windows rolled at the way down, door already unlocked for you.

You wrinkle your nose, “I don't want to talk trent." 

The very last thing you need is that sorry excuse of a man to send his friend of all people to run after you and do his bidding where he fell short just hours before. This is so embarrassing it only makes you wish his car would explode. And then drive it into the club. While it's on fire. 

“I'm not letting you roam around these parts at this time, just get in." he sighs. 

You scowl, "he’s low for sending you to change my mind, after this whole fucking night why cant you leave me alone."

He gives you a look, “this has nothing to do with him, this is me. Worried for you. “

“Fuck off." you spit. 

“You’re so hard headed, just get in the damn car before someone robs you. Or worse." 

"How'd you even know I was here?" you squint at him. 

he sighs, rubbing his eyes, "i still have your location from when i picked you up for his birthday. And I heard about everything from just about everyone. "

"You have nothing else to do on valentines day?" you jab. 

He stays silent, hands wringing the steering wheel. You notice he's in what looks like pjs, Liverpool jacket thrown on top. He drove all this way for you?

You swallow your pride for a moment, hiking up your dress while you duck inside the car. Sighing in relief as the pressure is taken off your aching legs. Snapping your seatbelt over you, swinging your purse over your head and gently setting it on your lap, wiping away the tears that blur your vision. 

Your rage has turned into a simmer for now. The main goal at the moment is to just get out of these clothes and sleep till you forget what year it is. 

Trent is quiet while he lets you get comfortable, rolling up his windows backup and locking the doors. You've never sat passenger in his car before. Hell you haven't seen him in months.

“Did he touch you." he asks, turning the heater on higher.

You put your hand out in front of where the hot air blows oh so nice on your frozen hands,“What?”

“You have a bruise on the back of your arm. Did he do that? “

“No.” you sigh. 

he turns to face you, brows furrowed,“i need to know if he did. “ 

“He didn’t trent, i'm alright.'' your voice softens.

he nods, hands resting on the wheel,“where do you need to go? “

“Just take me to my hotel please."

He nods, handing you his phones to put the directions in. You watch as he takes the car out of park, making a u turn and heading out of whatever bizarre neighborhood you're in, back into the city. And  soon the freeway. Birmingham flashes by you and you try to forget the man that sits like a heavy weight in your mind.

You still wonder why Trent would make the trip all the way out just to pick you up. especially if Jude wasn't involved. You're somewhat close you suppose. The kind where you would call him a friend in a group setting, but not much more. You've spent only a couple of times truly alone. You don't know if you're that close.

 Trent has always been somewhat of a mystery to you. Few appearances and even fewer words. Jude had told you once he was shy, just taking a minute to warm up to new people. He has a habit of staring off into nothing you noticed at Judes birthday party. Always quick to snap out of it the moment eyes were on him. Oh so different from the way he plays. You've seen him now and again in highlights and clips posted on instagram. He's good, but man is he aggressive. You expect it for a defender but the man gets up in everyones space on the pitch.

A complete 180 from the way he can barely look you in the eye now. What is he thinking?

You don't let your curiosity blind you from being at least a little courteous. 

“Thank you, " you mumble, playing with the fabric of your dress, "and sorry for being a bitch.“

“Hey I don’t blame you.” he shrugs. 

You hum and leave it at that. You'll put unraveling Trent on the to do list. 

Your hotel comes into view and you thank him again for the kindness, promising to make it up to him some day. He waves you off, seeing till you're inside to leave. 

Your mind is so blurred you can barely stand anymore, every step only throws you off balance. You need your bed. Asap. Or you will fall over and die.

The hotel's heating is a welcome treat as you beeline for the elevator. The staff give you a strange look but you do NOT. have the time for any of that. Right now all you care about is getting in bed. Can this elevator hurry up? It finally comes and you lean against the metal walls when you step inside, sliding your purse lazily over you.

You all but tear your clothes off the second you make it inside your room, in a rush, wiping your makeup off while you undo your shoes, hobbling around with one foot while you dig for your pajamas. You end the night with a trip to the bathroom. Skipping on your usual night routine and just settling for a quick shower and brush of the teeth. 

Hotel covers have never felt better, warmer, safer. 

In the quiet of the room and the hum of the ac, you can't but let your thoughts consume you. Can't help but circle back to him. Why?

Why weren't you enough? Why did it have to end in fucking flames on whats supposed to be the most romantic love filled day of the year. 

You think back of every moment and piece of you shared with Jude. You remember the first time you kissed you, under the stands at his first madrid home game, clutching onto his jersey like a lifeline. He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Gently holding your hand all the way back inside the building. Mumbling confessions and making you smile with every cheesy pick up line.

That jude is gone now, instead replaced by the man who you have to fight for even a second with. But are expected to drop all for. A selfish bitter man. 

It doesn't matter anymore. It's over, you can rest now and deal with the inevitable fall out as it comes. You know you're more than enough, but with the way you let yourself be treated it's hard to let yourself believe that. 

Never again though. From now, you're swearing off footballers. 

—--

You wake up as early as you can manage, getting all your things together and booking a flight out of here as soon as possible. You need to get back to madrid.

Your headache is massive as you shove the last of your things in your suitcase. You can't believe you took days off for this. Nonetheless, you need to get back. You have a team to get back to and plenty of work to get done. Real Madrid's creative department never rests does it.

Your phone has a slew of missed calls, mainly from Jude but you see a few from Trent, rather recent ones. You give him a call back but it all goes to voicemail.

The key card jams while you're locking it for the last time, it takes a hit from your hand to get the scanner working but you make it out in one piece. Smoothing your clothes down and making your way to the lobby. Sitting down for a few minutes while you confirm your flight details and triple check that you haven't forgotten anything. You hear your name and are greeted again by Trent, who's all but spriting to you. It's a little early for him to be here now isn't it. 

“Can I help you ?” 

“I'm sorry I tried calling and I couldn't answer when you called. Judes outside waiting for you. he-“

So last night really was all just a ploy from Judes end? You try to get up and far far away from him, but he stands in front of you. 

“Listen.  He told me to come and get you out there so you can talk to him and to not tell you. But obviously, I'm not. i’ll tell him you're not here yeah? Take care.”

Trent doesn't leave you with anything else, leaving in the other direction. You take this as a sign to leave while you can, grabbing one of the many taxis outside to the airport. 

—--

Trent gives Jude a scowl, “She's not there Jude, give it up. “

“I can't just lose her. “ Jude sighs, furiously typing on his phone. 

Trent rolls his yees, patience wearing thin,“You’re fucked in the head you know that? After all you’ve done to her, you still want her to come running back?”

Silence. 

“I care about you Jude I really do. But you left her walking around at 3 am with a dead phone in the middle of alleyways dude. That's not okay. “

—--

The airport has never felt lonelier, but you swallow the lump in your throat, boarding your flight home and trying to forget the man that you've come to associate it with. Madrid will be a hard place to move on in, when its walls shine with its star boy. Its halls all but cheering his name. Every corner you're bound to be reminded of him. You can do it, one way or another you won't let yourself be miserable. 

[mimimui]

I saw your "genshin boys asking for a kiss" and i felt like melting into a puddle it's so cute... ㅜㅡㅜ if i may ask, how would the sumeru boys react to reader who is unable to sleep because of their cold? like they try to sleep but the pounding headache, clogged nose, etc is preventing them to do so sobs

thank you so much beforehand!

sumeru boys versus your cold

includes: alhaitham, kaveh, tighnari, cyno

tags: established relationship, endearments, fluff, kinda ooc(?) maybe, not proofread i'm sorry, mention of rudolph (is there even a rudolph in genshin? well there is now)

a/n: thank u so much! ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡ i'm also currently suffering from a severely clogged nose so i understand the feeling x_x thanks for the request anon <3 i kinda struggled writing alhaithams aaa i hope it's still ok :') as always .. enjoy !

alhaitham knows you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, so when you started sneezing this morning, he didn't think much of it. he told you to drink some water and take meds, but that's mostly it. only when he was about to retire to your shared bed was when he noticed your loud, constant sniffling.

"(y/n), did you not take meds earlier?" he asks, switching the lamp back on. alhaitham places a hand on your shoulder, slowly moving you to face him. his eyes widen when he sees your red nose and tired eyes. "haitham.. can't sleep.." you mumble, your hands covering your face.

most people think alhaitham is a bit aloof, but they've clearly never seen him take care of you. he urges you to sit up, quickly getting a tissue for your runny nose. when you tell him, "i can't, my head hurts so bad.." he brings the tissue to your nose himself, asking you to blow into it.

this doesn't cure your clogged nose, however, as you continue to sniffle. he lays next to you, wrapping his arm around you, rubbing your back. "breathe through your mouth slower, copy me," he says, breathing at a slow, easy pace for you to replicate.

it takes some time for you to go to sleep, but even so, alhaitham stays awake the entire time, making sure you fall asleep before he does. when he notices your steady breathing and closed eyes, he smiles contently, glad that you were finally able to sleep.

"sleep well, my dear."

kaveh is not a stranger to sleeping with colds, especially since he's prone to sickness from always stays up late. when you tell him you can't sleep because you have a clogged nose, he immediately asks you if you want meds, tissues, or both. as he babbles on, you can only laugh at his reaction when you say, "i want you."

"that's bold for someone with snot running down their nose," he says teasingly, which earns him a pillow getting thrown at his head. "ow! you're mean when you're sick, (y/n)." he jokingly pouts as he sits next to you on the bed, rubbing the spot you hit with the pillow.

his expressions turns into a sad one as you suddenly lie down, your headache making you groan. he looks around for a bit before handing you the box of tissues he meant to give you earlier, telling you to blow your nose to clear it up a bit.

"i can't do this anymore, kaveh. i hate being sick." you cover your face with the blanket, sniffling underneath. "i know, sunshine, i know," he says, patting your thigh gently. "we all get sick from time to time, but trust me, you'll feel better in no time!" his tone is optimistic, but he makes sure not to be too loud, for the sake of your headache.

"...can you help me fall asleep, please?" you peek through the blanket, watching his reaction to your request. he smiles warmly, lying down and continuing to pat your thigh. he hums a calm, familiar tune—one of your favorites that he sings—and you can't help but smile.

it may be hard to breathe at the moment, but rest assured kaveh will comfort you in any way he can.

tighnari tells you to sit on the edge of the bed, in spite of your throbbing headache. you comply though, waiting for him to come back. it feels like a century when he returns to your room with a pot of steaming water. "place the blanket over yourself and the pot."

the hot steam hits your face and you wince a bit, not used to this kind of temperature. but when tighnari sits next to you and places a reassuring hand on your back, you find the steam a bit more bearable.

"nari, what does this do for me?" you ask, removing the blanket from over your head as 10 minutes pass. he mentions something about steam inahalation and so on, talking about how it can help relieve your clogged nose.

you're not yet entirely cured, but it's comfortable enough. he lies down next to you, an arm wrapping around your waist as he tells you he'll get medicine for you in the morning. his voice is soft, quiet, and gentle. it slowly fades away as you fall asleep, a satisfied tighnari beside you as he watches your eyes close.

"i'm happy to take care of you, my lover."

cyno tries to distract you with corny jokes, but archons, as much as you love him, his jokes are only contributing to your headache. he sits down on the bed, holding a glass of warm water he got for you. "i have a joke about colds, but i hope you don't get it."

"cyno, i love you, but you realize i already have colds, right?" he chuckles at your stressed reaction, asking you to sit up so you can drink water. "do you know what kind of shoes colds wear?" you sigh as you lie back down, pulling the covers over your head.

"aaaaa shoe!" he follows up, smiling at his own joke. you feel his head hit the pillow beside you, his hand finding yours to hold. he uses his other hand to pull the blanket off your face, the moonlight illuminating even the redness of your nose.

"seems like i have my own rudolph." you squeeze his hand tightly and he chuckles. "i apologize, (y/n)," cyno says in a low voice, bringing your hand up to his lips. he closes his eyes as he tells you to breathe deeply, repeating the phrase 'breath in, breath out'.

it's still a struggle to fall asleep, but cyno doing his best to help you breathe easier makes you feel a bit better. if you thought he worked hard as the general mahamatra, he works hard at taking care of you as well.

"let's visit tighnari in the morning. rest easy, (y/n)."

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

[garricks4thwingqueen]

Im Going to be a Father? Part 2

Trigger Warnings/Spoilers: Some spoilers for Iron Flame (Read at own risk), Swearing

Synopsis: Part 2 to Garrick Tavis X reader I'm going to be a father. You can find part one here

Word count: 1333

 Part 2 

My love: Mo ghràdh

Mine: Mianach 

   You sighed waking up in the middle of the night. You were two months along and it was your first night in Samara. The bathrooms were almost too far away as you just barely made it to the porcelain throne before your dinner came back up. You sighed as you felt soft familiar hands now on you. One on your back and the other making a makeshift ponytail out of your hair. “Seven more months of this.” You groaned leaning back into Garrick's muscular chest once you finally stopped chucking up your dinner and dessert. “And I’ll be right by your side. Through everything.”       “Even telling Xaden? ““Fuck even telling Xaden.” He groaned and kissed the top of your forehead. “Maybe we should tell him tomorrow before he notices.” You placed your hands on your small bump forming. “You're probably right. I still can’t believe you have a small bump already.” Gare said softly. “Maybe there’s two little minis in there.” I said playfully. “You know that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe we’d get a mini me and a mini you.” “I love you, so much even with everything that's going on-” Garrick placed a gentle finger on your lips and a soft kiss to your forehead, his hands still resting on yours on your small barely visible bump; “I love you to my sweetheart. We will figure everything out we always have. If we have one or two little ones in there; they will both be loved so much by us; their uncle and all their unbiological aunts and uncles.” You could help but sniffle as you leaned back into Garrick. He was right no matter what was going on in your crazy lives your little ones would be loved so loved. Mo ghràdh.  Garrick said softly through your bond. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny sob into his chest. He chuckled softly knowing that you had easily been set off by even the tiniest of gestures he could display romantically or just about anything. You had even teared up on patrol yesterday when he squeezed your hand three times which was your silent words for, I love you. You cried when he asked you to marry him when you were all spending time in Aretia when he asked you on your birthday in your favorite spot to picnic by your favorite waterfall, your dragons flying overhead. Mianach,  I Gconai. You said back through your bond, finally pulling yourself out of your thoughts. 

                                                    Xaden’s POV

    “I’m sorry you got my sister, what Tavis?” “Xad calm down.” You said softly trying to reach for your brother's wrist as he was frantically pacing back and forth. You thought his veins looked rather red, you thought you had maybe even glimpsed some in his eyes but you just shook it off and knew how stressed your brother had been lately especially with Sgaeyl and Tairn being separated. “Calm the fuck down? You're two months pregnant by my best friend and neither of you thought to tell me before now? You know what kind of a blow that is? Especially with me being intinnisic?I probably god damned sensed it before you two even knew yourself!” “Xaden please. I’m sorry.” “Sorry?” “Xaden” Garrick cut me off with a sharp tone. “Right, I’m sorry I lost my cool. I feel like I haven’t been exactly myself lately and to find out my little sister was knocked up by my best friend during a time we are preparing for war. “ “Xa-” My younger sister said softly and reached for my wrist, this time I let her and pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, It’s just-” “I know it’s everything. Timing is shit but Gare and I have already come to terms with it.” “I wondered how long it would take you two; to get the guts to tell me.” I snickered. 

   “Har, Har.” Garrick chuckled, wrapping his arms around the both of us. I could feel my little sister tension ease as she sighed against my chest as Garrick wrapped his arms around the both of us. “We’ll all get through this. We have each other.” Garrick said softly. “Also, Xad?” My sister asked quietly. “Hmmm?” “If we have a boy, we have a name picked out, but I wanted to run it by you first in case we were stealing it.” I chuckled “Oh yeah what is it?” “Fen Liam Tavis.” I almost wanted to tear up. “No, no you aren’t taking it and plus if you do have a boy the first of ours deserves to be named after their amazing Grandfather and I guess I love you both.” I chuckled softly. “I love you both so much.” My sister whispered against my chest.” “Yeah, I love you, and I guess I love your brother too.” Garrick snickered. 

                                            Nine Months Later 

                                                   Y/N POV 

 Somehow having twins got you and Garrick both leave from duty for several months. You both had chosen to fly back to Aretia for the time being the only place you could both have peace and enjoy your twins before having to go back to reality. And if anything were to happen Brennan would be there you thought, and he would be able to help your sick little ones or you or Garrick. You and Garrick had flown back a week after giving birth only telling your brother where you were going. You had flown on Kira as she flew ever so carefully as you held your little girl Caroline Ann Tavis, who was named after your grandmother, your father's mothers. And Chardh who had flown just as carefully if not even slower as he carried both Garrick and your little boy with Hazel eyes; Fen Liam Tavis.  

         “Good morning boys.” You said stretching walking onto the porch of Riorson house. Garrick held Carloine and to your surprise Xaden had been able to come up for a visit and was finally holding one of your little ones, your sweet little Fen. “Would you like him?” Xaden asked, looking up at you. Seeing your brothers rimmed red eyes pained you. It pained you that there was nothing you could do about it. It pained you that it took him this long to even get comfortable to hold his niece or nephew in his new state. You shook your head sitting down on the lounge next to Garrick as you kissed your daughter on the forehead. “I’m just pleased to see you finally holding your nephew and not worried that you’ll turn him venin just by looking at him or that you're going to break them by just touching them.” “Yeah yeah.” He chided. “Hey, don’t give me that attitude. We will figure this out, there has to be something.” You said softly. Xaden sneered. “And if I turn fully.” “Then you're shit out of luck.” Garrick chuckled. “Garrick.” You chided and elbowed carefully taking your little girl into your arms. “Yeah, Yeah I know, be nice.” He snickered. “You're not going to fully turn; we won't let it happen. I asked a scribe in the library to gather up anything they could on the topic; Gare and I may as well do some light reading while we are here.” “Light my ass.” Garrick snickered. “My point is Xa we will get through this. We always have and always will. We are a team of the three of us.”  And you meant it both boys knew you did too. All three of you would go to the ends of the earth to save each from anything and in this moment sitting with your brother half venin or not, your fiancé and your two little ones in your childhood home you could not be more then content even with whatever threats would rise between the three of you in the coming feature. One day you all would have peace as you absent mindedly started to trace your little girl's rebellion relic.

[starstruckzine]

Fifteen minutes remained until showtime. Kaminari paced back and forth across the band's dressing room while Jiro hung up on Shindo's voicemail message for the tenth time.

"When I get my hands on him..." She muttered under her breath.

All of the biggest names in Japan's music industry considered Murasaki no Kyū as the hot spot in Musutafu. More than one band found fame while performing there, including legendary rock group The Vigilantes. Her parents had called in quite a few favors to get them this gig. It'd be a disaster if Shake Down couldn't perform. They'd be better off bombing than leaving the venue without an opening act at the last second.

"He's becoming more unreliable." Tokoyami crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. "He was late for our last practice, and he missed the one before that."

The silence that followed was palpable as the trio looked at one another and tried to figure out what to do. Seconds gave way to minutes as the clock counted down to certain humiliation and the potential ruin of their future music career.

"We're down to five minutes." Jiro tugged on one of her ear jacks as she stood. She hoped her parents wouldn't be disappointed after all the effort they expended to get Shake Down this chance, and she hoped her friends wouldn't give up on the dream they shared. They'd come too far to let one hurdle trip them up, even if blowing their chance at Murasaki no Kyū was a hell of a stumble for any group in their position. "I'll let Mr. Nakaoji know we won't be able to perform tonight."

The door to the dressing room slammed open, and Bakugou barreled through it. He scanned the room, eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. "The loser didn't show up, did he?" His smirk indicated he already knew the answer.

"I was just going to let Mr. Nakaoji know-"

"Hey. Kirishima!" Kaminari interrupted as the familiar redhead strolled through the door behind Bakugou. "I thought you had practice tonight with that new band that asked you to fill in for them."

"I'd never miss out on a chance to support you guys on your big night. That'd be totally unmanly." Kirishima scratched the back of his head with a sheepish grin."Besides, the band broke up this morning. I'm out of a job again."

"Kiri is gonna be our drummer tonight."

"No worries, guys. I know all your songs."

Tokoyami and the others shared a confused look. "Then what are you-?"

"I'm replacing that lousy extra on vocals from now on, and he better not show his face again. Let's go."

Bakugou didn't wait to see if anyone wanted to argue about his announcement, confident in the decision he'd been contemplating for weeks. As soon as he noticed how unreliable Shindo was getting, Bakugou began to devise a contingency plan. They'd put too much work into their music to let one idiot ruin everything. Kirishima already knew how to play Shake Down's songs, and Bakugou had spent countless hours honing his vocal skills in addition to providing backup on a few of their current tracks.

Kirishima grinned, whipped the drumsticks out of his back pocket - he never went anywhere without them - and followed Bakugou towards the stage. There was only a moment of stunned silence before the other three band members followed suit.

🌟🌟🌟

Tension hung in the air as the band members waited for the curtain to rise. Jiro had covered for Shindo during sound check, but sound check wasn't the same kind of pressure as actually performing at the most exclusive club in the city.

Bakugou fidgeted with the microphone while Jiro confirmed the new set list with Tokoyami because Bakugou changed it as they were walking down the hall. Kaminari patted down his pockets in search of his spare guitar picks because the one he had earlier somehow vanished between the dressing room and the stage, and Kirishima adjusted the height of the cymbols on Bakugou's signature black and orange "Explosion 2.0" drum kit. (The first one was accidentally damaged in the midst of a disagreement that happened during practice one day.)

The new lineup felt foreign but not uncomfortable. There were a few times when Shindo had been late for practice or didn't show up at all, and Bakugou filled in on vocals. Once or twice, he introduced a new song. None of them realized it was his way of preparing for what he saw as inevitable, but that night, they were all grateful for his suspicions.

"Give it up for tonight's opening act! Shake Down!"

The curtain began to rise as the stage manager introduced the band. Applause erupted. Familiar faces lined the edge of the stage. Friends. Family. Fans. Shake Down had amassed a decent following around the city during their years of playing birthday parties and school events, and many of their supporters made it a point to show for the occasion.

There was a moment of hesitation, a slight lull in the cheering as members of the crowd shared looks of confusion. Bakugou smirked. Their reaction didn't faze him. He wouldn't let it. He knew this was the best chance for their success.

"We! Will! Not! Fall!"

Bakugou belted out the opening lyrics to "No Surrender", the band's most popular song. They usually played it for the finale, but tonight, he intended to make a pledge with those four words.

The music swelled. In an instant, a wave of sound filled the club and whipped the crowd into frenzy. People shouted. They cheered. Those in the back of the room rushed for spots closer to the stage.

And, unknown to the band members, one particular individual was sending out a text that would change their lives forever.

*They're definitely worth following. I'll swing by the office tomorrow to discuss.*

[bluenet13]

A Very Marry Christmas - Read on AO3

Tim's plans to propose are repeatedly thwarted by Lucy's busy holiday schedule. Desperate to make it happen, he decides to take a chance during the team's gift exchange. A @chenfordsecretsanta fic for @mamadoc

'Twas two weeks before Christmas, and all through the house, the sound of Tim Bradford's footsteps echo steadily. Outside, Christmas lights twinkle brightly as Tim paces in his living room. Fifteen steps to the coffee table, ten more to the door. Another fifteen to the stairs, and finally twenty back to the opposite wall. He's counted them certainly once, possibly thrice, but most likely he's into double digits. Anything to distract himself from the small box burning a hole in his pocket.

Lucy is half an hour late. It happens often and Tim usually accepts it without complaint. But tonight, it makes him restless and so he paces. The food is getting cold in the kitchen, because it was either cold on the table or burnt on the stove. That also happens often, because one of them is almost always late, and because Tim is nowhere near a chef and dinner has been burned in more than one occasion. But not tonight. Tonight, Tim followed the instructions Genny sent to perfection, wanting the evening to be equally perfect.

It's another half hour later when keys jingle outside. Tim stops and stares, eyes wide as his hand inadvertently moves to cover his pocket.

A moment later the door opens, and Lucy is right there. She drops her bag and catches Kojo as he comes barreling down. She kisses him in the head as Tim continues staring. If he was a less confident man, he would get offended at his girlfriend kissing their dog hello before him. Instead, he patiently waits for his turn, and a minute later Lucy is back in his arms where she belongs.

"Hi Lu," he breathes into her hair, letting the familiar scent sooth the butterflies dancing in his stomach. "How was work?"

"It's been a day," Lucy sighs, "Had to break a fight at Best Buy, almost arrest a teen and treat the mall Santa Claus he brought to tears and help with a traffic accident after a poorly tied tree slipped off a car's roof in the middle of La Brea."

Tim grimaces and gently turns Lucy around so he can massage her shoulders and neck. "The joys of the Christmas season," he says sarcastically. Yet, he smiles to himself. Hoping tonight will make however many Christmases together life gifts them the most joyful of seasons as they celebrate their anniversary year after year.

Lucy nods and relaxes into Tim's touch. She closes her eyes and is nearly asleep on her feet when her phone buzzes in her pocket. Picking it up, she shoots Nolan a quick reply and turns to look at Tim apologetically. "Yeah, about that… The day is about to become a little more joyful."

Tim deflects at the inflection in her voice because they have been here before. "What did you do?" He almost tacks on a now at the end of the sentence, but he doesn't want to start the rest of their lives together with petty comments and unnecessary arguments.

"I sort of got volunteered for a community event tonight," Lucy explains, then breaks for a kiss to soften the blow. "And I sort of volunteered you to come with me."

To Tim's credit he manages to muster a tentative smile and almost convincing nod. "That sounds great, Luce."

"You're not mad?" Lucy asks, finally catching the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. "You made dinner?"

"I did, but it was nothing special. I can pack it, and we can reheat it tomorrow at the station." He fails to mention how dinner was Lucy's favorite dish as a child that she's mentioned a few times she hasn't eaten since the falling out with her parents. If she asks, he can just say he bought it, no need for her to know he spent hours cooking and start suspecting he's up to something.

"Okay, I'm sorry." Lucy smiles and it's so infectious that Tim finds himself smiling back even if his plans are completely ruined. "Let's go change into something more festive. I promised Nolan I would be there in an hour at most."

Making a silent note to have a conversation with Nolan, Tim follows Lucy into the bedroom. But not before making a stop at the highest shelf in the kitchen and depositing the ring safely inside.

-x-x-x-

Three days later, Tim puts the disappointment of the failed proposal behind him and tries again. He's just finished wiggling Kojo into a Santa costume, complete with beard and hat, when his phone rings.

He cringes when Lucy's picture pops into the screen and silently begs the universe that she's just calling to tell him she's on her way home.

The universe in turn laughs at his face, and keeps going on uncarily, as Lucy explains in his ear.

"I'm sorry, Tim. I know we had plans to go on a hike with Kojo but two of Harper's detectives called out and she needs help with an open case."

Tim sighs and lets the disappointed show on his face while masking it in his voice. "Isn't there anyone else that can help?" He tries, not wanting to read too much on the universe yet again conspiring against him.

"Yeah, but Harper asked me first. She knows I've been trying to make up for the detective's test and everything else that happened."

Tim hates that Lucy is still trying to atone for things she shouldn't be atoning for, but that's just the nature of the world and he promised himself he would be supportive. God knows he's the one that will be trying to make amends the rest of his life and it still won't be enough for what he put her through.

"It's okay. We can go on a hike another day," he says dutifully, silently beginning to get the costume off Kojo. "Be safe, I love you."

"Love you too, see you later tonight." Lucy blows him a kiss and the line goes dead.

Tim's heart sinks at the silence but he smiles down at Kojo and pats his head softly. "What do you say about going on a walk with just daddy?"

-x-x-x-

It's three nights before Christmas when Tim decides to try yet again. This time he's picked a day when they are both working so he can make sure they both end up at the restaurant like they're supposed to.

When the clock on his small office ticks five in the afternoon, he checks his phone and smiles upon seeing Lucy's text. She's just finished her last call and is on the way back to the station. Perfectly on time.

A few minutes later, Lucy pokes her head through the small gap he left open on the door and gives him a blinding smile. "I will go shower and get dressed and we can be on our way."

"Sounds great, Luce."

This time, Tim picked the fancy restaurant where they had their first date after getting back together. He almost picked a new place to signal a new beginning, but instead he chose the one that reminds them that even in life's darkest moments, when destiny or each other pushes them apart, they're still stronger together. 

He reserved a cozy corner table, ordered Lucy's favorite wine in advance, and rehearsed his speech more times that he knew were necessary. Trying his very best to keep things on track and his plans in motion.

But as seconds then minutes start ticking by and Lucy still hasn't returned, Tim starts to get antsy. He glances at the small velvet box he's been holding and curses when he sees his sweaty hands are getting it damp. He dries it on his jacket and puts it in his pocket, so he doesn't oust himself when Lucy comes in.

When the door finally opens a few minutes later, it's not Lucy, but Angela. Tim curses softly, unclenches his hands, and settles on his chair. He forces his tense shoulders to drop and focuses on his best friend. She has that funny look on her face that he hates, and he just knows his plans are about to be ruined again.

"Sooo…" Angela begins and Tim cringes.

He waits and cringes some more when Angela raises her hands apologetically without having said anything that needed apologizing for. She glances at his attire and decides to sit down.

"I was talking to Nyla when Lucy came in to change and she heard us talking," Angela finally explains and Tim already doesn't like where this is going. "I was telling her how the latest case forced me to take overtime three Fridays in a row and I missed Wesley's birthday, plus the anniversary of when he proposed."

"Okay?" Tim prompts, trying but failing to wait calmly for the rest of the story.

She takes a deep breath and explains everything so quickly that Tim misses half the words, but he still gets the gist of it. Lucy felt bad so she offered to babysit the Lopez-Evers siblings so Angela and Wesley could take their reservation to make up for their missed celebrations.

"I'm sorry, Tim. Lucy looked so earnest when she offered that I really thought you guys wouldn't mind, but seeing you now…" She trails off, looking him up and down and taking in the freshly pressed suit and expertly combed hair.

Tim's shoulders slump but he nods anyway. He loves Lucy's big heart, he really does. Yet still he wishes her big heart would stop getting in the way of his.

Angela coughs and Tim realizes his silence has stretched too long to the point of suspicion. The last thing he wants is his detective friend to start detecting so he grabs her hand and squeezes supportively.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it and just enjoy the evening with Wes." He tries not to sound too annoyed, but the way Angela's brows furrow makes him think he's just failed spectacularly.

"Timothy, is there something you're not telling me?" Angela asks sweetly, in her most dangerous voice.

Tim opens his mouth to try to form an excuse when Angela lifts a finger silencing him.

"Wait, I got it." She starts ticking fingers as she goes. "You made reservations on a Friday night to one of LA's busiest restaurants and one I know for a fact you have only visited once before, when I helped you finally get your head out of your ass and ask Lucy to a first date, again. You are wearing a suit that I also know for a fact you didn't own before because I've been in your closet, and I know I would have picked this one for my wedding had it been there. You combed your hair in a way that I last saw… Never, you have never combed your hair to make yourself look like a Hollywood star and not the guy that catches people pissing on the Hollywood Stars."

She pauses, takes a big gulp of air, and goes for the killing blow. "And you're really trying to be inconspicuous, but you have been staring at the ring box-shaped lump in your pocket ever since I came in."

Tim has known Angela long enough to know that lying would be pointless, so, uncharacteristically, he decides to open up without her having to threaten him first and tells her everything. She spends about ten minutes squealing, demanding to see the ring, and hugging him to his dismay, before quickly sobering up and starting to plan with him.

-x-x-x-

In the week leading up to Christmas, Angela dutifully helps Tim plan perfect proposal after perfect proposal. They end with Tim in a Santa costume delivering gifts at the local children's hospital, Tim and Lucy babysitting Lila and Leah, Lucy volunteering them for an extended patrol so another officer could finish gift shopping, and party after party that was fun but too crowded for him to propose.

Out of ideas, and time, Tim decides to propose during the gift exchange Nola and Bailey organized for the team at their home. There are a million things that could go wrong, but everything has already gone wrong when it shouldn't, so he figures there's not much more he can lose.

With Angela's help he wraps the engagement ring as Lucy's Secret Santa present and manipulates the draw in a way that he knows for certain Lucy's name will be the one on the last paper left for him when he's purposely late to the drawing.

The evening goes well for the most part, but he's nervous as hell so Angela keeps topping his whiskey glass to keep him relaxed. He's a little tipsy by the time Bailey declares dinner over and the exchange beginning, but at least the gift is still where he left it, Lucy hasn't volunteered them for anything that would cut the night short, and no one has realized what he's planning.

As planned, Bailey opens the first gift from Celina and rejoices at the LAFD onesie. Then Nolan fist bumps James, smiling at his new tool kit, and Tamara squeals at the blouse Angela got her.

The rest of the exchange proceeds in controlled chaos but things take a turn when it's just Harper and Lucy left, and Harper grabs a box that looks suspiciously like Tim's box, same wrapping paper and all.

Tim turns panicked eyes at Angela and silently begs her to do something. Always smart and quick-witted, she clears her throat. "Harper, wait! I think you might have grabbed the wrong gift," Angela says, trying to sound casual. "Unless you have a secret admirer that's not James?" She pointedly looks at the box that clearly contains jewelry and at Nolan's gift from her husband. "I think that one is for Lucy."

Harper pauses, a skeptical look on her face. "Nice try, Lopez. But the name tag says it's for me."

She slowly unwraps the gift and by the time the lid comes off, revealing the sparkling ring inside, Tim has fully stopped breathing. Harper gasps and the room falls silent.

Harper's eyes widen in shock, and she looks around the room, confused, her eyes finally settling on Tim, then Lucy, then Tim again. "Uh, Tim? I think there's been a mix-up."

Lucy, equally shocked, looks at Tim with wide eyes. "Tim, what's going on?"

Tim's heart drops. This is not how he imagined it at all.

Still, he stands up, his face flushed with embarrassment even as his eyes shine with the determination to make this right and finally propose to the love of his life. He steps forward, takes the ring from an apologetic Harper, and drops to a knee.

"Luce," Tim begins, his voice steadying as he looks into her eyes as if they're the only two people in the room and the whole damn universe. "I had this all planned out, quite a few times actually, but life and your big heart had other ideas." He laughs and recounts every failed attempt that preceded this day, gently shushing her when she rushes to apologize in the middle of his speech. "Lucy Chen, you're the most incredible person I've ever met, and I'm the luckiest guy because for some reason you chose me, over and over again, even when I didn't deserve it. We've been through so much together and it's all taught me that life is not worth living without you. I know things haven't gone exactly as planned, tonight and before, but maybe that's just our way. Nothing about us has been traditional or easy. But through it all, we have stuck together, and it's only made us stronger. Will you make me the happiest man on the planet and marry me?"

Lucy, her eyes filled with tears, nods. "Yes, Tim. Yes! A million times yes!"

The room erupts into cheers and applause as Tim slips the ring onto Lucy's finger. He pulls her to her feet and captures her lips in a kiss that promises the future he's always dreamed of but never dared believe would happen to a guy like him.

When they break apart, their friends are right there.

Nolan clasps Tim on the back. "Congratulations, man. That was a rollercoaster."

Tim laughs, relief and happiness flooding through him. "You have no idea."

"Well, it wouldn't be a Mid-Wilshire proposal or wedding without a little drama," Wesley jokes.

Bailey grins, shaking her head. "Don't forget honeymoons, those can go awry too."

After every member of their little family has congratulated them, only Angela remains. Her familiar cheeky grin is gone and there are tears in her eyes as she smiles at them. "Congratulations, you both! I couldn't be happier." She pulls them into a hug and saves the rest of her words for later when she's writing her co-best woman speech.

Tim and Lucy forgo the rest of Secret Santa and steal a moment alone on the porch, the cold night air a stark contrast to the warmth they feel inside.

"I can't believe you did all this," Lucy says, looking at Tim with adoration. "And I can't believe I ruined your plans so many times that you had to propose in front of all our friends." Lucy grimaces and buries her face on Tim's shirt. "That's very un-Tim-like."

Tim nods, a sheepish smile on his face. "It wasn't my first choice, but it makes sense for us."

He spares their friends a glance and his mind's-eye flashes with countless snapshots of moments together. The near misses and the relief afterward, their concern after the breakup and joy when they got back together, the countless times they’ve supported each other through thick and thin. Every trial, every laugh, every moment that has led them to this point.

"Let's make a promise," Lucy says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"What's that?" Tim asks, swaying slightly with the wind in tune with the soft Christmas music coming from the living room.

"Let's promise to always find time for each other, no matter how crazy things get. To always support each other, even when plans go awry."

"I promise, Lucy. Always." They lean in, sealing the promise with a kiss, the world around them fading away. When they pull back, Tim holds Lucy's hand, the engagement ring catching the light and sparkling brightly.

"I love you, Tim. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Lucy," Tim replies, pulling his fiancé close.

They stand in comfortable silence, the sound of laughter and celebration drifting from inside. Tim gently brushes a stray hair from Lucy's face, his touch warm and reassuring. "Should we go back inside or call it a night and move the celebrations somewhere more private?"

"Let's go back inside," Lucy suggests, squeezing his hand. "But only for a little while. We have a lot to celebrate."

Hand in hand, they walk back into the house, greeted by their friends' cheers and smiles. The night continues with stories, laughter, and joy, each moment a precious memory in the making.

When they finally announce they're going home, Angela pulls Tim close and raises her glass in a toast. "To Tim and Lucy, may your love continue to grow, and may you always find happiness in each other."

"To Tim and Lucy!" everyone echoes, their voices ringing with genuine affection and joy.

Tim and Lucy thank their friends and leave the house, their fingers intertwined as they step into the night. The sky above is clear, the stars shining brightly in their honor, each one a distant reminder of the infinite possibilities that await them.

"Ready for our next adventure?" Tim asks, his eyes twinkling bright.

Lucy smiles, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Always," she whispers in the night.

And thus begins the next chapter of their lives.

[infiniteeight8]

Hi!

Could we have alpha tony/alpha Stephen revieling their relationship by being protective of their omega son, Peter?

Hello there! I’m assuming that if both Tony and Stephen are alphas, Peter is adopted. I'm assuming that Aunt May died in a similar fashion as canon, just a bit earlier, and Peter is recently adopted.

Sorry for crapping on Steve Rogers in this one, but I needed a non-evil antagonist.

-

Tony knows he’s being a little overprotective, checking in on Peter as often as he has been, but after what the kid’s been through, he doesn’t seem to mind frequent reminders that his new parents are thinking about him. So it’s only been an hour since he left Peter absorbed in his phone in the Avengers lounge, and yet as he approaches the scent of distressed omega puts every instinct he has on high alert. Tony gives his bond to Stephen a nudge and picks up the pace.

“...isn’t really the place for a child, much less an omega child.”

It’s Rogers’ voice. He sounds like he’s trying to be understanding, but there’s an undertone of disapproval that Peter is definitely going to take to heart. 

“My dad said I could wait here,” Peter ventures. 

“I know all of the active Avengers’ children.”

Tony rounds the corner and steps up behind Peter, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Your information is out of date, Rogers,” he says. “Peter is my son. He’s allowed to be here. If you’d paid attention, you’d realize that he is, in fact, wearing a security badge.”

Steve’s frown only deepens. “Are you really the best person to raise a child?” he asks. “You aren’t even mated.”

With impeccable timing, this is when Stephen portals into the room. He goes to Peter, sitting and letting the kid lean into him. 

“Like hell I’m not mated,” Tony says, putting his other hand on Stephen’s shoulder.

Steve glances between them a couple of times. “But—”

“Same dynamic relationships have been around forever,” Stephen says sharply, glancing at Steve. “I know you were familiar with them during your service.”

“It’s not that,” Steve says quickly. “It’s… Tony…”

Tony blows out a breath. “Just stop there.”

Wisely, Steve retreats.

[yanderes-galore]

Would it be okay to ask for a scenario of Hiccup with a Darling that's from modern times? Like due to mysterious ways Darling ended up in Berk and freaks out because of the Sargon's and all?

Sure! That would actually be terrifying now that I think about it as a lot of the dragons are really dangerous- I tried to pace this longer as I was inspired by another writer but I'm not sure how long it'll get but I hope you like my attempt :) This was long but I feel I executed it poorly, you be the judge of that.

You have a dragon and I wish I expanded more on that but I had no ideas :( This is a tame yandere focusing on heavy manipulation more than full on violence.

Not proofread, you get this raw.

Viking Life

Yandere! Hiccup with Modern! Darling Scenario

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Darling is scared and a bit oblivious, Dubious relationship/companionship, Protective behavior, Implied stockholm syndrome.

You felt your skin bruise when you landed, the sleepiness in your eyes shaking out quickly upon landing. This was not your world, it was one of fiction. One of fantasy, with vikings and dragons.

One moment you were sleeping in your bed for a quick nap. The next you were falling onto the cold ground, eyes darting around your surroundings. This... looked a lot like a series you liked.

You look down at your body, your clothes that you were wearing before were still on but dirty. You try to keep focused and look around your surroundings. Only to freeze when predatory eyes locked on you.

A dragon, straight from the series you enjoy, growls down at you. Adrenaline surges through your body as you quickly scurry backwards. The dragon backs you to a stone rock with a growl.

Great, you just got here by some sort of means unknown to you and you were going to die. Your life was going to end and you would have no idea why. You can't fight a literal dragon.

You make yourself look as small as possible, preparing to roll out of the way of a blow if you could. Before you could you felt the heat of a blast hit the dragon. Said dragon screeches before backing off.

You quickly turn to see another dragon and a rider. On closer look... your mouth shoots open. That's... you know them!

Hiccup and Toothless.

The Night Fury and his rider manage to drive the dragon off with some precise plasma bolts. The heat washes over you and you feel the urge to sweat. You hold your breath when the dragon flies off, but Toothless gaze swaps to you.

"I've never seen you before..." The rider, Hiccup, asks you. His gaze sweeps over your clothes in curiosity. It was nothing compared to his leather armor. "What kind of place wears something like that?"

You can only look at him with the expression of a fearful animal. You can barely breathe with the Night Fury staring you down. This... was reality.

"You don't look like you know how to tame a dragon, either... it's not safe here." Hiccup tells you, getting off of Toothless. "Can I get your name?"

You give the viking your name and he says it back to you. You can tell the name feels foreign to him when he says it but he makes not comment. He looks you over again before introducing himself. The name is familiar to you, of course, as in your world this is all fiction.

"Let's talk more somewhere safer. Last thing we need is a wild dragon attacking you again." He asks for your hand and you hesitantly take it.

Safe to say the first dragon ride on Toothless isn't easy on you.

----

When you were brought to Dragon's Edge you were quickly met with the feeling that your new life wouldn't be easy. When Hiccup mentioned to his friends that he brought someone new there was immediate backlash. Your "warm welcome" was more akin to an interrogation, really.

You couldn't blame them. They were all just as scared as you. But that didn't stop you from cowering behind Hiccup whenever their tones got aggressive.

Hiccup became a big help to you. He helped you give information to their questions without feeling overwhelmed. Answering questions was still difficult even without their aggression, however.

You told them all what you could. You told them your name, your world, and how you woke up. You answered when asked but it appears it didn't get much of anywhere.

You were still an enigma.

The questions they asked often involved your clothes, your knowledge on dragons, and/or your heritage. You answered what you could and tried to tiptoe around the idea of their world being fake where you came from.

You knew everyone's names but you acted as if you didn't to not freak them out. One by one, Hiccup introduced you to his friends. It felt bittersweet, on one hand you liked that you could meet your favorite characters... although...

You wonder if you'll ever go home.

It soon becomes clear that you will need somewhere to go. Since you are not aware of your surroundings you have nowhere to go. When Hiccup brings up allowing you to say in Dragon's Edge there is some hesitancy.

Tension is heavy in the air at the idea of allowing someone they have no idea about staying. Although, you thank Hiccup for helping y0ur case as he manages to convince his fellow vikings enough to allow it. He'd keep an eye on you and make sure you don't try anything.

He doubts your dangerous but anything to make them happy.

This begins your life in this world. A small hut is built for you and you're left to get to know your companions. The idea of adapting to this world is stressful, even with help.

Hiccup becomes your guide on the Edge. He helps you speak to others, he helps you with Astrid pick out clothing more akin to this area, and you are taught about training dragons.

Without Hiccup you doubt you could adapt to your situation. You're happy to have someone like him help you, along with his friends even if you are still uneasy about them. They all make your new life easier.

You still wish you could go home, however....

----

Since you began living at Dragon's Edge you've gotten along with your neighbors. You've spoken to many of the dragon riders and helped tend to their dragons. There's even talk of getting your own dragon. You always decline the offer, fearing that means your stay is permanent.

Part of you felt indebted to Hiccup. He saved you... ever since you've been friends. Even when you feel closed off, Hiccup comes in to help you adapt.

You've learned a lot from him, your friend. He's taught you about countless dragons to prevent how you met from happening a again. He taught you how to fish, he taught you basic combat even if it usually resulted in you falling over.

You and Hiccup seemed to have good chemistry. It wasn't necessarily in the romantic sense, but you two got along well. You felt you could rely on him... and Hiccup always seems so eager to help.

He was never aggressive with you. He always asked you gently about anything, like if you recall anything from before your time here. He's always eager to listen about you.

Hiccup encourages you to take a dragon of your own yet you always tell him no. You still have faith you'll get home someday. You never planned to stay too long.

From what you can tell this doesn't affect Hiccup much. Although it's possible you just don't see the cloudy look in his eyes. All you want is to go home... even if it is nice here.

"It's been months since you came here, it would be safer if you had a dragon." Hiccup had pulled you aside in private one day, flying you to a private part of the island. He was always concerned about your safety due to the Dragon Hunters. It was one of the reasons he rarely left your side too long and always asked to help.

"I've said this time and time again, Hiccup. If I got a dragon, I'll get attached. This isn't my home." You sigh, looking off at the water longingly. This world was beautiful yet home was home.

"I know..." He sighs deeply, looking over at you. "What if you never go home, though? What if I'm not around to protect you until then?"

You give Hiccup a saddened look. Hiccup's stressed expressions softens when he sees this but he looks away. You understand... he's being a good guy, that's all!

"Look... I'm just saying getting you home could be years from now. We have no idea how you got here... we know even less about bringing you back!"

Tears collect in your eyes and you nod. He had a point, even if you hated to agree. You had already gotten to be good friends with every body. A dragon would only prove useful.

At the same time... it feels like it would only chain you to this world.

Hiccup picks up on your silence and shaking body. You pause when he pulls you next to him and holds your face. He scans over your tears and wipes them away with care.

"I understand you want to go home..." He acts like it hurts to say it. "Surely you must understand it's dangerous around here, right? I'll train a dragon for you... just for your protection. Please think of the benefits until we learn how to bring you home?"

You don't have much of a choice. You're left speechless at Hiccup's sudden action to pull you closer and your thoughts jumble together. You look at his eyes and huff.

"... If you say it's what's best for me, I trust your judgment, Hiccup. You are my closest friend, after all."

Hiccup smiles and pulls away. Something feels off but you can't figure out what. You just... weren't expecting such an action from him-

"Great. Let's pick one for you soon... thanks for considering."

His smile is contagious....

"Sure... no problem...."

----

Dragon training isn't easy. Despite this... after little over a year of knowing Hiccup you managed to become close with a Silver Phantom. The dragon was large, fast, yet shy with humans.

They were troubling to train, yet you managed because Hiccup urged you to.

Hiccup urged you to do a lot since you met him.... You felt he was going it because he knew how this world worked. Although now that you had a dragon protecting you... he should back off, right?

Apparently that was not the case. Hiccup still visited you just as often. You adored your Silver Phantom, you adored your now growing hut, and you adored your new friends.... Thoughts of home still lingered in the back of your mind but they slowly faded away as time passed.

You couldn't blame yourself...

You were probably never making it back.

Why would you want to go back now? You had Hiccup, your best friend... and you had your dragon! They were all you really needed now.

Your modern clothes were long since discarded. You had gotten used to viking attire now anyways. Anything that reminded you of your past life was tossed aside.

... was there any point in going home?

It's not like Hiccup brought up any development on it. All he did was stick around you and help you out. You... even began to grow attached the longer you stayed here.

Hiccup had told asked you to not bring up your old home anymore. As he kept saying, who knows when you'll get back? For now... isn't here your home?

Think about it... you've accomplished so much here. You became a dragon rider, you gained so many friends, aren't you thriving here? Plus, leaving would hurt by now wouldn't it?

It's exactly as you feared.

You were in this deep. All thanks to Hiccup's words and comforting advice. You'd think he was doing it all on purpose.

He wouldn't though... right? Hiccup is your best friend. He just wants what's best for you. He... makes you feel comfortable.

He's quickly becoming the one thing that makes you happy in this world...

... maybe you don't want to leave anymore.

----

Hiccup couldn't hide the grin on his face. It took time, but with some well placed manipulation he managed to make you stay. Truthfully, Hiccup didn't know if he could bring you back home.

Yet... why go back? Clearly this was your home now. It was already approaching your second year here and you appear to be thriving.

Hiccup had a huge part in it. He made you a confident viking despite your differences. Your Silver Phantom, Jetstream, had also been a big part in making you stay. Now you didn't want to leave.

Part of Hiccup knows he should feel bad for what he did. He took advantage of you and manipulated your mind into relying on him. Now you clung around him all the time.

You two could possibly even start dating if he pushed a bit farther.

That was an opportunity for another time. All Hiccup really cared about was keeping you here with him at Dragon's Edge. When he first met you... he felt there was something about you.

Maybe it was the mystery that brought him in? He wasn't sure... all he knew was you felt nice to be around. Even when you hid behind him... he felt a strong attachment to you.

Now it's been years. It feels like he's known you for longer. Your past may be foggy to him, but now you're an entirely different person! A person he's had a hand in making.

It felt... nice for you to slowly care for him more than your old home. Again, how wrong of him to say, he can't help it.... He's surprised you never questioned him.

Hiccup will admit he's been obsessive about you since he met you. To the point he follows you sometimes and... watches you when you're unaware. Jetstream catches him at times which causes him to leave, however.

Hiccup prefers to keep you blissfully unaware of his obsession. He's already gotten you to the point you like Dragon's Edge as your home. Far as he knows, from now on, the Edge could be your home forever...

Then you could stay with Hiccup, forever.

Hiccup is... happy that your home is long gone from your mind now. It just means you've accepted the truth, as dark as it sounds.

You're meant to be here, don't you see?

You're meant to be here with him, forever as his.