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majestyeverlasting · 3 months ago

Note

Hello there! :) If I may, I’d like to request a Joel miller x reader ⇩

something where the reader is experiencing a migraine (headache + nausea and all that) and Joel tries calling her all day while he’s out and when he gets home he finds her asleep in pitch black room and realises what’s wrong, but knows exactly how to comfort his girl? 🥰

*im sorryyy if that’s long or weirdly specific it’s just something I’ve been struggling with lately and I need some comfort about it don’t mind me😻)*

𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary Joel comes home to find that you’re suffering from a migraine in bed. Luckily, he’s helped you through this once or twice. [no outbreak, hurt/comfort, fluff, 1.8k].

A/N Thanks for this request! I promise it's not weird at all. In my head, this is Joel and reader from here with you.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Joel (8:57 AM) Sorry I missed you this morning, didn’t wanna wake you. Have a good day. -J

Joel (11:02 AM) Checking in. You up and at em yet?

Joel (2:34 PM) Everything okay? Call you in a bit. -J

Still nothing from you. Joel locks his phone and rests his forearms on his legs.

Today is the warmest day all week. Getting to ditch the extra layer is nice. Tommy shields his eyes from the sun as he exits a prim house with a spotless driveway and plush lawn. Beside it is another perfect lot, and another, and another, arranged around the whole cul-de-sac. He and Joel had been contracted to do a kitchen upgrade for the new homeowners and were in the process of working through the finishing touches.

From his seated position on the curb, Joel looks over his shoulder as footsteps approach. Tommy draws his leg back like he plans to kick him, and snickers when he leans out the way.

“Watch yourself,” Joel warns.

“Or what?” A smirk pulls at Tommy’s lips. “I’ll lay your old ass out on this asphalt.”

Joel shakes his head as Tommy sits down beside him with a grunt. A comfortable silence settles between them, and Joel fights the urge to check his phone even though it hasn’t buzzed. Tommy notices the slight tension in his shoulders but chalks it up to wanting to be done for the day. After the owners did their final walkthrough tomorrow, a three-day weekend awaited.

A cool breeze rolls through as Tommy stretches his legs out in front of himself, his jeans peppered with dust and dried specks of white paint. When he takes a swig from the bottle he walked outside with, Joel’s squints at the label, his interest piqued.

“Kombucha?” he says with furrowed brows.

Tommy nods as he swallows. “Sarah put me on,” he says after wiping his mouth. “Helps with your gut. Something like that.”

“A few crunches should do the trick,” Joel mutters.

Tommy snorts and elbows him. “Right back at you, smartass.” Joel huffs a breath at that. “Hey, what do you think about going fishing this weekend—Saturday maybe?”

When his brother doesn’t respond, he knocks his knee against his. “Anybody home?”

Joel straightens up in hopes of making his anxiety less evident. Except, he wears it like a second skin. To deny it would be to deny himself.

“What time you think we’ll be done today?” The break they carved out just started, but it’s his roundabout way of suggesting they get back to work. There wasn’t too much left to do if they locked in—some additional caulking, sealing, and polishing.

Tommy shakes his head as he calculates. “Three-thirty, four?” Then he narrows his eyes at Joel. “You’ve been sitting funny since I walked out here…”

Joel’s chest puffs with a sigh as he unlocks his phone. The text thread between the two of you is already pulled up, and all three of his messages to you are unanswered. Tommy leans closer to read them and bites his lower lip as the gears start turning in his head.

He decides to draw a little levity in, “You piss her off?” There’s a teasing undertone to his question.

“Don't think so,” Joel says as he shifts. “Gonna give her a call.”

Tommy nods and claps him on the back. “We can get back to work after.”

He heads back inside to give his brother some privacy.

When you don’t answer the phone, Joel leaves a message anyway.

“Hey, sweetheart. Haven’t been able to get through to you, but I’ll be home soon, okay? Four-thirty at the latest…” he pauses to bite his lower lip. “Call me if you get this before I’m there. Love you.”

•••

It’s quiet when he arrives home. Virtually undisturbed. The pillows on the couch are positioned in the exact way they’d been left after last night’s impromptu movie night. The TV remote is in the same place on the coffee table as well. There’s nothing that suggests you’ve been stirring around at all. He walks deeper into the house to find that the kitchen and sunroom are empty too. The late afternoon sun pools in through the window.

When he makes it back around to the staircase, he jogs to the top. The wood creaks beneath his steps.

“Sweetheart?” he calls out. “I’m home. You up here?”

His voice carries to where you’re tucked in bed, but you can’t bring yourself to answer back. Not loud enough for him to hear you, at least. The ache that once pulsed throughout your head has steadied to the point where you don’t want to risk overexerting yourself and tumbling back to square one. Joel would find you anyway. He always did. And he never viewed you or your pain as a burden. He knew how to cradle both, how to ease them without second thought.

Light pours into the bedroom as the door opens slowly. You can make out the outline of his tall, broad frame, and hear the soft sound of his socks against the hardwood as he pads to you in the dark. Thanks to the blackout curtains, there’s hardly any light entering in. Only the smallest slivers.

After his eyes adjust, he can begin to make out the shapes around the room. The red glow of the alarm clock allows him to see your face, your slow-blinking eyes.

Without uttering a word, he gently presses the back of his hand to your forehead, then moves it down to rest against your warm cheek. You press into his touch just slightly, and it tugs something awful at his chest. Makes him wish he could bear your pain.

“Migraine,” you murmur.

An apologetic hum vibrates through his chest. “You been like this all day?” he asks softly.

“Got bad at noon.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You weakly reach out for his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. It’s much larger than yours, rugged and calloused, but you’d hold on forever if you could. If he’d let you. With his free hand, he picks up the tumbler bottle on the nightstand to find that it’s light.

“I’m gonna go get you some more water. It’s probably time for some more Advil too.”

The weight of his attentiveness makes you nod like you’re surrendering. And maybe you are giving something up—the burden of the day. Of having to do everything on your own. His fingers tighten around yours in a final squeeze before he lets go.

You shouldn’t miss him in the short time that he’s gone, but you do. It’s the same tug that lingered in your chest all day, but is kinder now that he’s home. Not miles away out of reach. When he comes back, it’s with more than he initially set out for, all of it somehow balanced in his hold. He quietly sets it all on the nightstand.

“You can turn the little lamp on,” you murmur. There was a battery-powered ambient lamp alongside the larger one.

“I’m aces, honey,” he assures. “You wanna sit up for a second, I got your medicine right here.”

You prop yourself up on your forearm and gratefully take it from him. He holds your tumbler to your lips so you can reach the straw to wash it down.

“There ya go,” he praises as you settle back down. “Got a cold pack and some grapes too. Get a little something on your stomach before I get dinner worked out later…” He talks, almost absentmindedly, as he continues to get you situated. But he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a routine he’s coaxed you through more times than he’d like.

A long hum rises in your throat as he positions the cold pack on the back of your neck. A stark but pleasant chill ripples through your overheated body like slow melting ice. All you can muster is another grateful hum as he sets the small bowl of grapes on the mattress beside you. There’s a crisp, sweet pop as you usher one into your mouth.

“Gonna go grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he adds lightly.

A small smile pulls at your lips.

•••

An hour. That’s how much later you wake up in his arms with his lips at your shoulder, his strong arm draped around your waist to keep you close. There’d hardly been any words exchanged between you in the moments before then, only confirmations of each other’s comfort and whispered I love you’s. You’d dozed off a couple of times since noon, but nothing comparable to the steady rest that came along with his proximity.

He doesn't realize you’re awake until you shift and reach toward the nightstand. The light of the ambient lamp soon illuminates the room, joined by the glow of your phone a moment later. Joel takes it as a sign you’re feeling better than he found you, and that’s more than enough. The gentle, repetitive tap of your thumb against the screen lets him know you’re going through old notifications.

His hand finds your hip beneath the sheets, where he draws slow, small circles with his thumb. It isn’t long before you lock the device and set it back down.

The sheets rustle as you turn around to face him. Sleep’s haze lingers between you as you trail your fingertips along his jaw in a featherlight brush. The scratch of his beard feels nice, and you continue the motion until you’re unable to stop the fond chuckle that shakes your chest. It’s no more than a quick breath, but Joel smiles shyly anyway.

“What?” he asks, voice a little gruff.

“J,” you murmur with a teasing lilt. “You don’t need to sign your texts. I know already it’s you.” You poke an affectionate finger into his stomach.

His smile grows as he offers a helpless shrug, warmth in his dark eyes. It’s impossible to fight the urge to scoot closer and press the briefest, softest kiss to his lips. He makes a small sound in the back of his throat.

“Tommy had me thinking I might’ve done something to upset you,” he says as he brushes a knuckle across your cheek.

“I’d never ignore you like that.”

Joel knows that, but says, “Except for that one time.”

You frown in confusion, but your mouth falls open in amusement when you realize what he means. “That was a million years ago, and it lasted five minutes—not even that.”

Joel chuckles, and when it triggers you to join him in laughing, you realize that’s all he sought to gain by bringing it up.

“Clearly it left a mark.” He brings your hand to his lips and kisses the heel of your palm. A smile lingers on his lips as you laugh again.

He then studies your eyes, your nose, your lips. He loves you so much he sometimes wonders how he’s been able to manage it without bursting at the seams.

“You feelin’ a bit better?” he asks after a few quiet beats.

“Much,” you promise.

He kisses your palm again. This time he lets his lips linger.

Thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all!

more of this couple -> here with you

JOEL MASTERLIST

GENERAL MASTERLIST

#joel miler #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou hbo

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 3 months ago

Text

"It was mine from the moment I touched it."

This is #2 out of 10 of my Phrase Series, hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Thank you @thatone-girly for the phrase!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Word Count: 2.4 k

~18+ THIS FIC CONTAINS SMUT!!~

Joe grunted as he checked the time on his watch. He gritted his teeth as he looked out the window at her house, all the lights were off indicating she wasn’t home. He sighed and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back on the headrest. She was playing games and he was not in the mood.

He rechecked his watch before stanching his phone out of the cup holder. “Hey Siri, call Babygirl.” He put the phone on speaker before closing his eyes again.

“Please leave a message for 305-” Joe hung up the phone and opened their text thread

To Babygirl: you playin'… imma have to show you im not the one to play with.

Egypt groaned as her date for the night, Hakiem pulled up in front of her house. Joe’s white Cadillac Escalade stood out like a sore thumb in her driveway. Hakiem, who still had his hand on her exposed thigh arched his eyebrow and looked at her. “You good.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “Just… don’t pay attention to anything he says.” She opened the door and got out of his car, leaving him confused for a second before he shut the car off and followed behind her. As they walked up the stone pathway to her house she heard the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut, signaling that Joe had got out of his car.

“You knew I was coming to see you today.” Joe started and Egypt could feel him staring at the back of her head as she fumbled around her purse for her keys.

“And I told you not to. We’re over Leati.”

“I’m sorry I can’t drop everything for you Egypt. You knew about my job and how important my role in the company is to me.” He shot back. He turned his attention to the man who was blocking Joe from getting to Egypt and sucked his teeth. By the way, the man was looking at him, Joe knew that he recognized him. “You gonna move or do I have to move you?”

“Joe!” Egypt chided just as she opened her front door. She turned around and stared at Joe.

“Look. I don’t know the situation or anything, but Egypt said she doesn’t wanna talk to you so maybe you should back off.”

Joe slowly blinked before turning his attention to Hakiem. He shook his head as he started to chuckle. Egypt gulped as she looked between the two men, she looked down at her heels and decided that she was not dressed properly to stop a fight between them.

“Joe…” Egypt trailed off, walking around Hakiem and standing in front of Joe, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t.” Joe closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Hakiem, I’ll text you later okay?”

Hakiem scoffed, his face scrunched up as he looked between Joe and Egypt. Hakiem’s brows knitted together, clearly not happy with the situation. He stood his ground, his jaw tight, but there was a hint of confusion in his eyes as he tried to make sense of Egypt’s request. He had come here to be with her, not to play peacekeeper between her and the man who still seemed to think he had some claim over her. “Deadass?” He asked, fist balling at the smirk that was now on Joe’s face.

“You heard her, leave.” Joe’s smile got wider as Hakiem slightly pushed Egypt out of the way and walked into Joe’s face. Joe didn’t move an inch, still standing there, his posture confident, almost smug, as if he knew exactly what Hakiem was thinking and was daring him to act on it. “Whatchu’ gon’ do? Huh?’

Hakiem’s jaw tightened as he glared at Joe. His fist tightened and before he could do anything, Egypt pushed him back and stood in front of Joe. Hakiem scoffed at how she was protectively standing in front of him. “Hakiem, please. Leave.”

“You heard the lady. Why don't you run along now? The grown-ups need to talk.”

“Nigga I’ll fuck you up -”

“Enough!” Egypt yelled over Hakiem. “You need to leave,” Egypt said locking eyes with Hakiem. “Now.”

“Man, whatever,” Hakiem sucked his teeth. “You probably wasn’t givin’ up no pussy anyway.” Hakiem rolled his eyes and stormed over to his car. Egypt could have sworn she saw him throw up his middle finger as he sped away.

Egypt rolled her eyes and then turned to walk into her house, not bothering to shut the food behind her because she knew Joe was going to follow her.

“We have one argument and you already tryna give my shit away huh?” Joe smirked as he followed Egypt into the home. He shut and locked the front door and enabled the alarm. Nobody would be leaving until the morning. He toed off his Jordans and left them at the front door before walking into the living room where Egypt was sitting on the couch massaging her feet.

“You ignoring me now?” Joe asked.

Egypt sighed. “Why are you still here?”

“You gonna put me out?”

Egypt sighed again and stood from the couch. She brushed past Joe and started walking towards her bedroom. She should have shut the door in his face when she entered the house. He was so infuriating. “What do you want?”

“You.”

Egypt huffed and startd to peel the bodysuit off her body. “You're unbelievable,” Egypt muttered, her back to Joe as she shimmied out of the tight fabric. She could feel his eyes on her, burning into her skin.

Joe leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “I'm unbelievable? You're the one who had some random ass dude at your house.”

Now only dressed in her bra and panties, Egypt turned around and glared at Joe while folding her arms over her chest. “Let me remind you, you walked out on me. All I asked for was more of your time.”

“And you know I come here wherever I can. I can’t just not show up to work, Egypt. I can’t be around my kids because you wanna cuddle and watch movies all day. I told you I love you and I meant it. But you gotta grow up. I can’t be with you 24/7. I’m a grown-ass man with responsibilities.”

Egypt scoffed and shook her head. “You’re absolutely right.” Turning on her heels, she marched into her closet. Joe huffed and sat on the edge of her bed, waiting for her to come back. When she did reenter the room, she was dressed in an oversized white t-shirt. “You’re a grown man with responsibilities and I don’t fit into your life.”

Joe let out a humorless chuckle. “You don’t get it. I’m trying. I’ve asked you multiple times to move to Miami with me and you said no. I asked you just to visit and you said no. I asked just for you to come on the road with me, not all the time but maybe a couple times a month and you said no. I’ve been trying to build something with you, but every time I try, you shut me out. I’m not asking you to leave everything behind, but I’ve made it clear that I want you with me. And every time, you say no. So what the hell am I supposed to do?”

Egypt felt her resolve crack a little. Moving to Miami would be a huge step for her. She would be leaving behind her family and all her friends, most of whom she has had since middle school. Joe knew that Egypt leaving her parents behind would be hard for her.

“I know you’re scared of leaving your parents,” he said, his voice steady but soft, causing Egypt to look up at him.“'But I’m just asking for a chance. For us to really try and make this work."

“I’m scared Joe.” She finally admitted and Joe stood up from the bed and walked over to her, pulling her into his arms. “What if I leave everything behind and it doesn't work out?” She whispered into his chest “What if we don’t work out? I don’t want to lose you, Joe.”

“Won’t ever happen,” Joe said matter of factly. “I’m not promising you that everything will be perfect, Egypt. I promise you that we’ll make it work. We’ll figure it out together, no matter what happens. I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let you go through this alone.” Joe gently cupped her cheek in his hand. “Do you trust me?” He whispered looking deep into her eyes.

Her heart skipped, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard. She stared back into his eyes, searching for any trace of doubt, any sign that he might not be as sure as he was saying. But all she saw was certainty—certainty in him, in his commitment to her. “Yes.” She whispered back.

Joe’s hand gently slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, and without a word, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was soft at first, tentative as if Joe was giving her one last chance to change her mind. But as Egypt melted into his embrace, the kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more urgent. Joe easily lifted Egypt into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Joe carried Egypt over to her bed and gently laid her down. He quickly rid himself of his black OTC hoodie and black Nike fit shirt.

Egypt did the same as she sat up on the bed and pulled the oversized t-shirt over her head, leaving her in her bra and panties again. Joe licked his lips as he climbed on the bed, his body covering hers as she laid down once again. Egypt let out a moan when Joe started trailing kisses down her neck and towards her breast. With his eyes locked onto hers, he quickly unclasped the front clasp. He cupped her breast in his hand, his thumb brushing over her hardening nipple while his mouth closed over the other. Egypt arched her back, gasping with pleasure as Joe's tongue swirled around her sensitive nipple.

Joe's hand slid down her stomach, tracing the curve of her hip before dipping between her thighs. He stroked her through the thin fabric of her panties, feeling the heat and dampness there. Egypt gasped and rocked her hips, craving more of his touch.

“Joe.” She moaned. “Please.”

He smirked as he released her nipple from his mouth. “Tell me you love me.” He said as he stared trailing kisses down her stomach. Egypt let out a blissful sigh and Joe dipped his tongue into her belly button.

“I love you.” She moaned out as he scraped his teeth against her sensitive skin. Joe hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. She lifted her hips to help him pull them down.

He paused and she opened her eyes to look at him. “We gon make this work. Me and you.”

Egypt nodded eagerly. “Yes, baby. Me and you.” Her sentence broke off into a moan as Joe’s tongue finally made contact with her sensitive clit. Her back arched off the bed. She reached for his hair and let it out of the bun he had it in.

Joe let out a low groan as her essence flowed into his mouth. Joe gripped her thighs, spreading them wider as he devoured her. He looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers, he winked at her before he placed a kiss on her clit.

He smirked at her as he rose to his full height. Egypt rose to her elbows and watched as he pulled his sweatpants and his briefs down. His eyes hungrily raked over her body. “You’re so beautiful, baby.” He muttered. He climbed back into the bed as Egypt reached for him. He positioned himself between her thighs and captured her lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with hers as his hands roamed her curves.

Egypt wrapped her legs around Joe's waist, pulling him closer. She could feel his hard length pressing against her entrance, teasing her. Joe broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, as he slowly pushed himself into her stretching and filling her. They both groaned at the sensation.

“Fuck.” He groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “I miss you baby. You missed me?” Egypt nodded, unable to talk because of how good Joe was making her feel. Joe quickened his pace, driving into her with more force. Egypt's moans grew louder, filling the room along with the sound of skin against skin. “Good ass pussy.” He muttered against her neck as sucked a hickey onto her neck. “Tryna give me shit away.” He abruptly pulled out of her and turned her on her stomach.

Egypt immediately got into position. Face down ass up. A small blissed-out smile on her face as she knew what was coming. Joe gripped both her ass cheeks in his hand as he spread them. He licked his lips as he buried himself back inside her. He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against her ass with each thrust. Egypt gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles turning white as waves of pleasure coursed through her body.

“This my pussy.” He growled out, “Tell me.”

“Joe” Egypt moaned, mouth wide open. “Fuck… it’s yours.”

“I know it is. Shit was mine from the moment I touched it.”

Egypt felt herself spiraling towards the edge, her body trembling with each powerful thrust. Joe's possessive words and dominating presence only heightened her arousal. She pushed back against him, meeting his movements and taking him even deeper.

"That's right, take it all," Joe grunted, his fingers digging into her hips. "Show me how much you missed this dick."

Egypt cried out in ecstasy, her inner walls clenching around him. “Fuck… I wanna cum, can I cum?”

Joe's hand snaked around her waist, his fingers finding her sensitive bud. He rubbed tight circles as he continued to pound into her from behind. "Come for me, baby," Joe commanded, his own breathing ragged. "Let me feel that pussy squeeze me."

Egypt let out a loud moan as her orgasm hit her. Joe continued to thrust into her causing her to squirt all over his lower half and her sheets. Joe stilled inside her as his orgasm hit him. He pumped into her a couple more times before dropping down onto the bed next to her and gathering her into his arms.

“I love you Egypt,” Joe whispered after his breathing had gotten under control. “I want this to work with you. I can’t lose you either.” He said and she smiled up at him.

“I guess I gotta call a moving company in the morning.”

Authors Note: ... was it worth the wait? 🤭 THANK YOU FOR READING!! sorry if the ending is ass... I didn't know how to end it 😬.

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slytherinshua · 11 months ago

Text

YOU, ME, AND BULBASAUR

genre. fluff. warnings. neck kisses. gunwook is extremely cute and i'm extremely delusional and in love with him. mention that reader wears makeup and dresses. pairing. gunwook x fem!reader. wc. 700. request. no. a/n. i saw gunwook like indirectly kiss taerae's neck and it made me think of just how much of a neck kisser he would be 😭 and if you know me you know i'm a neck girl and that just made me so delusional like i'm feral rn it's not okay??? also can we talk abt how fucking cute gunwook's rosy cheeks are LIKE HES THE CUTEST EVER IM GONNA CRY.

“why are you getting all pretty? you going somewhere?” the tired husky voice of your boyfriend makes a smile start to form on your lips. gunwook had been sleeping peacefully until 2 minutes ago, hugging your pillow to his chest, still tangled under the sheets. you wished you could’ve stayed in bed with him, but you had a meeting early in the morning.

“just a work meeting. wish i could’ve slept in with you, wook.” you glanced up at him apologetically through the mirror, frowning at his sleepy pout and messy hair.

“not fair…”

“i know, baby. but i’ll be back in 2 hours and then we can cuddle.” you assured him, finishing the last touches on your makeup and hair. you turned around to face gunwook properly, ruffling his bed head as you stood up.

“can’t you just stay?” gunwook asked, following you to your closet like a lost puppy.

“it’s an important meeting…” you tried your best to stay firm and not let your boyfriend have so much affect over you. but it was hard, especially when he started planting small kisses on your neck as you sifted through your hangers to find a dress. you felt a small nip land to the dip in your shoulder and neck and you gasped.

“gunwook!” you hadn’t realized he was this clingy this morning. he didn’t stop despite your reaction, pressing a softer kiss over the spot he had nibbled. you willed yourself to not get too focused on his lips on your skin, to instead figure out what you were going to wear to your meeting. but he made it so hard to even remember why you were trying to get up in the first place.

“wouldn’t you rather just stay here? with me? and bulbasaur?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to your neck between each word. you smiled at the mention of his bulbasaur plush that you had gotten for his birthday— he slept with it every night, opting to cuddle it when you couldn’t sleep with him.

you gripped the side of a navy blue dress, hanging on your last thread, gunwook seconds away from snapping it. was the meeting more important than your clingy boyfriend? did you actually want to spend the morning in a room with a bunch of grumpy middle-aged men when you could be cuddling with your boyfriend?

“you’re lucky you’re cute in the morning…” you sighed, dropping your hand from the dress, and your boyfriend knew he had won. you could feel his victorious smile against your neck as he pressed one last kiss behind your ear. and then he started steering you towards the bed until you both fell onto the soft mattress, him laying on top of you. he nuzzled his face in your chest and closed his eyes, completely content now that he was sure he had you for the entire morning.

you looked at his sleepy face, dark hair falling over his eyes, cheeks dotted with rosy stains, cherry lips formed into the most beautiful smile. you brushed his bangs away from his face, feeling his warm skin underneath the palm of your hand. god, he took your breath away even when he wasn’t doing anything.

“since you made me miss my morning meeting, at least give me a kiss.” you nudged his chin with your hand, and he opened one eye to look up at you. he didn’t waste time after hearing your request, quickly picking himself up to hover over you and press his soft lips to yours. he sighed, finally being able to taste your lip gloss that he had watched you apply minutes ago. he had been tempted to steal a kiss from you then as well, but he was considerate enough to not ruin your makeup until he was sure you were his for the morning.

gunwook’s lips always felt like pure bliss against yours. the weight of his body on top of you was like a weighted blanket, and you were determined to not move from the position for at least another hour. gunwook was right, you would always much rather spend the morning with him… and bulbasaur.

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone,, @sxmmerberries,,

@talking-saxy

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cupidsworstcrime · 18 days ago

Text

Jason Todd x dom f!reader

inspo - for the anonnie that asked so nicely

this is a random collection of sub!jason scenes ive written. cause im bored

contains spanking & mommy kink (sub jason is such a mamas boy and im taking that to my grave, you can pry needy boy jason out of my cold dead hands)

He pretended to fight it.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

But the second you grabbed his wrist and sat on the edge of the bed with that look in your eyes, Jason Todd—the Red Hood himself—stumbled straight into obedience.

Because you weren’t playing. Not really.

You tugged him forward.

He grumbled. Bitched. Rolled his eyes.

But when you bent him over your lap, he didn’t resist.

His face hit the blanket with a sigh he tried to cover as a groan. His hips were tense, his hands fisting the sheets.

“You really think this’ll do something for me?” he muttered.

You smoothed a hand over the curve of his ass—grinning as he twitched.

“You tell me.”

Smack.

The first one was gentle. Barely more than a firm tap.

He jerked anyway.

“You—!”

Smack.

A little harder. You watched his shoulder blades shift, a low breath slipping from his lips.

“Jason,” you cooed. “Still wanna act like this isn’t getting to you?”

He didn’t answer. But his hips shifted just enough for you to see the outline in his sweats. Obvious. Wanting.

So you kept going.

Soft spanks between harder ones. Your hand soothing, then striking. He gasped. Swore under his breath. Gritted his teeth. But never told you to stop.

“Color me surprised,” you murmured, scratching your nails along the reddened skin. “You’re really into this, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

But it was weak* Shaky. His ears were pink. His thighs tensed with every slow touch between swats.

You leaned close to his ear.

“Say ‘please.’”

He groaned, full-body, low and wrecked. His pride dangled by a thread, and when he finally whispered:

“Please…”

"Please what, baby?"

"...Please ma'am...."

You swore you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

You let him up when he was panting—chest rising, face flushed, lips parted.

He couldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t. Just flopped beside you and buried his face in the blanket.

“Shut up,” he mumbled again.

You didn’t say a word.

Just ran your fingers through his hair while he came down from it—melting under your touch, his ego scattered in the sheets behind him.

And he’d never admit it.

But he hoped you'd do it again.

Maybe harder.

Maybe next time… he'd call you something filthier than “ma’am.”

He starts off strong. Confident. Pushes you down on the bed with a smirk like he didn’t melt over your lap last time.

“Yeah? You like being bossy, sweetheart?” he grins. “Let’s see how you like it when I take the reins.”

He climbs over you, muscles tense, eyes dark—but not angry. Hungry. His hands skim your waist, his voice drops.

“Gonna make you beg, baby.”

But two minutes in?

Your fingers dig into his hips, your mouth brushes his throat, and he shudders. His pace stutters. You roll your hips just right and suddenly—

“Fuck—wait—don’t—ah—”

His words are breathy. Loose. Falling apart.

And then you're teasing again.

“You sure you’re the one in charge, baby?”

He growls. Tries to flip the script. Tightens his grip on your wrists like it helps.

But then you say:

“You gonna beg again, pretty boy?”

And his whole body reacts.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter. He whines—actually whines—and buries his face in your neck.

You grin.

“Poor thing,” you whisper. “You’re so easy to ruin now.”

And he is. Because when you wrap your legs around him and pull, his strength is nothing next to how bad he wants it—how much he craves you. Not just the sex, but the way you see him, the way you touch him like he's precious and yours.

“Fuck—please,” he pants, rutting into you, voice high, desperate. “Don’t stop, just—please—"

He doesn't even realize he's begging until it's too late.

And he hates how much he loves it.

Afterward, he lays there—boneless, panting, wrecked—his forehead against your chest and his ego shattered into stardust.

You run your nails up his spine and kiss his hairline.

“Still think you’re the one in control?”

He groans.

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

No. No, you’re not.

And he’s never been more in love.

It started as a joke. A throwaway comment.

“What’s the matter, baby? Need Mommy to take care of you?”

He froze.

A beat. A shiver. Then the quietest:

“…yeah.”

And that was it.

At first, he’s holding on—tense arms, furrowed brow, trying to act like he’s in control. But the second you start cooing at him, fingers tight in his hair, praising him just so sweetly?

He’s done.

“Such a good boy, my sweet boy,”

“Look at you, taking Mommy so well,”

“You don’t need to think, baby, let me do it for you.”

And he whimpers.

He’s not speaking in sentences anymore. Just broken little sounds—gasps and moans, half-formed pleas.

He says “Mommy” once with a sob in his voice and it flips something in you. So you lean down and purr it back.

“That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

And he does. Again and again—until it’s not even full words anymore.

“M-Ma—Mama—please, I can’t—”

You stroke his flushed cheeks with your knuckles, praise spilling from your lips like holy water while his eyes glass over. He’s trembling—beautiful and desperate, hips rocking mindlessly as you guide him toward the edge.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s got you. You’re perfect, you’re doing so good—such a good boy.”

Tears slip down his face. He’s not even embarrassed. Just holding you tight, breathing you in like air, nodding with wide eyes and wet lashes.

"Love you, love you, need you, Mama—”

And when he finally breaks? It’s with your name in a gasp and a sob, clinging to you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

Later, when he’s curled up against you, totally wrecked, you whisper:

“Didn’t know you were such a little Mommy’s boy.”

He grumbles, hiding his face in your chest. But his hips twitch.

“…fuck you.”

“You did, baby. So well.”

And he melts again.

He tries to pretend it’s fine. That it was a one-time thing. That he didn’t come undone in your hands, babbling and begging with tears in his eyes.

But the minute you scratch the back of his neck or kiss the hinge of his jaw just right? His whole body tenses.

And he goes quiet.

Not brooding Jason quiet—bratty, needy Jason quiet.

The kind where his eyes are heavy, cheeks pink, and you know he’s already spiraling.

“You okay, baby?”

“…m’fine.”

Liar.

The second you tug him into your lap—yes, lap, this man is heavy but obedient—and whisper a soft “Good boy,” he melts. One hand in his hair and the other stroking his thigh, and he’s sinking into it like a fucking prayer.

He doesn’t even notice he’s whispering it until it slips out again—

“…Mama…”

You feel him freeze against you, like he could claw his soul back into his body if he tries hard enough.

“You said it again.”

“…no I didn’t.”

“Oh, baby. You did.”

You tilt his chin up, and he whines. Pink all the way to his ears.

You could ruin him right there again, and he knows it.

Later, when you're tangled together in bed, he’s curled up in your chest, hands possessively clutching your hips.

“Didn’t even know I could feel like that,” he mumbles. “Didn’t know I wanted to.”

And you just stroke his hair, murmuring,

“That’s okay, baby. Mama knows what you need.”

He shivers. Bites his lip.

But he doesn’t deny it this time.

You’re lying together, the soft glow of moonlight spilling over the bed, the hum of the city just outside your window. He’s been asleep for about an hour, still tangled in your sheets, body pressed up against yours.

At first, he’s calm—silent in his slumber. But then, in the stillness of the night, you hear it. Just a whisper.

“Mama…”

Your breath catches. He’s not awake, not fully. It’s just a soft, murmured confession, but it’s so full of need, so full of him, that you can’t ignore it.

You smile softly, rubbing your hand through his hair, playing with the ends. You could ruin him again, could wake him up and pull him back into that desperate little boy he’s trying to deny, but instead, you let him sleep.

But you can’t help yourself. You press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

His face twitches, a sigh slipping from his lips, and his hand instinctively wraps around you tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear. It’s adorable—your tough, broken Red Hood, shivering in his sleep at the thought of losing you. You think, maybe, if he did wake up, he’d be too ashamed to admit it.

But right now, he’s safe. And that’s all that matters.

The next day, it’s like nothing happened. He’s still the same, stubborn, cocky Jason Todd you know—sarcastic quips and teasing jabs thrown in your direction like they’re second nature. He’s acting all tough again, but there’s a subtle edge to it.

He can’t hide the way he’s looking at you—his eyes softer, not quite as guarded, as if he knows he doesn’t have to pretend. And you notice—his hand keeps brushing against yours whenever you’re near, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to remind him who’s really in charge.

He doesn’t expect it when you tease him.

“You’re acting so bratty today,” you murmur with a sly grin, catching his eyes.

He smirks back, though there’s a nervous edge to his smile.

“I’m not—what are you talking about?”

But you can tell by the way his hands are fidgeting, by the way his jaw clenches, that he’s not as calm as he wants you to think.

So you step forward, so close he can feel the heat of your body.

“Do I need to put my good boy in his place?” you purr, your voice low, teasing.

His whole body freezes. His eyes flicker to yours, and for a moment, you can see that war raging inside him—half of him wants to throw a smart comment back, but the other half? The other half is aching, desperate for you to take control again.

His hands ball into fists, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even try.

“You’re—goddammit,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. He’s already gone, undone by just a few words.

You can see the tension coil in him, his breath hitching slightly. You’ve got him right where you want him. But you decide to push a little further.

“You need me to remind you who’s in charge, baby?”

He breathes out slowly, eyes dark, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. He swallows hard.

“…Yeah,” he whispers.

And that’s all you need. You step closer, running your hand over his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your touch. You lean in, just a breath away from his lips, and whisper one last thing:

“Good boy.”

And just like that? He’s lost again. You’ve undone him—completely.

That night, when he’s curled against you, you hear it again.

“Mama…”

But this time, it’s not a whisper. He’s awake now, groggy, blinking at you through the dark, eyes glazed over with sleep and want.

You press your lips to his forehead, your thumb tracing over his cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you murmur, soothing him back to sleep.

And this time, he doesn’t fight it. He nuzzles against your chest, his hand wrapped tightly around you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He’s not even embarrassed anymore. It’s just you and him.

“I love you, Mama,” he mumbles softly, his voice thick with sleep.

Your heart swells. He’s yours. Completely.

You press one last kiss to his head and whisper softly, “I love you too, baby.”

And as he drifts back into sleep, you both know it’s only a matter of time before the cycle starts again. The teasing, the control, the sweet surrender.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was quiet at first—staring at you with that unreadable expression, hands fisted in the sheets.

But his body? His body betrayed him.

You could feel the tension in his shoulders. The heat in his chest. He wasn’t fighting anymore. He wanted this, needed this.

You watched him closely. His movements slower now, like he was afraid that one wrong move would have you pulling away.

“You’re going to follow every single command I give you tonight, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yes,” he breathed. Quiet. Almost too quiet, like the confession itself was a secret, something too intimate to voice.

You smiled. That’s what you wanted to hear. So you slid closer to him, brushing your fingers along his jawline, letting the weight of your touch sink in.

“Good boy.”

He exhaled sharply—like he couldn’t believe it was happening. Like he’d been dying for you to say those words for far too long.

But you weren’t done yet.

You placed your hand on his chest, making sure he was looking right at you. His gaze met yours, intense, vulnerable.

“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”

Jason swallowed, a slight tremor in his hands as he obeyed. His body was perfect—strong, scarred, but perfect. He was so fucking beautiful, and the way he took his time, like he was savoring every second of your attention, made you ache with the need to claim him.

He never once looked away, not even when his hands fumbled at the waistband of his pants. He wanted you to guide him. To tell him how to do it. How to strip for you.

You whispered, “Good boy, Jason. Now. Pants off. All the way.”

And like the obedient puppy he’d become, he did exactly what you said. He took off his jeans, laid out before you, chest heaving as his face flushed. His cock was already hard, his body responding eagerly to your commands.

You smirked at him, that familiar power creeping back, the knowledge that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. His gaze drifted to the floor, face burning with embarrassment, but his cock stayed hard, aching for your touch.

“Touch yourself,” you ordered, voice low and controlled. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

He hesitated just a moment—his usual resistance slipping away.

Then, with a shaky breath, Jason obeyed. His hand wrapped around his cock, starting slow. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop.

You watched him carefully, every twitch in his body making your pulse race.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “Just like that.”

He shuddered, his hand speeding up, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

He was desperate.

And you were the one who had broken him. Completely.

“Please, mama,” he gasped, eyes searching yours. “Tell me what to do next.”

Your heart skipped a beat. This was the side of Jason that he never let anyone see—the side of him that was completely at your mercy.

“Don’t stop,” you commanded gently. “Make yourself cum for me. Don’t hold back.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when his body stiffened. His breath caught, and his hips bucked involuntarily, his hand moving in a blur as he got closer.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m—”

But you cut him off with a firm command.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was all it took.

His back arched, a deep groan escaping his lips as he came undone. You could see the way his whole body trembled, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him for stability.

And even after he was done, his breathing ragged and shaky, he didn't stop.

He looked at you—desperate. That familiar cocky grin was long gone, replaced with nothing but adoration. He wanted to please you more. Wanted to feel you take control, wanted to hear more of your voice, more of your praise.

“Good boy,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair as he collapsed against the pillows, completely undone.

Jason didn’t say anything for a while—just let the feeling wash over him.

He didn’t need to say it. You could see it in the way he held you after. The way he kissed you slow and deep, like he was claiming you in the quiet moments afterward.

And you both knew—it wasn’t over.

He wanted more. More of you. More of your control. More of being broken and put back together, piece by desperate piece.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood x reader #red hood smut #red hood x you #jason todd smut #sub jason todd #sub red hood #dom reader

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sincerelyneo · 1 year ago

Note

omg hello! i missed you so much!!! 💖 would you consider reposting arcade again?? it was legit the best thing i’ve ever read omg i was so sad when i couldnt find it anymore

its fine if you cant tho!! im glad youre backkkk💖💖💖

ofc i can, i’m glad you liked it <3

arcade | p.js

“i’m out of control, full power up”

💿now playing: arcade by nct dream

❯ summary: Jisung’s been nothing but busy lately, so when you hear he got the weekend of your anniversary off, you can’t help but plan something to spend time with him. Expect, the only thing jisung wants after his busy month is you — and he’s not gonna let your silly arcade date get in the way of that.

❯ pairings: jisung x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut, fluffish.

❯ words: 3.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fingering, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, use of the name baby, jisung takes pictures whilst fingering reader in a photobooth idk???

"You brought us to an arcade for our three year anniversary?"

You look over to Jisung standing by your side as the pair of you stood in front of the arcade entryway with the giant neon sign above your heads.

"Yeah, surprise - who doesn't love a date night with pizza and an arcade?" You grin, trying to hide the look of nervousness fighting to show once you notice his frown.

“Baby,” he groans, whiny, “I thought we were gonna go home after the pizza.”

You may have lied to him about that.

When you told Jisung about tonight’s date, he originally objected. He wanted to have a chilled night in with just the two of you — alone. Something he hadn’t had for the past four weeks he’d been strung up at work. Yet, you insisted that the two of you celebrated your three year anniversary just like you had done for your first and second.

So instead, the two of you came up with a compromise: head to your favourite pizza place, then come home and watch a movie snuggled together on the couch. In Jisung’s mind ‘watch a movie’ was code for letting his hands roam all over your body whilst he watched you whither and squirm, but he figured it was best to not discuss the minute details.

But don’t get him wrong. Just because he wanted to have a quiet night in didn't mean he hasn’t missed you — because oh he has. He’s only bothered the rest of the dreamies with his annual ‘I miss her’ speech every other hour.

And whilst typically Jisung loved to spend every passing minute of the day with you; right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted to be balls deep in the cunt he’d missed so much — not spending his time in some arcade.

"I haven't been inside one of these since I was a little kid," you tell him. “Please Sungie, just for an hour.” You begin tugging on his hands.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Aren’t we a bit too old to be playing in the arcade?” he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Pretty please!”

You hope the small flutter in your eyelashes is enough to win over the hesitant man. And you know it will because he’s told you several times not to give him those signature doe eyes, because he can’t ever bring himself to say no to them.

"Fine."

He grasps your hand, threading your fingers together as he starts to lead the two of you inside. You're instantly greeted with the loud electronic sound effects from the various games, along with the random music playing inside.

There's lights flashing everywhere, and you notice a bunch of people sitting at the bar and in booths near the front of the arcade, along with a bunch wandering around all of the games.

Jisung looks sideways before gesturing his head to the row of retro games, "what do you wanna play?" He asks.

“You can pick first, because I’m such a good girlfriend.”

He can’t help but smile at you — because he knows you're right.

“How about we play some pinball?

"I take it back," you say with a pointed look, "I’ve seen you play that with Chenle and I’m definitely gonna lose.”

“Too late, you’ve already given me the power,” he shrugs and pulls your arm over to where the game is situated.

“Ugh, Jisung. There’s no point, I already know I’m gonna lose,” you try to protest.

“Stop complaining,” he grasps your hips to turn you around to face the pinball machine then comes to stand behind you.

He takes your hands and places them on the buttons either side of the machine in front of you. You feel your cheeks flush when you feel Jisung’s chin rest on your shoulder, as he guides your fingers over the controls and silently coaches you through the game.

You don’t know how he always does it but even here, he's managing to create some form of sexual tension between the two of you at a pinball machine.

“Jisung..” you whisper as he places teasing kisses along your neck.

“Shhh, I’m just trying to help you out,” his lips brush against your neck as he continues hitting the buttons at a constant steady speed. “Besides, I think I’ve found my new favourite way to play pinball tonight."

Eventually, the ball shoots straight down between the two flippers, drawing the game to an end. He’d been doing so well that you wanted to turn around and kiss him but he pressed you harder against the machine, dipping into the crook of your neck to tease your ear.

"You've got no idea how badly I wish I could bend you over this and fuck you right here, right now."

It sent shivers down your whole body as you felt him grin against your skin when he noticed the sharp inhale of air you sucked in at his words.

Jisung knows you're shy, so he’s not surprised that you try to snake away from his grip at his crude remark.

"Look, we got a new high score," he says while he slips his hands from over yours and slides them up your arms. Pretending he didn't just whisper something that dirty. “We make a pretty good team.”

“Yeah ‘cause you did all the work,” you sulk.

You see the red digital writing flashing on the scoreboard, then his arms snake around to link across your lower stomach and pull you firmer against him. To anyone watching you look like a typical couple being affectionate, but the tension makes it feel the furthest thing from innocent.

"You know exactly what you're doing right now, Jisung Park," you huff, trying to control how flustered you feel, "We’re here to play games."

He presses a kiss to your cheek, before murmuring, "I am playing games. And so far I think I'm winning."

As he speaks he lets one of his hands slip down to graze over the front of your crotch, which he swears is an accident when you sternly say his name. But you can’t deny the way the touch made you jolt before he pulls away and steps back. You’d missed his touch — missed being with him like this.

But this was not the place. So you take his hand and turn the two of you to walk off like nothing happened.

The two of you continued to play a handful of arcade games. The classics, retro games, new games — Jisung had even managed to secure you a fluffy teddy bear from the claw game after you mentioned it being ‘impossible’.

You’d been taking it in turns to choose a game each, but when you mentioned the arcade photo booth, your boyfriend had started to get apprehensive.

After some of your amazing buttering up skills with puppy dog eyes, he agreed and he pulled the curtain back for you to get inside, then closes the door on the booth.

He sat down first on the small seat, and when you went to sit next to him he grabbed your waist and pulled you down onto his lap instead. He takes some coins from his pocket and starts putting them in the slot.

You try to get off his lap to sit beside him before the timer starts but he doesn’t let you.

“Just look at the camera and smile."

Once you hear the timer counting down the two of you start posing. But just before the last beep sounds, you get the idea to grab hold of Jisung’s face and let your lips mush against his cheek causing him to scrunch his nose up.

"That’s not fair," he says the second he hears the beeping start again.You stick your tongue out at him and his eyes narrow. “Fine, if that’s the game we’re playing.”

You both look back at the camera and offer smiles, kisses and peace signs. But at the last beep, Jisung gets the idea to move both of his hands to cup over your chest, groping your boobs.

Your mouth falls open as you gasp in shock while Jisung starts laughing.

You try to pull his hands away, "Okay fine, point taken mister grabby hands."

Jisung is practically giggling to himself, whilst you wait for the timer to start again.

“Alright alright, we'll take a serious one now.” He says, placing his chin on your shoulder, as you both look at the camera.

But once again, as the third beeping starts he quickly says, “Do you think people would notice if I made you cum while we're in here?"

Your body stiffens in shock as the picture is taken. Jisung is bursting with laughter and you're taken aback.

Jisung likes sex. He loves sex in fact — especially with you. But he never does this. Sure he teases you when you're out and about — how could he not when you’re so beautiful and perfect for him. But he’s never insinuated doing something so sexual in public like this before.

But here the two of you are. Waiting for the timer to start again, but this time you’re anticipating the shit he was going to pull when the final beep comes — and he does not disappoint. Because his hands slide up your legs, dipping into your inner thighs and squeezing them.

"Jisung," you warn him, "behave yourself."

The beeping starts again, but Jisung doesn't move his hands, and starts to massage his fingers higher.

When the last tick happens, he moves his face to press a kiss to your jaw, and you feel his breath hitting your skin from his nose.

He starts to inch your legs a bit further apart to let his thumbs graze over the crease where your thighs meet your pelvis.

“Ive missed you so fucking much baby,” he whines. “I need you so bad.”

“Jisung not here,” you sigh as his hands start working to warm up your skin.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you like the thought of me getting you off in here? Trying not to get caught?"

If his face wasn't so close to yours you wouldn't be able to hear him over the loud music in the arcade and how low his voice has gotten.

You give him a confused frown, thinking he surely can't be fucking serious but when you do he takes the opportunity to press his lips against you, kissing you while the camera snaps the last picture.

Your stomach is knotting along with your heart beating faster and you feel that familiar heat between your legs but you’d never tell him that — and he’d never tell you that he knows you keep it from him.

"Would you?" He asks again when he breaks the kiss.

You look at him like he's lost his mind. "You're joking right?" You can't be serious - Jisung people get their pictures taken in here, someone could walk in, you can't-"

He makes your words stop and your breath hitch in your throat as he moves his hand up under your skirt and cups his hand between your legs.

"That's not what I asked you," he says letting his eyes trace over your face, then leans closer, "Would you enjoy it?"

“Jisung, this is so unlike you, are you even hearing what you’re asking me?”

He moves his leg a bit and wedges his heel against the edge of the door so it can't be pulled open, "I know exactly what I’m asking you, so answer me."

"We’re supposed to be taking pictures, Sung,” you try changing the subject, and ignore the pressure of his hand pressed against you.

"Oh god we will," he says like it should be obvious.

And now you’re looking even more caught off guard.

“I'd fucking kill to have some pictures of you getting off. Have them to look at them whenever I’m needy and miss you.”

Jisung starts to massage the heel of his palm very slowly against you, adding more pressure over your underwear as you try to squeeze your legs closed but he holds them with his other hand to keep them apart.

"We can't-" it takes very fibre in your body to attempt to protest this, but you easily allow him to cut you off.

"Yes we fucking can," he has that sly look on his face, "But if you don't want to, we won't. It's up to you. Should I stop?"

You exhale a weak breath as he replaces the heel of his palm with his fingers dancing over your underwear, massaging slow circles that make your hips shift.

"Won’t people think it's weird if we're in here too long." you fumble over your words which makes Jisung smile while he bites on his lip.

"Don't worry I'll be quick," he says knowing you’re only making excuses instead of admitting what you really want.

Your eyes drift closed as you sigh, feeling his fingers move against you to create a friction that's only making the throb between your legs worsen. You have absolutely no common sense when it comes to this man and his fucking fingers.

"Should I stop?" He repeats in a low voice, moving his mouth to start to kiss along your jaw.

As usual with him, your functioning brain checks out while your subconscious takes over and you shake your head feeling your breathing start to go shallow.

"You want me to make you cum, yeah? Is that right baby?" His words are slightly muffled as he moves his free hand from your inner thigh and brushes your hair back over your shoulder so he can move his mouth to your neck, "I need words baby."

You should be rational and tell him to stop. But you don't. You wouldn’t dare. You didn’t want him to. So instead you say what you do want, and breathe out a quiet "yes."

Jisung’s own breathing is getting heavier, and the tension in this small enclosed space feels like it's compressing both of you closer together. When he hears your approval, his hand between your legs bunches up the front of your skirt. When he slips it up he snakes his hand over your stomach to push down into your underwear.

A faint groan echoes in Jisung’s throat the second his fingers feel your bare skin, exploring around your underwear to feel the slickness there.

"You’ve made a mess. Missed me this much, huh?” his voice is low, while he drags his warm lips up your neck.

You only manage to nod your head, your brain focused on squirming your hips to find some kind of friction again. He finally rests the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, starting to tease circles that force a quiet whimper out of you. Your eyes are still closed as excitement and neediness flood your nerves.

For doing something that should be wrong, it feels so damn right, and it's all you can think of. Feeling him is all you can think about.

"You sure I can take some pictures?" He checks, keeping his movements steady as your hips start to circle against his hand,

You don't respond at first—you can’t—too caught up in how this is feeling, and when he dips his fingers down to your pussy to collect more arousal on his fingers before moving back to your clit and applying more pressure, your head falls forward as you pant out a strained, "You - fuck, yes, you can."

He chuckles hearing how fucked out you are for him, and he’s only just started. But it’s when you hold onto the thigh he’s been using to pry your legs open that his eyes darken with need.

He keeps his fingers moving while he manages to get some coins he had in his pocket, reaching forward to put them into the coin slot, then pressing the button to start the timer.

When he relaxes back he applies a firmer pressure, and starts to massage your clit in quicker circles; making your mouth drop open with a gasped moan. You can barely hear the beep for the picture anymore, everything around you turning blurry, and all you can hear is your heart beat mixed your heavy breathing.

"That's it baby," he coos, with a gravel to his voice from the tension in it, "God I wish I could fuck you right now. I’ve been dying for it.”

Your skin is burning up, and all you can manage in response is the pants from your open mouth, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet.

You start to grind yourself against him as his fingers work, and feel the hard bulge forming in his pants underneath your ass.

He wasn't kidding when he said he'd be quick, he's already building the pressure in your lower belly, making your stomach muscles tighten, while he moves his fingers in the exact way he knows you love it.

That knot in your lower half tightens, and your legs start to tremble as a louder moan you can't stop comes out of your mouth.

"Fuck—Jisung," you whimper, with your chest starting to heave with rapid uneven breaths.

He only quickens his fingers driving with determination and speed, making sure to keep repeating the same movements that are getting the best reactions from you and when your head falls back as you moan again; his free hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"Shhhh—quiet, remember?" He hushes against your ear, groaning at the feeling of you grinding against him, "I know you wanna cum baby, but there’s no way I’m letting anyone else hear how you sound for me.”

All you can manage is a muffled "mhm" against his hand as your eyes squeeze tighter. That familiar sensation starts to ripple from your centre down your legs and into the rest of your limbs.

The orgasm is speeding towards you, faster than anticipated causing your back to arch up as your hips writhe. Your mind is foggy only able to make out quiet whispers of encouragement coming from Jisung.

As the release ripples through your body and your moans are muted against his hand, Jisung groans again, feeling you shake on top of him. He can’t help but snap his hand away to grasp at your jaw to turn your face and kiss you hard while you ride through your climax.

The kiss is mostly open lips grazing against each other, or trying to connect in messy motions with both of your laboured breathing mixing together. His fingers only pause when you try to pull yourself away from them.

Once your eyes drift open to see Jisung’s, the look in them makes you want to squeeze your legs together again if you could move them currently.

Jisung brings his hand up, and grazes his pointer and middle finger he just used to send your body into a frenzy against your lower lip as a silent request for you to open your mouth. You don’t deny it, taking them into your mouth to taste yourself.

“Fucking hell,” his eyes dart back and forth from your eyes to your mouth. His head rolls back against the wall behind you and he whines in the quiet, "God fucking help me."

Your body is still buzzing, floating down dazed from the high it was on, and you watch Jisung bite down on his lower lip as his brows knit tight together, as his hips shift beneath you.

"Everything okay, Sungie?" It’s the only thing your mushed brain can think of saying as you look down at his strained pants.

"Fuck no," he mumbles, looking like he's trying to compose himself, "But it’s my own fault. I suggested we do this. I’ll deal with myself later.”

"Later?" You ask.

Jisung lifts his head back up, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek as he rubs his palm up and down your thigh, "Yeah, later. When we get home and we watch that movie you promised me.”

He thinks you don’t know that he uses the movie thing as a code to fuck you — but you do know — and that’s why you’ve never protested when he puts on another one of those Harry Potter movies he loves.

"You sure you'll be able to wait that long?"

Jisung’s lips lift up at the corners, "I’ve waited weeks for this, I’m sure I can manage a couple more hours.”

He hugs you against him with his arms around your stomach, and back against his firm chest.

"But then again,” he begins “Now I have the memory of how fucking hot watching you get off in here was. That makes waiting like some kind of sick torture to me."

You let out a weak laugh, feeling your cheeks flush more than they already were, "I still can't believe we just did this."

"I can, and there's pictures to prove it," he smiles, pulling the strip of three black and white photos from the dispenser.

#nct smut #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct dream smut #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #nct hard hours #kpop smut #nct scenarios #park jisung scenarios #nct imagines

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breezyblossoms · 4 days ago

Text

Author Note: IM SO SORRY FOR ANOTHER VERY LONG ONE!!!

You met Bodhi at Basgiath before the ink of your surname had even dried on the parchment.

He had offered a sarcastic smile, a tilted chin, and a hand callused from hours gripping a dagger hilt. “You’re not gonna make it past the parapet if you keep hesitating like that, you know.” You had scowled, shoved back the dread rising in your chest, and stepped onto the narrow stone deathtrap anyway. He didn’t leave your side once.

That’s how it started. A friendship forged in adrenaline and survival. Bodhi, with his ridiculous jokes and sharp wit, always one step away from disaster. And you, calculating and quiet, the one who kept him grounded.

So when he introduced you to his cousin a few weeks into your first year, you’d been entirely unprepared for the impact. “Y/N, this is Xaden. Try not to stab him, no matter how punchable he looks.” You didn’t respond. Mostly because your tongue had stopped working the second Xaden turned his storm-dark gaze on you.

You hadn’t known then that your whole life would bend toward him like a compass to true north.

⸻

The relationship came slow. Xaden wasn’t the type to fall. He was the type to watch from the edge of the room, arms crossed, reading everyone like a battle plan. But with you, he softened—in ways he never meant to. You weren’t some damsel in need of protecting. You could break a man’s arm in three moves and had a signet that made even the third-years uneasy.

Still, when you were in his arms, curled up in his room with the sound of Sgaeyl’s wings rustling outside, you felt… safe.

He didn’t say I love you. Not with words. But in the way he tracked you across the training fields. In the way he’d pull you back from danger and growl, “Don’t do that again. I can’t—” and then stop himself. You knew.

But then Violet arrived.

⸻

The Threshing changed everything. You stood near the edge of the field, Kaerith’s massive body coiled protectively around you like a stormcloud made flesh. And then you saw them.

Tairn. Andarna. Violet Sorrengail.

Xaden’s expression didn’t change—but you felt it. The shift. The way he stepped toward her, as if fate had threaded something between them. You tried not to flinch. Tried not to see how Sgaeyl’s head dipped toward the golden hatchling with something like awe.

It wasn’t jealousy. Not exactly. It was… displacement. Like the story had kept moving without you.

⸻

You didn’t break up all at once. It was in the missed glances. The quiet dinners. The way his fingers twitched when he reached for you—then stopped.

One night, you sat in his room, your back to the wall, knees pulled to your chest. Xaden didn’t meet your eyes.

“She’s bonded to them,” he finally said. You nodded. “I know.” “I don’t want this to change anything.”

But it already had. So you left. Not with drama. Not with screams or accusations. Just a quiet morning where you didn’t show up to sparring. A room left empty. A dragon that took to the skies before anyone could stop him. You needed air. Needed to remember what it felt like to live without always looking over your shoulder, waiting for war.

Bodhi didn’t ask questions when you wrote. He just wrote back, “Where are you?”

You met him a few weeks later in a forest clearing near a coastal cliff. Kaerith growled at his approach, then relented when he saw Bodhi alone. He offered you bread, water, and silence. “Gonna tell him?” he asked after a long while. You shook your head. Bodhi leaned back against a tree and said, “Alright.” Because Bodhi had always known when to push—and when to simply sit beside you in the quiet.

⸻

Months later

You don’t remember what exactly happened. One moment, you were walking through a small valley, scouting for herbs and supplies near a river. The next, a blade from a Venin ambush sliced across your abdomen like fire. Kaerith had roared, a sound that cracked the trees and sent every bird skyward.

You remember falling. Then… darkness. Miles away, a blue-scaled dragon lifted his head.

“She’s down.”

Bodhi knew something was wrong the moment Cuir stirred. His dragon had been resting atop the cliffside near the northern coast, where the wind howled like it carried ghosts, when he suddenly tensed—eyes flaring a deep, storm-touched blue.

“Kaerith called out. She’s hurt.”

Bodhi froze mid-step. “Y/N?” he asked aloud, though the question was useless. He already knew. A flicker of pain—not his—rushed through the bond with Cuir, sharp and nauseating, and the dragon launched into the sky without waiting for permission.

He didn’t need to ask where. He’d been there before. That small river bend surrounded by wildflower fields and cliffs, where you met him sometimes with a tired smile and the kind of quiet peace Basgiath never offered.

The sky blurred around them as Cuir pushed himself to the limit. Wind lashed Bodhi’s face. His hands in a fist.

Please be alive. Please.

⸻

Kaerith was a storm on the ground. His massive wings snapped trees like twigs, his tail lashing in wide arcs as he circled your still form—laid across a stone near the riverbank, barely breathing.

Bodhi didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped from Virek before he landed, skidding to your side in seconds.

“Y/N—” His voice cracked. “Hey, hey, no sleeping on the job, remember?” You didn’t answer.

There was blood. Too much. Seeping from a gash just beneath your ribs, and bruises already blooming along your collarbone. Your pulse fluttered weakly beneath his fingertips. Kaerith let out a low, guttural sound that was more grief than rage.

“She needs Brennen,” Bodhi said to no one in particular. “Then take her.” Kaerith’s voice thundered directly into his mind, ancient and wild. Cuir rumbled in agreement beside him.

Bodhi swallowed hard and gathered you into his arms, ignoring the blood, the pain, the broken pieces. You were limp. Your head lolled against his chest. He held you like something fragile. Like you might vanish.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “You’re not dying on me, okay? You don’t get to leave twice.”

⸻

They landed in Aretia under a storm-gray sky. The winds carried ash from distant fires, and the cliffs were shadowed by the late hour. But Bodhi barely saw any of it—he moved like a man possessed, Kaerith flying close behind with a protective shriek that echoed off the cliffs. He didn’t realize how much noise they made until people started running.

“Get Brennen!” someone shouted.

“Is that—?”

“Is she—?”

And then—

“Bodhi.”

That voice. Low. Cold. Laced with something dangerous. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Xaden stood near the edge of the courtyard, black hair wind-tossed, shadows clinging to his boots like loyal pets. Sgaeyl dropped down behind him in a whisper of wings, her eyes immediately locking on Kaerith. And then his eyes landed on you—in Bodhi’s arms, unconscious and bloodied. Everything about him stilled. Time cracked.

“What the fuck happened?” Xaden’s voice was sharp, near a snarl. “She was attacked,” Bodhi said flatly, shifting your weight as he moved toward the doors where Brennen was already shouting orders. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Xaden snapped, stepping into his path. Bodhi didn’t stop walking. “I asked you a fucking question, Bodhi.” He turned then, slowly. Looked his cousin in the eye—really looked at him. And saw it. The wild panic under the surface. The tremor in his jaw. The pain he was trying so hard to hide.

“I didn’t tell you,” Bodhi said quietly, “because she asked me not to.” Xaden’s fists clenched. “You should’ve—” “She was my best friend,” Bodhi said sharply, cutting him off. “Long before she was your girlfriend. I owe her that.” The words hit harder than any punch. Xaden reeled like he’d taken a blow to the ribs.

Brennen pushed between them then, snapping, “Unless one of you is bleeding out, move.” Bodhi did. He carried you through the doors and didn’t look back.

⸻

Later that night

Xaden stood outside your room. He hadn’t moved in over an hour. Inside, Brennen worked quietly, mending you with a tired, pale expression. Your chest rose and fell—barely, but it did. Kaerith loomed just outside the window, his silver eyes glowing through the storm. And Bodhi? He sat in a chair near your bedside, holding your hand. Xaden’s jaw tightened. You were here. Alive. And you hadn’t told him.

⸻

The sun rose slow over Aretia. Its light crept in like it was afraid to touch the stone walls, painting them in pale gold and soft blue. But inside your room, time didn’t move. Not really.

Your breathing was steady now. Still shallow. Still cautious. But steady.

Xaden stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, shoulder pressed to the wall as if it were the only thing holding him up. His eyes hadn’t left you in hours.

You lay against the pillows, pale as ash. Bandages wrapped around your midsection and shoulder. A bruise bloomed along your jaw like a shadow of the battle you didn’t get to finish.

You hadn’t woken yet. Brennen sat beside you, murmuring quietly to Kaerith through the window every so often. The massive dragon had refused to leave. Not even when offered food. Not even when others tried to soothe him. “Your bond’s too deep,” Brennen had said once under his breath, fingers pressing over your wound. “He’ll feel her pain like it’s his own.”

Xaden didn’t reply. Because he understood. He felt yours like a phantom limb. A dull ache in the back of his skull, just where memory lived. And fuck, there were so many memories.

⸻

He hadn’t meant to fall for you. It wasn’t part of the plan—hell, nothing with you ever was. You’d been quiet where he was storm. Brutal where he was calculating. And still, you’d seen through him from the beginning.

That first year, he’d caught you and Bodhi sitting outside the barracks at midnight, stargazing like you weren’t being trained to kill.

You’d looked up, eyes full of stardust and steel, and asked, “Do you think we’re allowed to want more than survival?” And he hadn’t known what to say. He never had. Until it was too late.

⸻

The door creaked. Bodhi stepped out quietly, closing it behind him. Xaden didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched him with unreadable eyes.

“She’s stable,” Bodhi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Still out cold.” Xaden didn’t reply. Bodhi sighed. “You don’t have to hover, you know.” “I’m not.” “You are,” he said flatly. “You haven’t blinked in a while,” Bodhi said again, a note of dry exhaustion threading through his voice. Xaden finally shifted his gaze, dragging it from your still form just long enough to glare at him. “I’m not leaving her,” he said. Quiet. Final. Bodhi leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. His usual lightness was gone. “Didn’t say you should.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the kind that settles in when two people have too much history to fill it with anything else.

“She cried when she left, you know,” Bodhi added after a beat, eyes locked on the ground. “Not loud. Not where anyone would see. But I did. I always do.” Xaden’s jaw locked. “You should’ve told me she was alive.” “She asked me not to.” “I would’ve gone after her.” “That’s exactly why she didn’t want you to know.”

Xaden’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t say anything. Not at first. Not until— “I would’ve brought her back.”

Bodhi looked up, sharp. “Brought her back to what, Xaden? A war? A life she never wanted? You?” Xaden’s silence was colder than steel. “You weren’t ready to fight for her,” Bodhi said. “Not when she needed it most.”

That hit like a gut punch. Because it was true. Because he’d known—deep down—that he’d let you walk out of his life with too many words unsaid and too many fears swallowing him whole.

“I loved her.” Bodhi stared at him. “Then why didn’t you run after her when she left?” Xaden looked back toward your door.

“I thought I’d already lost her.”

⸻

Inside the room, the first signs of waking stirred in your chest. Your breathing hitched, shallow but quickening, and Brennen leaned forward immediately. “Y/N,” he said gently, pressing a hand to your wrist. “You’re safe. You’re in Aretia.”

Your eyelids fluttered open. Light spilled in too fast, too sharp. You squinted against it. The dull throb in your side surged, and Kaerith’s presence flared through the bond—solid, grounding, massive.

You are safe.

You reached out mentally, weak but steady. You didn’t leave.

Never.

Then the door opened. And everything slowed. Because standing just inside the frame, armor still dusty, hair a mess, shadows clinging to his boots— Was him. Xaden Riorson.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. He took one step inside. You blinked up at him, eyes glassy, chest burning.

Don’t cry.

Don’t—

“Hi,” he said hoarsely.

It shattered you.

⸻

The moment stretched. You stared up at him, chest tight, throat dry, barely able to process the reality of him standing in your doorway again. Of those eyes—dark, storm-torn, familiar—fixed on you like you were something fragile he didn’t know how to hold.

And Xaden didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. “Can I come closer?” he asked. It came out quieter than you’d ever heard him. You gave the smallest nod.

He crossed the room in three slow steps, dragging a chair beside your cot. His hands—gloved, blood-stained from flight, from war—hesitated for a moment before peeling the leather away. He set the gloves down, one over the other, like he was trying to do something with them. His fingers trembled once, then stilled.

When he sat, the chair creaked under his weight—but he didn’t lean back. He leaned forward. Toward you. Like he couldn’t stay away anymore.

His eyes traced every inch of you—your temple, bruised; your arm, still bandaged; the deep, angry wound over your ribs that Brennen had barely managed to stabilize. His jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely. “Gods, Y/N, I didn’t know it was this bad.” You blinked, slow. “Would it have mattered if you did?” He flinched like you’d slapped him. You almost regretted the question. But not enough to take it back. Because it did matter. You mattered. And there were too many nights you’d fallen asleep wondering if you’d ever mattered enough.

“You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered,” he said finally, voice scraping raw across his throat. You looked at him—really looked. There was something so tired in him. So desperately, devastatingly tired. Like he’d been walking through a world that no longer made sense since the day you left it.

“I needed you,” you whispered. “I know.” “I waited for you.” “I know.”

His hand moved, fingers stretching forward. Then paused, inches from yours on the blanket. You didn’t move. So he let his palm drop gently onto the edge of your hand, barely touching. His thumb brushed your knuckle—once, slow. Reverent. It felt like something shattered in your chest.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “Not once. Not when I was training Violet. Not when I was sent across the ward. Not even when I should’ve been thinking about everything else.”

You swallowed thickly. “Then why didn’t you come?” He exhaled like the question burned. “Because I thought I already destroyed you once,” he said. “I didn’t know if you’d survive me again.” You closed your eyes. Because the truth was—you didn’t know either.

⸻

Outside the window, Kaerith shifted, massive wings stretching across the sky like a shield. Sgaeyl perched silently nearby, still and watchful. Dragons, quiet in their knowing.

You opened your eyes again. And whispered, “I still love you.” Xaden’s breath left him like a weapon had torn it out. His hand gripped yours. Tight.

And then he said it back—choked, ragged, as if it had been lodged in his throat since the day you left.

“I never stopped.”

⸻

You didn’t let go of his hand. Not for a while. There was something comforting in the way his thumb kept brushing over your knuckles, slow and steady. Like he was reminding himself you were real. Like he didn’t believe it. Your breath caught once, and Xaden stilled.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, already halfway to pulling back. “No,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Just… not used to this.” He nodded, slow. You didn’t have to say what this was. Not really. Touch. Closeness. Letting him in again after all the silence.

The room stayed quiet for a long time, filled only with Kaerith’s distant grumble outside, and the low creak of Sgaeyl shifting beside him. Two massive dragons—bound by instinct, by history—standing watch like sentinels.

Brennen came in briefly to check your pulse, muttering something about how your color was better. He didn’t say anything about the way Xaden sat, hunched forward like if he let go of your hand for even a second, the whole world might crack open again. Brennen didn’t have to. He knew better than anyone what broken things looked like when they were trying to heal.

After he left, you shifted slightly in the bed, wincing as your ribs flared hot with pain.

Xaden was there instantly. “Careful.” “I’m fine,” you murmured. His brow furrowed. “You almost died.” You looked away. “I didn’t.” “Don’t do that.” You turned your head back slowly. “Do what?”

“Pretend like it didn’t matter. Like I wouldn’t have gone insane if Bodhi hadn’t brought you here. Like you’re just another mission casualty.” You stared at him for a long moment. “You didn’t come for me.” “I didn’t know where to look.” “You didn’t try.”

That landed.

Xaden leaned back, running a hand down his face, like he hated every version of himself that had let you slip through the cracks. “I was scared,” he said finally. You blinked. “You’re never scared.” His laugh was hollow. “I’m scared every damn day. Of losing people. Of being wrong. Of not being strong enough to stop what’s coming. But you?” His eyes lifted to yours again. “You’re the only thing I was ever scared of losing completely.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said the truth.

“I thought you already had.”

⸻

A soft knock interrupted whatever would’ve come next. Bodhi pushed open the door a crack. “Everything alright?”

You and Xaden looked at him at the same time. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Come in.” He stepped inside, dragging a chair toward your other side. “You look less dead. That’s promising.”

You rolled your eyes, and the motion made your bruised jaw throb. “Thanks for the assessment, Healer General.” Bodhi grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Kaerith told me the minute you twitched. Bastard nearly knocked the whole roof off trying to get my attention.”

Xaden’s gaze flicked to him. “You’re still talking to her dragon?” Bodhi raised a brow. “You’re still pretending you didn’t want to break something when you saw her in that bed?” The silence that followed was sharp.

Bodhi’s voice softened. “She’s my best friend, Xaden. She always has been. I wasn’t keeping her from you. I was protecting her for you. From everything. Even you.”

You didn’t breathe. Xaden didn’t flinch. But you could feel the tension radiating between them like heat off embers. Deep. Scalding. Unspoken.

“I’d do it again,” Bodhi added. “Because she asked me to.” “She’s mine,” Xaden bit out, low and raw. Bodhi shook his head. “Not anymore. Not unless she says so.” And for a long second, no one said anything. Then Xaden turned to you, eyes searching.

“Do I still get to be yours?” he asked. Your throat tightened. Your fingers curled into his. And you whispered, “I don’t know yet. But I want to.”

⸻

You made it outside by morning. Barely. Your legs shook with every step down the stone corridor, but you were walking. Brennen had raised an eyebrow, clearly ready to lecture you into oblivion, but Bodhi had just handed you a cloak and said, “Don’t fall. I’m not carrying you again.”

So now, you stood beneath the towering archway of Aretia’s outer courtyard, bathed in the golden light of sunrise, your breath fogging gently in the cool air.

And Kaerith? Kaerith was pissed.

He loomed behind you like a thundercloud with wings, tail sweeping close at your back, nostrils flaring every time someone so much as looked your way.

Xaden emerged from the barracks steps just as you reached the edge of the field. You stopped walking. So did he. Kaerith growled low. A sound of warning.

“Down,” you said, without looking back. Kaerith didn’t move. Xaden held his ground but raised his hands slightly, eyes never leaving yours. “Tell your oversized death machine I’m not here to fight.”

“I told you that last time,” Bodhi muttered from behind you. “Didn’t stop you.” You ignored them both and took another step forward. The movement made your ribs scream. Your body trembled. But Xaden was already in front of you. Hands reaching.

And Kaerith—Kaerith roared.

Sgaeyl dropped out of the sky like a dark streak of lightning, slamming between you and Xaden in one smooth motion, tail curling protectively. “Kaerith,” you snapped, grabbing a handful of his scales. “Stand down.”

He snarled, but relented—barely. Sgaeyl snorted. If dragons could roll their eyes, she absolutely just had.

Xaden waited, eyes full of something that looked dangerously close to fear. Not of Kaerith. Not of Sgaeyl. But of you.

“You okay?” he asked. You nodded once. “More or less.” He exhaled slowly. “You’re walking.” “Don’t get too excited. I still feel like I got trampled by a gryphon.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

You glanced up at Kaerith. “He doesn’t like you very much right now.” “I deserve it.” “He’s only like this with people who matter.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Do I still matter?” You blinked. Then—quiet, careful—you said, “More than I want to admit.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Not yet. But enough to feel. “Let me stay,” he said softly. “Wherever you are. However you need me. Just let me try again.” You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked at his hands, his eyes, the quiet desperation under the cool mask he always wore.

And then—

You reached up. Touched his face. Barely. Kaerith huffed but didn’t move. “Okay,” you whispered. “But you don’t get to break me again.” “I won’t,” Xaden said. Like a promise. Like a vow. You believed him.

Gods help you, you believed him.

⸻

You didn’t go far that day. A few steps into the courtyard. A brief moment in the light. Then you were exhausted, half-leaning on Kaerith, the world tilting slightly at the edges. Xaden had said nothing. Just stayed close enough to catch you if you stumbled.

By nightfall, you were in one of the smaller guest rooms inside the northern wing—one of the few places in Aretia that felt untouched by war. The walls were warm sandstone. A soft rug covered the cold floor. There was a window that looked out into the valley. Xaden had brought a chair again. But this time? You told him not to.

“I don’t want you across the room,” you said softly. “I don’t need the space. Not anymore.” He didn’t argue. Didn’t push, either. He just sat at the edge of the bed, hands braced on his knees, like he was afraid to move.

You watched him for a long moment. The shape of his shoulders. The way he exhaled slow through his nose like he’d been holding his breath for days. “Lie down,” you said. His brow lifted, guarded. “You sure?” You nodded. “I trust you. And I… I miss you.” That broke him a little.

He kicked off his boots and climbed in carefully, like you might vanish if he moved too quickly. The bed dipped beneath his weight. The warmth of him slid into the space beside you. He didn’t touch you—not at first. But his presence was loud. And familiar.

He lay on his back, hands over his chest, staring at the ceiling like it held answers to everything he couldn’t say. You shifted, slow and cautious, until your head rested just beneath his shoulder. He froze. Then—slowly, carefully—his arm wrapped around you. And gods, you didn’t realize how much you missed this. Missed him. The shape of his body beside yours. The weight of his palm at your side. The way your breathing fell into rhythm like it always used to.

Minutes passed like hours. Then he said—barely a whisper—“You still do that thing when you sleep.” You blinked against his chest. “What thing?” “You breathe out three times really fast. Then pause. You’ve always done it.” You smiled into the fabric of his shirt. “You remember that?” “I never forgot.” A beat. “I tried.” Your heart twisted. “I didn’t stop loving you,” he added quietly. “Even when it felt like I had to.”

You lifted your head. Looked at him. Really looked at him. There was a vulnerability in his eyes you rarely saw. Not even when you first kissed. Not even when you first fought. This wasn’t desperation. This was truth. And so you leaned in. Pressed your lips to his—gentle. Slow. Not a promise. Not yet. Just a memory finding its way home. When you pulled back, he exhaled hard, eyes still closed. And you whispered, “I still love you, too.”

⸻

The morning light bled into the room like an old wound—slow, reluctant. You stirred before he did. Your body still ached in all the places that hadn’t quite forgiven you. But you were breathing. Steady. Even. And you were warm. Because Xaden hadn’t moved an inch. He was still there, one arm around you, your cheek tucked against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear, slow and thunderous. Like it had something to say.

You didn’t move. Not at first. You just listened. To the silence. To him. To the way your breath still fell in sync without trying. But eventually, you whispered, “I don’t know how to stop being mad at you.”

Xaden opened his eyes. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. “Then be mad,” he said, voice rough. “Yell at me. Hit me. Whatever you need.” You looked up at him, eyes burning. “I don’t want to hurt you.” “You already did,” he said quietly. “When you left.”

You sat up then, too fast. Pain flared across your ribs, but you didn’t stop. “You think that was easy for me?” “No.” He sat up, too, turning toward you. “I think it killed you. Just like it did me.”

Kaerith stirred outside the window, sensing the tension. His wings rustled like storm winds through the valley. You didn’t need the bond to know he was restless—protective.

Xaden’s jaw clenched. “I saw the way everything shifted after Threshing. After her. I couldn’t divide myself cleanly anymore. Orders from Tairn. Protection. Secrets. You—” He broke off, eyes burning. “You deserved better than being second to someone I didn’t even love.” The words hit hard. You felt them deep, like truth and regret in one sharp breath.

“But I still left,” you whispered. “I walked away. I didn’t fight for us.” “I didn’t give you a reason to.” He looked down. Fingers flexing like he wanted to reach for you. Like he didn’t know if he was allowed to.

“You were everything to me,” he said, voice raw. “And I got so good at pretending I was fine without you… I almost believed it. Until I saw you bleeding in Bodhi’s arms. Until Kaerith called out and I felt it in my bones.” You swallowed. Hard. The silence stretched again. And then, slowly, carefully—you reached for his hand. He didn’t hesitate. Fingers locked. Palms pressed.

“You don’t have to fix it all today,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “But if we’re going to try again… we can’t pretend the cracks aren’t there.” “I know.” “We build slow this time.” Xaden nodded. “Even if it hurts.” You leaned forward. Pressed your forehead to his. And this time, you both stayed there. No one ran.

No one turned away.

⸻

Later that day

The quiet didn’t last. By the time you’d managed to walk down the hallway—Xaden shadowing every step—Bodhi was already waiting in the courtyard below. Leaning against the worn stone wall, arms crossed, his dragon, Cuir, perched high on the cliff behind him like a sentinel of old.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Didn’t even blink at the way Xaden hovered a step too close. “Still stubborn,” Bodhi muttered as you stepped into the sunlight, eyes sweeping over the bruises on your skin. “Still getting yourself nearly killed.” “Still dragging me out of it,” you returned softly. That earned the smallest of smiles. But it didn’t last. Because Xaden moved forward. And you felt it shift—like a ripple of old storms under calm water.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Xaden asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cracked with something sharp. Something ancient. “You knew where she was. For months.” Bodhi’s jaw tensed. “I did.” “You let me think she was gone.” “You let her think she was nothing but collateral.” The words landed like fists.

You inhaled slowly, ready to speak—but Bodhi raised a hand to stop you. His gaze stayed locked on Xaden.

“You want the truth?” Bodhi said, stepping away from the wall. “She was my best friend long before she was your girlfriend. I held her hair when she was sick. I taught her how to punch harder than you. I read every letter she wrote, even when she didn’t send them.” Xaden flinched.

“She didn’t leave just because of you,” Bodhi added. “She left because that place—Basgiath, war, everything—it was eating her alive. And I wasn’t going to drag her back just because you finally decided to miss her.” The silence that followed was brutal.

Xaden’s fists were clenched. His breathing ragged. But he didn’t argue. Because he couldn’t. You stepped forward, putting a hand on Bodhi’s arm. “Thank you,” you said quietly. His expression softened just a little. “I’d do it again.”

Xaden finally spoke, voice low, broken at the edges. “You should’ve told me.” Bodhi shrugged. “Maybe. But then again, maybe you should’ve looked closer when she stopped smiling.” Another hit. Direct. And earned. Xaden didn’t respond. But he nodded. Slow.

And for the first time… something passed between them. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But understanding. Mutual grief. Shared weight.

“Next time,” Bodhi said, backing away toward Cuir, “don’t wait until she’s bleeding to remember how much you love her.” And then he was gone.

The wind shifted. And you stood there with Xaden—both of you raw, scraped open, stripped down to nothing but truth and tension and too many things left unsaid. But this?

This was how healing started.

⸻

The sun was low by the time you returned to your room. The walk back was slow. Silent. Xaden didn’t reach for your hand, but his presence was a constant hum beside you—warm and steady, like a pulse that refused to fade.

You closed the door behind you with a soft click. And still, he didn’t speak. Not until you turned toward him, eyes searching his face like you might find something you’d missed the first time you fell in love with him.

“What are you thinking?” you asked softly. Xaden’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. More like a wince of truth. “That I don’t deserve this.” Your breath hitched. “Me?” “You,” he said. “This chance. Your trust. After everything I didn’t say. Everything I let happen.”

You walked toward him, slow and quiet. “Do you want it?” His eyes lifted—sharp, dark, wounded. “More than anything.” “Then earn it.”

You were close now. Close enough to see the way his shoulders shifted, to hear the subtle catch in his breath. He looked like a man standing in a fire, unsure whether to run or reach for the warmth.

“I don’t want the version of you who shuts down,” you said, voice low. “Not the one who hides things ‘for your own good.’ I want the version who looks me in the eye and lets me in. Even if it’s ugly.”

Xaden looked down at his hands. “I don’t know if I remember how.” “You don’t have to know yet,” you whispered, fingers brushing his. “You just have to try.” He met your gaze then, and something cracked open behind his eyes. Not pain. Not guilt. Hope.

He took your hand—slow, deliberate. “I can’t promise I’ll be easy,” he said. “Or perfect.” “I never asked for perfect,” you replied. “I asked for you.” He stepped closer. Pressed his forehead to yours. His voice was rough, full of truth. “Tell me what you need.” And you didn’t hesitate. “I need you to be here. Really here. Not just when I’m hurt. Not just when you’re scared you’ve lost me. But when I’m healing. When I’m angry. When I’m quiet.” “I can do that,” he said. “Gods, I want to do that.”

You leaned into him, heart thudding against his chest. “Then stay. Not because you owe me. But because you still choose me.” His arms wrapped around you—gentle, but sure. And you felt it, in the weight of his touch, in the way his breath slowed against your skin. He wasn’t running. Not anymore.

And maybe that was enough.

#xaden riorson #angst #fourth wing #rebecca yarros #the empyrean #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader #xaden x reader #fluff #bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #bodhi x reader

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jesuistrestriste · 10 days ago

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omg i need art humping that hitachi wand like crazy 🙏🙏🙏🙏

“close,” he murmurs into your thigh, a broken little wail of a warning, his fingers digging into the back of your leg, “ah, ah, ah, ‘m really close—!”

you reach down and thread your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead and forcing his eyes up to you. his hips stutter against the buzzing wand strapped to the lower part of your limb. the white head of the toy sitting just above the top of your shoe. his cock is glistening with strings of pre that stick to his aching flesh and dribble down.

“you’re doing such a good job, artie.”

his jaw drops into a deliciously pornographic “oh”, and he has to force his pelvis from back from the toy before he blows his load without permission.

you chuckle.

“easy, easy, easy,” you murmur, still playing with his hair, “if you want to finish, you know what you have to do.”

he looks up to you like he thinks he’s unworthy of your presence, your kindness, your willingness to indulge him. he swallows around his tongue and then shakes his head.

“i don’t wanna finish until you’re ready for me to.”

you watch as his cock bobs in vain, the vibrating noise of the toy—just out of reach—only exacerbating his need for relief. his tip is the brightest pink youve ever seen.

“well, you don’t know until you ask, right?”

a nod from him follows. he scoots back in, but not quite enough to let his shaft meet the wand again.

“can i please come—er, i mean, do you want me to come yet?”

his watery blue eyes roam your face as he waits. one more inch forward and he’s going to lose it.

“yes, art, i want you to come for me.”

it’s like a rubber band snaps inside his stomach—sharp, stinging, and sudden. almost scary, that’s how good it is.

he arches his hips with a strangled gasp and begins feverishly humping the toy, clinging to your body while he pushes the middle of his shaft into the vibrations.

“oh, god, im close again!” he whines, his movements becoming more jerky and unsteady, the underside of his tip nearly brushing the silicone, “im gonna come for you, im gonna come for you, im gonna come—!”

he sobs, wetness gathering in his lashes, and then tips his head back as whiteness blooms behind his vision. his frenulum gets smushed against the hitachi, and then it’s all crashing down over his nervous system. waves and waves of all-consuming pleasure slamming into him as he moans into your leg and lets his gooey, milky end splatter from his slit in ropes. you count all of them, fixated on his state of ecstasy; seven contractions in total.

by the time he gains some of his coherency back, the sweat on his abdomen is starting to cool.

“good boy, art,” you breathe out, more hot-and-bothered than anything else, “such a good boy.. take a breather, you’re alright..”

he nods and his cheek rubs against your thigh as he does so. he’s delirious. his cock is still pressed to the vibrator, but he’s too fucked-out to move away from it—stuck with the prickle of overstimulation and unwilling to speak up to tell you that a second orgasm is already creeping in.

#i love him humping your leg like a dog #he will genuinely dry hump whatever part of you that he can get his hands on #and i believe that #sage’s asks #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x you #🌸 - ask prompts

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firemenenthusiast · 6 months ago

Text

—“ruffles”

farleigh start x fem! reader

summary: farleigh has one purpose in this world, and that is to give you anything you want and more

warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (well duh), BREEDING KINK goes brrrr, porn with plot (sorry for that lol), creampie, cunnilingus, riding, petnames, mating press (whoa), size kink, breeding endeavours (like really), no actual pregnancy, breast worship, oral fixation, literally about fucking reader to knock her up (no im not ashamed) (maybe a lil)

a/n: if you don’t like breeding kink or talks of getting pregnant and stuff you don’t have to read ! but just so you know i want him to get me pregnant (hello) 😞🙏🏻

strolling down the neatly shaped stone pavement, the glinting of overhead fairy lights reflecting against your glossy eyes makes you feel grateful that farleigh’s willing to do this. it’s been months since your last actual date, having only gone out to other people’s events or just hanging out around campus. you two were very busy, with the aggressive chase from assignment due dates and the cruel allocation of your schedules. it felt like the faculty hated seeing you two together and was doing everything in their will to separate you.

tilting your head towards him, you watch a slow smile thread itself across his lips as he continues looking forward so the both of you don’t end up tripping over each other. he could feel you alternating between watching your steps and watching him, taking in all his sharp features. his nose, the tip reflecting a glow from the fairy lights, his eyes, his long lashes that almost touch his pretty eyebrows. and his curls, god you love his curls so much, especially because he keeps them neat all the time. you’re willing to bet that incase of fire in his dorm building he’s gonna grab his hair products first if not only.

“take a picture baby it’ll last longer” he quips, making you eye roll at the cringey words. pulling you in closer to his side, you notice that you were seconds away from colliding into the group of people walking past. farleigh always does this, having told you multiple times that you’re careless when in reality he just wanted you to be as close to him as possible so people wouldn’t dare to get any ideas

one good thing about your relationship is that it’s gotten to the stage where you’re always each other’s date, especially for the family events. farleigh’s family in saltburn already welcomed you long ago, even since you two were just talking and when all the toxicity and angst happened between you and him. they watched from afar, not wanting to meddle into farleigh’s businesses but they were hoping you could work it out. they were hoping that you could just give farleigh a chance to prove that he’s actually capable to love properly, and you did.

you’ve come to the age you’ve started getting invited to your friends’ weddings, farewells and showers. you know, adult, family stuff. just last month you guys rsvp’d to annabelle’s wedding and went together. and the fact that the both of you fit each other so well stained a smile on farleigh’s face all the way home. the parties and raves are toning down and surprisingly, there hasn’t been any yet for your last year at oxford. farleigh had told you he’s glad that it’s all starting to get behind him now as he’s more determined to actually try for uni now that he’s got you. he wanted a promising future where he could keep you safe and healthy.

“im glad we did this, farleigh” looking up at him, the feeling of his calloused hand cupping against your soft one serves you warmth. you’re walking hand in hand under the dim lights of oxford little shop street.

a momentary quirk appears on his eyebrows before tilting his head down towards you.

“what ? take you out for a walk ?” his lips curl to huff out a playful scoff, seconds before he’s flinching from you playfully punching his arm.

“you know that’s not what i meant”

straightening his back, he smiles.

“yeah, i know. we never really have time for ourselves anymo-” as he squeezes your hand he’s being cut off by you squeaking in excitement, making him dart his head towards the thing distracting you from his heartfelt moment.

farleigh almost stumbles over the sidewalk when you basically jumped off to go into the shop, yanking his hand together in a still interlocked hand holding. he mentally curses as a reflex, does this woman not realise that she’s still holding his hand ?

“ohh,, oh my good— farleigh look !” you’re practically melting in front of the display of cute mini clothes in the shop with soft pastel interior. everything was so small and adorable, from the tiny two-piece light blue pyjamas to the mini rainbow xylophone neatly placed in a colourful box packaging.

it’s only when you look up to him do you see that your hands are stretched out, forming a bridge over the display table with farleigh on the other side just looking at you, waiting for you to realise you’re near yanking his arm off his shoulder. quickly releasing his hand, you mutter a low ‘sorry’ with your best apologetic face.

“what’s up with you and baby stuff lately ?” he inquires, tone obvious that he hasn’t even got one idea as of your latest obsession. what he does recall is that it started when one of your mutual friends invited you to their baby shower.

“they’re just so- do you not think they’re adorable?!” you’re moving quickly through the entire shop to make sure that you’ve looked at every single items that you don’t even bother to look up at farleigh who’s clearly unamused by the whole thing.

“they’re just small shirts. even i wear baby tees” you shrug at his answer, well he’s not wrong. he does wear small t-shirts, sometimes having cropped them himself.

having grown up with no other children in the mansion, and not having to deal with smaller cousins at Christmas or dinner makes him feel like children are no big deal. even when everyone geeked at the tiny human last week, telling him that she’s just the cutest little thing and so pure, he didn’t get the appeal. he was showing a distinct disgusted look the whole time and to be fair, you think it’s classic farleigh. you just laughed it off at seeing him trying so hard to hide the pout and ended up spending the rest of the evening telling him he’s cuter. you still remember what he said when you insisted that he’s cute.

“im a grown man, i don’t need you calling me cute. plus i don’t care about the baby”

“so what do you call a grown man ?”

there was a quick silence before you hear him respond quietly.

“….handsome”

his timid response made you snort laugh, and you still do when you randomly remembered his flushed face and his eyes looking into the distance in all seriousness as if the whole thing never bothered him at all.

swiping your fingers against the delicate fabric on the table, you couldn’t help the genuine smile glued to your face. somehow the mini buttons and small fluffy rabbit peeking out the shirt’s pocket really makes you float with joy. you don’t even notice farleigh slowly stepping closer towards you, as he reaches out to feel the fabric you’re so keen on feeling.

the smile on your face grows wider noticing farleigh has stopped murmuring protests about the shop selling basically shrunken clothes and instead, measuring how tiny the arm of the pyjamas is with his pointer finger. mentally he’s genuinely amazed seeing that it’s the same length of his finger because for a moment there, he forgot that babies are that small.

“they’re so small”

“i know, god these make me wanna have one just so we could play dress up” your eyes are still set on the matching pieces, responding to his quiet mutters. hearing your words takes the enjoyment of being there from farleigh, an itch crawled against the skin on his neck making him cock his head and let out a huffed sigh.

“let’s go home” he’s completely turned his body away from you with a few steps towards the door leaving you behind

“already…?” his musky scent no longer lingering around when you raise your head.

“farleigh—!” you try to call out to him asking him to at least slow down but he’s already standing at the door holding it open. maybe something’s caught his attention that his eyes are staring far outside, not bothered to look at you

the rest of the ride home farleigh’s only focused on the road, large hand framing the wheels making you look at his other hand, which would otherwise had already settled on your thigh, dangerously high.

the whole time he’s got his eyes straight through the windshield that not once does he bother to meet your gaze from beside like always. his back is pressed straight against the seat, shoulders pulled back, you know that he’s tensed. he looks somehow pissed, with his brows occasionally knitted together with a distinct furrow.

you’d asked him a few questions like you usually do, accompanying him along the drive because farleigh gets drowsy behind the wheels but all of them got shut down with barely a word or just a hum. all of his sudden behaviour leaves you worried, for one thinking about what you may have done that could’ve pissed him off and what his silence could’ve mean. farleigh on normal circumstances wouldn’t know when to shut up, so you’re really beating your head wondering.

“farleigh—“ he’s walking fast in front of you, leaving you to almost stumble over a scattered piece of rock on the pathway. the swings of his legs are obviously larger than yours, that you struggle to match the pace. he’s still silent, but not without his hand wrapped around your wrist, practically dragging you towards what you could make out is the direction of his dorm. you would have guessed that he was mad but the gentle hold he has on your wrist tells you otherwise

you were right, it is the direction to his dorm. stopping your tracks, you pull your hand away forcing him to turn towards you, before stepping in to close the distance in between. you have no choice but to crane your neck looking at him, his pupils blown and eyes dark. but maybe that’s just the dimmed lights along the hall, and the fact that it’s late. your eyes involuntarily trail down his chest, swallowing the lump in your throat seeing it heaves like the ocean wave.

looking him right in the eyes, clear concern and desperation glinting off your cornea. “farleigh what is it ? it was a perfectly great date—“

immediately as the words left your lips you feel his large hands cradling your face, slender fingers cupping your jaw as he hunches down to touch his lips against your soft ones, taking you in for a kiss so deep it feels like he’d longed for it since forever. all the building up protest within you dissolves slowly with each of the touch of lips on your bottom one, kissing on it like he’s desperate for something.

your fingers are crawling on his chest, trying to grab at the hem of his knitted sweater, subconsciously pulling him even closer. a deep breath sighs out of him as his nose bumps against yours, your lips getting glossy from both your saliva. just as you begin to step forward to push him back towards his door, he breaks the kiss with small pants.

“im sorry,,” he begins, your eyes bore into his, waiting patiently for an explanation, your fingers fiddling with the buttons on the chest

before he continues he takes your hands of his chest into his, stepping back and pulling you into his dorm after twisting the knob. for a second you widen your eyes at him seeing that he still doesn’t lock his room when he’s out, which you’ve told him to countless times. seeing your reaction to the little detail leaves a grin across his lips.

turning your back towards his bed, he continues to take you in for another kiss, his knee moving forward to separate your legs apart, dipping it onto the mattress. all you had to do was return the kiss, as he didn’t give you much option pressing his plump ones against yours. kissing farleigh was always like being given oxygen when you can’t breathe, and it always felt like he’s saved you from suffocating.

you’re now making out on the bed, with him on top of your body, his upper arm caging your head as his fingers move the stray hair across your forehead. it’s unusual for the both of you to be in this position, not without both your hands desperately ripping off each others clothes, tearing them off your bodies. now you’re moving in a slow pace, with his kisses delicate against your lips.

reaching your hand up to move his hair backwards, he takes that as a cue to continue explaining.

“i can’t stand not being able to give you what you want, the moment you ask for it”

his answer quirks your brows, the look on your confusion displayed across your face as your fingers moving to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“when you said you wanted a baby for yourself—“ realisation hits on what he’s talking about that you immediately shut your eyes and shake your head before they shot wide open

“oh my god— i wasn’t serious, farleigh !”

“i know, i know”

his dark glossy eyes search into yours before he continues

“but i can actually fuck you now, fill you up so full and nice, get you pregnant with my kid”

a soft moan escapes your lips when he leans in to kiss along your jaw, trailing down to your collarbone, his fingers work to undress you at each part of your body that he kisses, until you’re left with nothing

“you’re still dressed” you point out, receiving a grin from him

“does that bother you baby ?” he responds, as his hand grabs at the hem of his sweater to pull it over his head, his broad tanned shoulder now on full display, looking glorious as ever. if only he was facing the other way, the flexing muscles on his back would’ve made you cum right that second.

spitting onto his hand, the sound got him your attention as he leans down pursing his lips, a glob lands on your pussy, making it glisten with all the wetness forming. he wastes no time latching his mouth on your folds, lapping up his own saliva that’s mixed with your juices. scooting even further from the bed, he’s poking his tongue down your hole, sucking on it to catch every drop of your taste into his mouth. he’s humming from the sweetness, eyes shut savouring your taste while you squirm from the vibration.

he has his hands sprawled over your lower belly, pinning your hips down so he could have his way down your core all he wants, like it belongs to him. and it does. he knows it’s all his, yet he’s eating you out like he’s gonna lose you to somebody else.

the sounds coming out of your mouth are getting embarrassing, pathetic whines and broken out moans fill the room, making you place your forehand against your lips to cover some of them from spilling out uncontrollably.

hearing them all muffled, farleigh reaches his hand up to move your arm away, before sucking off your clit and raising his head up to look at you.

“let me hear your pretty sounds”

as he dives back into you, his nose grazes against your folds, collecting your wetness that the bridge is all glistening and shiny. he has his mouth pursed on your pussy before he’s sucking on your clit, alternating between his laps on your folds and kitten lick against it, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. you’ve missed how good he’d eat you out, and it’s crazy what he could make you feel in a span of mere couple of minutes.

your sudden grab on his hand tells him that you’re about to cum, and he could feel the subtle shake of your thighs against the sides of his head. raising his head up, his lower face all wet and sticky.

“wanna hear you baby, loud”

the final pressure on of his tongue sucking on your pussy brings you over the edge, with the vibrations of his words encouraging you to be louder toppling you over the high waves as they crashes down, and you’re cumming on his face. you’re panting hard, thighs shaking slightly, offering him a small smile as he stands to lean over and kiss you again, his finger pushing the hair sticking on your forehead away.

moving your body up from the mattress, you’re pulling him up by cupping his jaw, making him sit on the bed instead, his back resting against the headrest as you throw your leg over his hips, straddling his clothed hard on. your fingers quick to undo his belt and unzipping his pants before pulling out his already hard length, with farleigh wincing with each of your touches. the haste in your movement blows his mind, blood rushes towards the tip of his cock seeing you waste no time spitting on him and spreading it along his shaft.

the moans that spill out of your mouth from the feeling of you sinking on his cock were so loud that you could just pray no one comes knocking. you feel like never getting up from his cock ever from the pleasure. farleigh always stretches you out so nice, his cock hitting the right spots inside you with his length. bouncing on his cock would be nothing short of heavenly as he would place his hand on your waist, guiding you and even moving you by your waist himself to get off. but you love that, you love when he makes you his personal fleshlight.

“fuck, pretty girl-“

“fucking feel so good,, oh-“ he throws his head back feeling the clench of your walls down his cock

as your bounces are starting to grow rapid and desperate, you’re moaning uncontrollably at the feeling of his tip hitting the spot again and again, each time. farleigh reaches up to fondle your tits, pinching over the nipples before putting the mounds into his mouth. he’s mouthing at the soft flesh, hungry to stuff the whole of your tits against his tongue, eagerness spills out of him from how he’s flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, scraping his teeth over it. the pace of you fucking creaks the bed, with the headrest slamming against the wall behind it.

farleigh has his legs all sprawled across the mattress, his thighs fucking upwards to meet your bounces down his cock. while you’re busy fucking yourself down his cock, moans spilling down your tongue erratically, farleigh’s fixated on playing with your breasts and sucking on your nipples. you can feel his saliva slobbering all over your flesh. god how he loves them so much, loves stuffing his face in between your mounds and just getting lost in the flesh. the palms of his hand curl tight against your waist, mouth agape at the feeling of your warm hole wrapping around him so snug. you’re getting desperate,

“oh fuck, it’s all yours sweetheart” he’s grabbing on your waist, trying to get you to slow down or he’ll burst.

seeing as you’re not slowing down he straighten his back and pushes you down against the mattress by your waist, moving to stand on his knees, his cock springing out of your pussy looking painfully hard, a string of slick connecting the tip to your folds.

putting all his weight against the back of your thighs, almost folding you into two in a mating press. he has his palms flattened against your lower belly, with his large fingers curling over your sides. wrapping one of his hand around his shaft, he’s pumping it quick before positioning it at your entrance and fucking it back into you.

mumbling through seethed teeth, he’s almost lost in the feeling of wanting to breed you, pumping your pussy full of his cum and making sure he’s fucked a baby into you.

“wanna be a momma hm ? gonna make you one, gonna give you my seed”

as he starts absolutely pounding into you you can’t help but let out a yelp, the stretched out position of your legs dangling over his shoulders hurts so good.

“farleigh,, more—“

“more ?”

you nod quickly at him, desperate to feel all of him stretching you out.

“so- fucking greedy” to your command he adjusts his position so he could reach deeper inside, giving him more access to move his hips

“you’re gonna look so pretty, so round with my baby” farleigh’s now mumbling sentences about you getting knocked up, being so full of his cum that he’s sure you’re pregnant

“you want a baby huh ?” his hips slams his cock into your pussy, balls slapping against the sweaty skin of your inner thighs with each of his thrusts. he’s got you caged underneath him, his shoulders and chest towering over you.

leaning in, he places a soft kiss against your lips, muffling in your moans for a moment,

“you’re so pretty” he kisses at your calf beside his head, putting his body weight on top of yours.

you’re almost screaming, with your tongue calling out his name again and again, your eyes near rolling back to your skull.

as he suddenly leans down against your legs harder, his face inches from yours as he takes in your fucked out features, sweaty and sticky

“can’t hear you pretty girl” he mutters through seethed teeth, holding the feeling of your tight pussy clenching down his cock, threatening his cum to shoot into your womb. letting out a weak incoherent response, he leans back.

“try again”

“wanna- wanna be full of your cum,, mm- want your baby”

“that’s more like it”

he has both your legs wrapped in his arms, pushing your thighs together making your pussy feels tighter to him, before stuffing his cock so deep inside, all inches of him. throwing his head back, he can’t help the fucked out moan coming out of his mouth, your pussy getting him closer to his orgasm.

“gonna cum baby, gonna fill you up really nice”

all you could do was nod at him with a whine, your eyebrows knitted together as you purse your lips together at the pleasure, hoping that he’s too hazed out to care what you give as a response, which thankfully, he is.

“oh fuck— fuck, fuck” he’s cursing, his thrusts sloppy and desperate, splashes of your wetness landing on the sheets beneath from his hips slamming into you. you know he’s gonna be cumming in you any second because farleigh curses like hell when he’s close. as he moans start getting cracked and loud, you feel his cum flooding the insides of your pussy, painting your walls full of white.

“there you go, that should knock you up hm ?”

pulling his softening cock out slowly, his eyes settle on your hole clenching around nothing, the brim being pumped full of his cum that some are spilling back out down your ass.

“ooh, we shouldn’t waste any of this now” wrapping his fingers around his cock, his thumb and index aiming the tip to collect the cum oozing out of your pussy, before pushing it back into you.

as you’re panting and catching your breaths, farleigh spends a couple of minutes just collecting the cum that keeps spilling out and fucking it back with his cock. he’s grinning over you, enjoying seeing your pussy so full to the brim, your folds sticky with some of his cum sticking onto them. just when he feels he’s done fucking it back into you, he wipes off some of the remaining stuck to your skin to bring up towards your lips and pushing it down your tongue.

smiling, he places your legs down slowly before crawling besides you to kiss all over your face, his fingers grazing across your palm to intertwine them with yours. kissing your forehead, his eyes stare into yours, glossy and shiny with the reflection of light from outside. his lips curl into a soft smile as he brings up your hand to kiss at the back of it

“you okay ?”

nodding, you take a deep breath making your chest raise as farleigh reaches his other hand up to wipe the small beads of sweat on your face.

“you know, i think i’m okay with having a mini you around”

turning your head to look directly at him, his face soft, lips swollen and as pouty as ever, staring back at you. a feeling of relief washing over you at hearing his words, watering the newfound hope that he won’t leave you all alone if anything happens. you know nothing’s actually gonna happen because you’re on birth control but it’s nice for him to say that, especially after all the things you had to go through to get to this point.

“really ?” you ask softly

“yeah” he leans in for another kiss before getting up

“you stay there okay”

he mutters slowly, which are his usual words when he gets up to get some warm wet cloth and a glass of water, as you offer him a small smile.

taglist: @flipsconhelado @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @farleighlover @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @inglourious-imagines @st4rc0ll3cter

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v1ctor1asecretangel · 6 months ago

Text

My baby, My baby

kyle spencer x reader

song i recommend listening to: i bet on loosing dogs by mitski

warnings: EXTREME angst, very slow burn (im a slut for a back story), kyles past, manipulation, mentions of SA, objectification of men, arguing, fluff, happy ending, i think thats it!

word count: 6.5k

notes: this one is kind of heavy im so sorry guys:( theres not enough fics that give kyle the justice he deserves 😞 not even gonna lie i started bawling while proofreading this. also i would just wanna put out there that if you are struggling with ANYTHING my dms are always open to talk:)

It was just an average chilly night when you found it out.

The familiar sounds of your mother and father arguing once again filled the silence, voices bouncing down the empty hallways and ringing in your ears. For weeks now, the yelling and the clash of words had become as common as the ticking of the clock sitting on your shelf. It started with the usual pattern. Your father muttering something unnecessary, your mother shooting back, voice like glass ready to shatter. And then, like clockwork, things would escalate. A plate shattering, a door slamming, the sharp clinking of silverware as it Falls to the floor. Somewhere along the line, you’d learned to tune it out, even finding a strange comfort in it all.

But tonight was different.

A raw, intense throbbing in your head amplified the shouting in a way that pushed you over the edge. Something inside you snapped, like a thread pulled just a bit too tight. You threw your thick, silk duvet off in one swift motion, the cool air meeting your skin as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. Your bare feet sank into the plush carpet, the fibers soft as you steadied yourself and took a breath.

Without another thought, you crossed the room with swift steps, each one heavy with frustration. Reaching for the door, you grabbed the handle and flung it open, the force sending a slight echo through the hallway.

The sound of your feet slamming against each step echoes through the house as you storm down the stairs, your frustration at your parents boiling over in your chest. Every stomp is a silent scream. You’ve been holding back, but this time, they’ve pushed you past the point of reason.

As you reach the bottom, you stop, breathing heavily. The air is tense, almost vibrating. Your eyes fix on your parents in the kitchen. Your father, lips pressed thin, hands gripping the countertop, and your mother, her face unreadable but her body tense, holding herself with a dangerous stillness. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but before you can speak, your mother turns. In one swift motion, she reaches for the knife block and pulls out the biggest blade.

The metallic glint catches in the light, and your breath halts. The kitchen feels like it’s shrunk to the size of a shoebox, every noise amplified, every heartbeat throbbing in your ears. You watch, frozen, as she raises the knife, her arm cocked and ready to strike. Your father stumbles back, hands up defensively, panic widening his eyes.

Without thinking, you scream, the sound raw and desperate, shattering the air like glass.

And then. Silence.

A thick, heavy silence, as if the whole world is holding its breath. Your eyes stay fixed on your mother, but you feel something different. A strange, burning energy coursing through you, pulsing from your chest to the tips of your fingers, as if an invisible string connects you to her.

With a sudden violent burst, your mother’s body flies back, her limbs flailing as if she’s caught in a hurricane. She’s thrown against the wall with a bone-shaking crash, and the framed pictures around her rattle off their hooks, crashing to the floor and splintering into shards. The knife slips from her hand, skittering across the floor.

You’re panting, your own heart thundering, and for a moment, the world spins, feeling somehow both right and wrong, as if you’ve crossed an invisible line.

Your father stares at you, his face drained of color. His mouth opens slightly, but no words come out, only an expression of sheer terror. Without another glance, he bolts for the front door, slamming it behind him , leaving you and your mother alone in the wreckage.

You turn to her, her eyes wide and wild as she slowly lifts herself from the floor, her breath ragged. She seems smaller somehow, her gaze darting between you and the chaos in the room. She finally looks at you directly, eyes brimming with fear, and in a trembling, barely audible whisper, she says, “You’re…one of them.”

The words echo in your mind, heavy and unfamiliar. One of them? You feel the weight of her accusation, the horror in her voice, and yet, beneath it all, a strange sense of power fills you. A darkness, a part of you that’s been waiting in silence for this very moment.

That’s how you find yourself standing before the tall white mansion, Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. The building stands before you, grand and stoic, its intricate columns rising up to the ceiling high before you. You glance up, taking in the massive structure. a place that feels like something out of a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. The sheer size of it makes you feel small, and yet, the air around it seems charged, humming with an energy that you can’t quite place.

The events that led you here flash before your eyes in quick memories. The look of terror on your mother’s face after you threw her back against the wall, her whispered words about being “one of them,” and the silence as she drove you away from the only home you’d ever known. Her voice, low and hesitant, echoed in your mind as she explained that your family had a history with witches and unbeknownst to you, magic coursed through your blood, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.

“Blessed.” she said, but the word tasted sour. Blessed. That’s how she’d framed it, though her face had twisted with fear as she said it, as if she could barely look at you, barely stomach the person her daughter had become.

You’d rolled your eyes at her, that one last act of defiance as she’d tried to make sense of what had happened, desperately clinging to the idea that this was some sort of gift. A gift. The idea was almost laughable. If being able to throw your mother across a room was a blessing, it felt more like a curse. But now, staring up at the mansion, all of that seems to drift away, replaced by a strange, thrill.

Taking a deep breath, you clutch your purse tightly, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. You begin to walk up the stairs, each step echoing through the morning air. Your heels click rhythmically against the hard concrete, the sound bouncing off the towering Greek pillars that flank either side of you. You feel their presence, cold and impassive, as if they’re watching, judging.

The further you ascend, the more the air seems to thicken, charged with a strange energy that sends a shiver down your spine. Each step brings you closer to a new world, a world that feels like it’s already reaching out to pull you in, whether you’re ready or not. With one final click of your heel on the top step, you stand before the doors, the shadows cast by the pillars now stretching long and deep around you. You pause, feeling the weight of what lies beyond.

You straighten, squaring your shoulders, your grip tightening on your purse as you prepare to enter this place. A place that promises answers and, perhaps, even more questions.

You raise your hand, hesitating for a second as your knuckles hover over the door’s dark wood, a mixture of dread and anticipation twisting in your stomach. But you gather yourself, take a deep breath, and knock sharply on the door. The sound echoes hollowly through the heavy wood.

For a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence. You feel your pulse quicken as you wait, each second stretching on, amplifying the strange energy that’s lingered around you since you first set eyes on the mansion. Then, faint footsteps approach, growing louder, until finally, the door creaks open with a low, drawn-out groan that sounds almost otherworldly.

Standing before you is a woman, elegant and composed, with hair as golden as sunlight and eyes so deep a shade of brown that they’re nearly black, with a glint in them that’s both welcoming and mysterious. She stands tall, her posture regal yet effortless, wearing a fitted black dress with an intricate lace collar that radiates of old-world elegance. Her gaze meets yours, and for a split second, you feel as if she’s peering not just at you, but into you, as if she’s seen something hidden beneath the surface that even you haven’t fully recognized.

Then, she smiles, warm but with an edge of something unreadable, something secret. “Hello,” she says, her voice low and rich, “You must be Y/N.”

The way she says your name feels oddly intimate, as though she’s known it long before you arrived, as though the house itself whispered it to her. You feel a faint shiver ripple down your spine.

“Welcome,” she continues, her smile widening slightly as she steps aside, gesturing with a graceful hand for you to enter. There’s an invitation in her eyes, a silent, unspoken question, as if she’s asking if you’re truly ready for what lies within these walls.

With one last steadying breath, you cross the threshold. The air inside feels different, heavier somehow, steeped in a strange, stillness that makes you feel both protected and slightly trapped. You take in your surroundings, the grand foyer that stretches before you with polished marble floors gleaming beneath a glittering crystal chandelier. The chandelier casts fragmented light across the room, the crystals catching beams of sunlight from the windows and scattering them in delicate patterns across the walls and floor.

The scent of polished wood, and something faintly floral lingers in the air. It’s almost intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the place. You feel like you’ve stepped into another world. A world filled with secrets, shadows, and, somewhere beneath it all, an energy that hums with life, with power. The headmistress closes the door behind you with a quiet click that sounds like the sealing of a pact. Final and irreversible.

“I’m Cordelia,” she introduces herself, her voice steady and clear as she walks ahead, gesturing for you to follow. You can feel her watching you out of the corner of her eye, studying your every reaction, every flicker of emotion. There’s a subtle power to her movements, an authority that makes it clear she’s not merely the headmistress here. She’s the keeper of the academy’s secrets, the protector of its legacy.

As you follow her, each step echoing through the silent hallways, your heart beats a little faster. The mansion seems to stretch endlessly before you, filled with doors that are closed tight and shadows that cling to the corners. You wonder how many secrets these walls have witnessed, how many others have walked these halls with their own stories, their own fears.

Cordelia leads you deeper into the academy, her voice a steady presence as she tells you about Miss Robichaux's history, about the students who have come before you, and the purpose of the coven. But beneath her words, you sense an unspoken warning, a weight behind her voice as if she’s cautioning you. This world you’ve entered, it is not one to tread lightly.

You turn to your right, the polished marble floor beneath your heels as you step toward an open doorway. Through it, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be an dining room. The room is bathed in soft, natural light streaming through towering windows, casting a glow over the polished, table, long and grand, stretching nearly the length of the room.

At the far end, you notice a figure with platinum blonde hair, sitting with her back turned to you. Even without seeing her face, you feel a flicker of recognition. There’s an aura around her something powerful and dark. You’re not sure if it’s an instinct or an unease growing in the pit of your stomach, but it grips you, pulling your attention to her as if by force.

Then, abruptly, a searing pain spikes in your temples. You wince, clutching your head as a blinding flash fills your vision. In an instant, you’re pulled into a rush of images. Memories that are not your own, tumbling through your mind like a storm. You feel yourself slip, like falling into a chasm, as the world around you fades away.

Suddenly, you’re somewhere else.

The air is thick and you find yourself watching a girl. Her, Madison Montgomery, and she’s screaming. The scene shifts with a terrifying clarity, the details vivid and overwhelming. You see Madison, younger, her face twisted in horror and rage, as flames erupt around her. There’s a flash of red carpet, crushed beneath her feet as she stumbles back, staring at her hands, realizing what she’s done. The fire she’s conjured licks up the walls, and her eyes are wide, reflecting the flames that seem to both captivate and terrify her.

Another memory pulls you in, like you’re tumbling helplessly through her life. You see her standing in front of an audience, lights beaming down on her, cameras flashing. Fame surrounds her, yet there’s emptiness in her eyes. The applause seems to fade, the crowd a blur of faceless figures. She’s alone, trapped in a world that once promised her everything and now feels hollow. The lights dim and the applause fades, and a darkness consumes her.

Then, another sharp shift. You find yourself in a dark room with dim, flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. Madison’s face is contorted in a strange focus, her hands trembling over a mangled body on a table. A young man, Kyle Spencer. His broken, lifeless form lies beneath her hands, stitched together, his face pale and still. You can feel her desperation, a fierce determination mingled with guilt and something close to madness as she tries to force him back to life. A chant of a spell echoes in the room. She’s chanting, her voice loud and confident, but laced with fear and hope, until finally, Kyle’s chest rises with a shuddering gasp. But the moment isn’t joyous. It’s dark and twisted, a resurrection not for his sake, but for hers. Pain and control.

The images blur, but you see glimpses. Madison’s hand clenched around Kyle’s wrist as if to anchor him, her mocking words, the way she manipulates and taunts him, asserting her dominance over him, reminding him of his dependence. Her eyes are cold, her smile cruel, and a sick feeling settles in your stomach as the vision fades, lingering in your mind with the weight of something real and terrible.

You snap back to reality with a sharp gasp, stumbling slightly as the dining room floods back into focus. You blink rapidly, your vision still swimming, disoriented by the vivid intensity of what you just saw. The blonde figure before you shifts, and Madison turns, her gaze settling on you with a piercing, almost predatory look.

Her lips curl into a smirk, her eyes raking over you in a way that feels both dismissive and mocking. “Well, well,” she drawls, crossing her arms as she leans against the table, clearly amused by your disorientation. “Look who’s already having visions. Must be so special,” she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Her head tilts slightly, eyes narrowed as she assesses you with that haughty, almost venomous look. “Hope you enjoyed the show,” she says with a smug grin. “Though it’s a little rude to peek into people’s private moments. But, hey, you’ll learn manners eventually… or not.” She waves a dismissive hand, as if the whole thing is beneath her, yet her eyes glint with something sharper, a challenge or even a warning.

You’re still reeling, the images of her life blurring and pulsing in your mind. The way she toyed with Kyle, her cruelty and need for control, make your stomach churn. But Madison only grins wider, taking in your reaction with a look of smug satisfaction. “You’re gonna have so much fun here.” she purrs, her voice laced with a mocking sweetness.

And with a dramatic flip of her hair, she brushes past you, leaving a trail of cold disdain in her wake, and you’re left standing there, still shaken, feeling like you’ve glimpsed something you were never meant to see.

The next few days at Miss Robichaux's Academy have been a blend of fascination and unease. Adjusting has come easier than expected, with Cordelia and the other witches offering support knowing what you’re going through. You’ve met Zoe, Queenie, and Nan. Each of them are unique, with stories of their own, kind in ways that contrast against Madison’s cold, snotty attitude. Cordelia had explained that witches like you are becoming rare, power that can vanish in a generation without new blood.

But in the days that followed, your mind kept returning to him. The boy from your vision. Kyle. Despite never having seen him around the mansion, you could feel his presence, an unmistakable energy that screamed in the quiet corridors. It was as though he was always just out of sight, a shadow in your periphery, drawing you closer.

And then, one night, it happens.

You walk down the darkened hallways, the silence thick and heavy as a blanket around you. The dim glow of antique lights casts shadows that dance across the polished floors. Your pajama pants brush softly against your ankles, and your loose tank top, slipping off one shoulder, sways with each step. You round a corner when you hear muffled voices coming from a partially open door at the end of the hall.

“Kyle, come on… you know you want to,” Madison’s voice coos, her tone slick with manipulation.

You stop, heart pounding, her voice igniting a strange anger within you. The desperation in her tone, laced with a mocking condescension, is unmistakable.

Then, a softer voice replies, wavering, vulnerable. “No… just want to lay.”

Your pulse spikes with pure rage. You can feel the raw vulnerability in his voice, the hurt hidden beneath it, and without thinking, you stride toward the door and shove it open, letting it slam against the wall with a sharp slam. The sound echoes down the hall as you step into the room.

Kyle is standing there, and for a fleeting moment, your gaze locks with his. His blonde hair falls messily over his face, and his eyes are lost, haunted. Almost like he’s caught in a place he can’t escape. And then, before you can fully register the moment, the world blurs, a wave of energy washing over you, and you’re pulled into another vision.

It starts with a flash of warmth, light hearted laughter filling the air, and the scent of a beach. You’re suddenly witnessing fragments of Kyle’s life, moments of innocence and freedom. There he is, laughing with friends, his arm slung around his friends shoulders, carefree and bright. You feel his joy, the warmth of his spirit, the love he holds for his friends. The happiness and tenderness are so real that your heart aches with the beauty of it.

But then the vision shifts violently, twisting into something dark. You see a glimpse of the accident. The crash. Kyle’s face, pale and filled with terror as metal twists and glass shatters. Then, everything fades to black, and you’re thrust into a world of agonizing silence. When light returns, it’s cold and sterile, the beeping of machines and the murmur of voices mixing with a sickening. Energy. Madison’s voice echoes somewhere nearby, and you’re forced to watch as she brings him back. A mangled body, stitched together in a desperate, twisted act of resurrection. The confusion and pain in his eyes as he awakens, no longer whole, haunt you deeply. You feel his fractured mind, his broken spirit, bound to her. Trapped, a puppet brought back against his will.

You gasp, the vision dissipating as reality floods back. The intensity of Kyle’s memories leaves you unsteady, the pain and horror clinging to you like a shadow. Your heart is racing, breaths shallow as you try to shake off the raw ache his past has imprinted upon you.

Madison is there, watching you with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leans back with a mocking grin. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?” she sneers, raising an eyebrow as if the whole thing were some sort of twisted game. “Enjoy the show?” She tilts her head, a sly smile curling on her lips. "Kyle’s mine, you know. You don’t get to swoop in and play savior just because you had a little vision.”

Ignoring her, you turn your gaze to Kyle. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you see the desperation, the fear, the fragments of a person he used to be. He’s trembling, caught in the haze of what’s left of his mind. Trapped between the past and this present that he never chose.

Without thinking, you open your arms to him, and something in his broken gaze shifts. He stumbles forward, instinctively, his body drawn to the comfort you offer. The moment he’s within reach, he collapses into your embrace, and you wrap your arms around him, holding him tightly. He clings to you as if you’re a lifeline, his shoulders trembling as he buries his face against you. You can feel the tension in him easing, his erratic breathing slowing as he finally allows himself to feel safe.

Madison scoffs, rolling her eyes. “How touching,” she says, her voice laced with sarcasm, but you don’t even look at her. Your focus is entirely on Kyle, the broken boy now nestled in your arms, finding peace in your presence, perhaps for the first time since his resurrection.

As Kyle clings to you, his trembling form pressed against yours, another wave of energy pulses through you. It starts subtly, like a storm gathering within, and before you can stop it, another vision consumes you, pulling you deeper into Kyle’s fractured memories.

You’re standing in a small, dimly lit living room, worn and filled with the faint scent of stale cigarettes and bitterness of regret. There’s a woman Kyle’s mother, sitting on an old couch, her face pale and drawn, her gaze empty yet intense as she stares into the distance. Her features are gaunt, tired, but beneath the weariness is a sharpness, a bitterness that lingers in her eyes. She’s alone, her glassy stare betraying a lifetime of disappointment. You can almost feel the sorrow that hangs heavy in the air.

Then you see Kyle enter, younger, vibrant, his innocent smile lighting up the room despite the dark atmosphere. He glances at her with a look of hope, like a son yearning for approval, a glimpse of the mother he remembers from before. But her gaze drifts past him, unfocused, as though she’s looking right through him, her expression indifferent.

Suddenly, the vision shifts, blurring into darker moments, fragmented yet clear. You see Kyle in that same room, older now, his face worn with a new kind of sorrow as his mother’s hand trails over his shoulder, her touch possessive, her gaze twisted with a strange, warped affection. You feel his discomfort, his shame, the confusion that cloud his mind as he tries to pull away, his mother’s grip tightening, her twisted need for any semblance of maternal love.

In a desperate attempt to escape, Kyle withdraws into himself, retreating to a place in his mind that shields him from the reality around him. You feel his heartbreak, his sense of betrayal by the one person he should have been able to trust. The love he held for her is forced down, locked away as he learns to numb himself, his spirit fragmenting bit by bit with each encounter.

The vision shifts again, flashing back to the day he left for college, eager for freedom, for the chance to live a life on his own terms. You feel his hope, his relief as he steps away from that house, from her, determined to start fresh. But even then, a part of him carries the scars, the weight of her twisted hold over him. Darkness he can’t quite escape.

The vision ends abruptly, leaving you breathless and shaken, the horror of Kyle’s past etched vividly in your mind. You blink, reeling from the raw emotions that still linger, struggling to ground yourself as you return to the present.

Kyle’s grip on you tightens, his fingers clutching your shoulders as if sensing your understanding. He looks up, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability that shatters you. There’s an unspoken plea in his gaze, a yearning to be seen, to be understood. His face is etched with pain, haunted by the memories that linger in both of you now. You reach out, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing softly against his cheek, grounding him, letting him know he’s safe.

Madison stands nearby, her smirk faltering as she takes in the scene, her cruel facade wavering. But you don’t spare her a glance. You’re focused entirely on Kyle, your heart breaking for the boy who’s suffered so much, who’s been broken and betrayed by those who should have protected him.

“Hey.” you whisper softly, your voice a quiet promise. “You’re not alone, Kyle. Not anymore.”

He sinks further into your embrace, and for the first time, you feel him relax. A fragile sense of peace settling over him as he clings to the one person who’s finally offered him the compassion he’s longed for.

You pull back slightly from Kyle, feeling the warmth of his hold reluctantly loosen as you meet his eyes. There's a quiet plea in them, a vulnerability he rarely shows anyone, and you gently brush a strand of his hair back, offering him a small nod of reassurance.

“I’ll be back, Kyle,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the fury burning within you.

With one last reassuring look, you stand, directing your attention to Madison. She watches with a raised eyebrow, her mouth twisted in a smirk that only fuels the fire inside you. Her arms are crossed, as if nothing she’s done could possibly be considered wrong.

You take a deep breath, then step forward, your voice low and edged with a cold fury. “Madison… What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She raises her brows in mock surprise and fake innocence. "Oh, calm down,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she tilts her head to the side. "I was just… entertaining him.” She shrugs nonchalantly, her voice dripping with a fake sweetness that makes your stomach turn. "Not my fault he can’t take a little fun.”

You feel your fists clench involuntarily, your nails digging into your palms as you try to control the anger coursing through you. “Entertaining?” you repeat, your voice shaking as you take a step closer. “Is that what you call it? Tormenting someone who’s already been through hell, treating him like he’s your puppet?”

Madison rolls her eyes, her mouth twisting into a smirk. “Look, he wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me. I brought him back, remember? That’s more than anyone else has ever done for him. Maybe he should be a little more… grateful.” Her words are sharp, laced with that biting sarcasm she wears like armor.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably on the floor, his eyes downcast, clearly torn by the twisted logic in her words. Seeing him struggle makes your anger flare hotter. You step protectively in front of him, blocking Madison’s view of him entirely. “Grateful? Grateful?” You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping as you shake your head. “Grateful for being dragged back into a nightmare he didn’t ask for? For being manipulated and humiliated by you?”

Madison’s eyes narrow, and for the first time, you see a flicker of anger in her expression. “You don’t get it, do you?” she snaps, her voice growing colder. “This world isn’t made for people who play nice. I know what I want, and I take it. That’s what it means to have power.”

“Power?” you spit back, your voice sharp as steel. “Power doesn’t mean breaking people down just because you can. Real power is knowing when to stop. When to help rather than harm.”

Madison’s jaw tightens, her smile gone, replaced by a thin line of resentment. She scoffs, crossing her arms more tightly across her chest, her stance rigid and defensive. “Please,” she says, her voice biting. “You think playing the savior makes you any different? You’ll get tired of it. You’ll realize that people only want you when you’re useful to them. Like him.” She gestures dismissively to Kyle without even looking at him.

“That’s enough,” you say, voice rising as your anger breaks through. You’re inches from her now, your gaze locked in an intense stare-down. “Kyle’s not some possession for you to toy with. He’s a person, and he deserves better than this… better than you.”

Madison stares back, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line. She looks at you with a mixture of despise and something that almost resembles vulnerability, but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared. “Fine,” she says sharply, taking a step back. “If you want to play caretaker, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not worth the trouble.” She shoots Kyle one last look, her eyes cold as ice.

Without waiting for a response, she turns on her heel and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind her. The sound echoes through the walls, the silence that follows thick and tense, lingering in the space she left behind.

You stand there, breathing heavily, letting the anger slowly drift away as the reality of what just happened settles in. Turning back, you see Kyle sitting there, his face a mixture of confusion, relief, and a hint of awe, as if he can hardly believe someone stood up for him.

Softening, you lower yourself back down beside him, reaching out to take his hand gently in yours. “It’s okay,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “She’s gone. I’m here now… and I’m not going anywhere.”

The next morning, sunlight streams softly through the curtains, and as your eyes flutter open. You find yourself still propped against the wall. Kyle is asleep in your lap, his head heavy and his breathing slow and uneven. His face is turned slightly toward you, his features softened by sleep but still carrying the marks of his trauma. Creases of worry, faint bruises that never seem to fully fade, exhaustion that rests permanently under his eyes. He looks so worn and fragile, more like a lost child than the broken soul of a man sitting with you now.

Gently, you trace the outline of his cheekbone, noticing every detail of his face. His muscles twitch slightly under your touch, and his brow furrows as if even in sleep, he’s struggling. But he doesn’t wake, and you let yourself take in this quiet moment, heart aching for what he’s endured. You can almost feel the scars his past has left on him. He’s been hurt so much, lost so much of himself. But there’s a resilience in him. Flickers of hope beneath the pain that keeps him moving forward.

As the morning stretches into day, you stay close to him, sharing quiet moments and small reassurances. Even though words are often lost between you, there’s a silent understanding growing. Comfort that comes just from being together. Every so often, he looks at you with that same hesitant expression, as though he’s not quite sure if he deserves this.

By evening, you find yourselves in the garden. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers, and the dimming sunlight casts long shadows across the cobblestone paths. You sit on a weathered stone bench, surrounded by vibrant roses and tall hedges that offer some privacy. Kyle sits beside you, stiff and tense, his hands loosely clasped in his lap as he stares at the ground, as though he’s reluctant to look up.

He seems more restless tonight, his hands occasionally twitching, his gaze flickering to the flowers and back down. Finally, he attempts to speak, his voice low and halting. “I… feel… wro..ng.” His words are slow, each one seemingly pulled out with effort. “Like... b-broken pieces… that don’t fit.”

Your heart tightens as you hear the struggle in his voice, the way he’s trying to put together the broken pieces of himself to explain what he feels. He’s more hesitant than usual tonight, his voice disjointed, eyes darting around as though he’s worried the darkness within him.

His gaze drops, and you see the pain there, the deep confusion and shame as he mumbles, almost to himself, “I’m not… enough. N-not… me.”

You take his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the roughness of his knuckles. “Kyle,” you say softly, leaning closer so he can hear you clearly. “You’re here, and that means so much. You’re stronger than all the things that have happened to you. You’re not broken.”

He blinks at you, confusion and a spark of hope flickering across his face. “I… try,” he murmurs, his voice catching, as if he’s not sure if trying will ever be enough. He lifts his hand to his face, running a hand over the lines of his face, his eyes dark with the memories of the things done to him. The things that have fractured him.

“You’re not alone, Kyle,” you say firmly, squeezing his hand. “And I’ll stay by your side. You don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes fixed on yours with an almost childlike vulnerability, and he lets out a breath he’s been holding in. His hand, slightly trembling, reaches out, brushing against your arm. For a moment, he just looks at you, his face softening, some of the tension easing as he absorbs the comfort you offer.

“Thank……you,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost miss it. It’s rough and broken, but there’s something genuine in it, something that feels fragile. He leans into you slightly, his head resting against your shoulder, and you feel his body begin to relax, the weight of his tension slowly fading.

In the evening air, surrounded by the sweet fragrance of the garden, you sit together in silence. The stars slowly emerge in the sky above, casting a faint light over the garden, and for the first time, Kyle seems to let go, trusting that he’s safe here with you.

A couple of months had passed since the night Kyle finally opened up to you in the garden, and everything felt like it had shifted. The dark moments that had once defined his life began to fade, replaced by something softer, something that held warmth and hope. You’d spent every day by his side, helping him with patience and kindness as he took small steps toward healing. And now, looking back on those early days, you were amazed at how far he’d come.

The academy felt lighter, like a home. The other witches had become like a family to you, each one adding their own kind of magic (literally) to your life. Even Cordelia seemed to gleam with pride whenever she saw Kyle opening up or laughing with the rest of you. Madison, of course, still sneered and offered her sarcastic remarks, but her bitterness was easy to ignore now. Her words had lost their sting. In every way things were better than you could have ever hoped.

One afternoon, you found yourself out in the garden again, Kyle’s favorite spot in the academy. The sun was setting, casting a golden haze over the flowers and filling the air with the scent of roses and freshly turned earth. You were both kneeling side by side, hands deep in the soil as you planted a new bed of wildflowers. Kyle had grown fond of gardening. There was something about the calmness of it, the gentle, nurturing process that seemed to bring him peace.

As you finished placing the last flower into the soil, Kyle turned to you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was still something a little unsteady in his gaze, but his eyes held warmth. There was spark that hadn’t been there before.

“You… helped m-me…. find this,” he said, his voice more sure now, each word steadier than they used to be. “This peace.”

You smiled back, brushing a smudge of dirt from his cheek. “You’ve done most of it yourself, you know. You’re stronger than you think, Kyle.”

He looked down, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he fumbled with the edge of a leaf, as though gathering his courage. “But… you didn’t leave. I don’t think… I could’ve found it without you.” His words came slower, but clearer, each one laced with genuine emotion. “You make me feel… real. Like I’m more than… what I was before.”

A pang of tenderness shot through you, and without thinking, you reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You are, Kyle. You’re so much more than that. And I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to memorize every feature, every tiny expression. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. It was such a small, innocent gesture, but you felt his gratitude, his trust, and something deeper in that simple touch.

He took a shaky breath, his smile widening. “I… don’t think I need… anything more than… this. Just… you.” His voice was quiet, like he was sharing asecret, his eyes soft and full of the warmth you’d come to recognize as love.

A gentle, happy laugh bubbled out of you, and in one swift, bold movement, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, Kyle tensed, his breath catching in surprise, but then he melted into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you in return. His head rested on your shoulder, and you could feel him relax, his entire being just sinking into the hug as if it was a safe haven he’d been searching for his whole life.

“You’re home, Kyle,” you whispered softly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re home, and you’re safe.”

He nodded against your shoulder, his voice muffled but full of warmth. “Yeah… I think I.. am.”

You held each other in the golden glow of the setting sun, surrounded by the blooming flowers and the gentle rustling of leaves, the world felt perfect. It was quiet and peaceful, with nothing but the steady rhythm of Kyle’s breathing against you. In that moment, you both knew that this was exactly where you belonged.

Kyle pulled back, meeting your gaze with a look that was so full of gratitude and tenderness that it made your heart ache. His smile was real, wide, and hopeful, and he reached for your hand again, his fingers intertwining with yours as if he never wanted to let go.

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