#incoherent gnawing sounds

[zet-sway]

THIS WOMAN IS COOKING MY BRAIN

[chrollogy]

18+ MDNI; smut, porn without plot, unprotected sex, creampie, shameless oikawa brainrot, pathetic & subby(?) oikawa, he has praise kink, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (2), cowgirl, erotic asphyxiation (m), pet names (baby, my love). divider: cafekitsune.

notes: this is for my dear friend lexi @hanafubuxi :3 eheheheheheh pay back for that tsumu ask you sent <3

── you didn’t know how to describe the view before you . . heavenly? ethereal? lewd? hm. the list could go on, and on but there was one thing you were sure of—oikawa was as pretty as the first flowers of spring whenever he wore those infamous specs, especially with the apples of his cheeks painted the same hue as a japanese camellia.

erotic sounds of loud skin slapping, and dulcet whines filled the shared bedroom; the scent of passionate intimacy lingered in the heavy atmosphere, kissing your naked bodies in the form of sweat.

beneath you was oikawa—your lover—all in his bare glory; umber strands splayed across the soft ivory pillow beneath his head, displaying a faux halo, as though he was a heavenly being sent from above, divine, and all things pure; his naked chest subtly gleamed with sweat, skin peppered in hues of dark red, and purple. oikawa looked like an absolute mess with tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and it drove you up the wall, clenching around his cock at the state he was in.

though, the cherry on top were the glasses he donned—all fogged up, and moist from the damp atmosphere of your shared bedroom. the frame crookedly sat atop oikawa’s pretty face, threatening to fall off with every merciless bounce of your hips. a glimpse of his eyes rolled back from ecstasy peeked beneath the translucent glass; god, he looked no better than a common whore from how good he was taking the sinful movements of your hips.

lightly circling your fingers around his neck, the bed frame creaked beneath your naked bodies, a light squeaking in unison with each eager bounce. with oikawa’s rosy lips parted, a series of colourful curses, and incoherent mewls slipped off his tongue, as your hips relentlessly moved up, and down, up, and down his hard cock.

fuck, just the feeling of your hand around his throat had him seeing stars.

slim, shaky fingers dug onto the feverish skin of your hips, a feeble attempt to slow your actions but you didn’t let up. instead, you took both of oikawa’s hands, and pinned them on either side of his face, interlacing your fingers with his own, and using them as leverage to angle your hips better.

the slight change in angle pulled a shaky whine from you, and oikawa, his head pressed further into the pillow beneath as the your warm cunt eagerly sucked his cock even deeper; kissing intimate parts of your velvety walls.

“f-fuck—! too much, baby, please. .”

oikawa whined, adam’s apple bobbing with every saccharine sound that slipped past his swollen lips; strands of umber that framed his handsome face were now stuck to his forehead. you let out a humourless laugh—one that had oikawa coiling in pleasure—and planted a chaste kiss on his sweaty forehead,

“but you’re doing so, so well for me, my love . .”

a shameless moan in the shape of your name rolled off his tongue, handsome face contorted in pure bliss as he unexpectedly came at the mere praise that fell from your lips; oikawa’s fingers tightened against your own, a way to ground himself from the dizzying pleasure. whispered curses filled your ears as ribbons of hot cum painted your walls white, pulling a low whine from you at the familiar sensation.

oikawa’s mouth hung open as he gasped for air, immense pleasure that engulfed the entirety of his body becoming too much as the pace of your hips remained indifferent, effectively overstimulating him.

you could feel him attempt to pry off the weight of your hands against his own but the pleasure that gnawed at his bones had made his body limp; so, all oikawa could do was lay there, and take it all—the sinful roll of your hips, the ecstatic feeling that ate away at his sanity, and the feeling of your wet cunt hugging his cock.

it wasn’t long before oikawa reached another orgasm, this time, with you. curling over your body at the intense feeling, you babbled sweet, drunken praises against oikawa’s ear, gently nibbling at his feverish skin. the man beneath you let out a silent moan, hot tears that pooled his umber eyes rolled down his rosy cheeks, wetting his long lashes.

heavy pants filled the room as you, and oikawa stayed still for a moment, the cost of chasing pleasure weighing down on your naked bodies; a low whine slipped past his lips, sensitive cock moving against your cunt as you shifted atop him. oikawa’s thumb caressed the back of your palm, sleep slowly overtaking his body with each passing second, the sound of both your heartbeats lulling him to dreamland.

god, you never fail to drive him absolutely insane.

—

affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum !

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Pussydrunk!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Cockdrunk!Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon Riley, Reader

Summary: Simon comes home from deployment, hungry to have his pretty girl all to himself. Things get heated quick and before long you are both drunk off the feeling of the other. From this ask here.

Word Count: 5.4 k

Warnings:

The moment those heavy boots hit the threshold of the apartment, brown eyes are searching for you as Simon’s heart pounds in his ears the same as it had the entire drive over. He’s been gnawing at the bit since even before he returned to base a day ago, aching to get back to the gorgeous being living in his flat. The last month of his deployment he’s been on edge, counting down the days in agonizing fashion as the craving growing in the pit of his stomach gets worse and worse. Fuck, he’s missing you - all of you - something fierce. 

Simon has missed those sweet moans of yours, the way you make his name sound so perfect through the stuttered gasps as you reach that level of incoherence that renders you completely useless; he has missed all the ways your body moves against and underneath him, writhing and back arching as his larger form overwhelms you; he has missed the way you fuck him, body begging for more even as you struggle to fit him all in and how beautiful it is to be inside you. 

It is enough to drive the man insane.

From the bedroom you can hear the door opening and closing and rush to the living room as quick as your legs can move, carried by giddy nerves to see your lover again after so long. You knew he was meant to be in today, but not the time and so you’ve been on edge waiting and listening; as soon as you see him a deepening ache situates itself in your chest. 

Simon clocks you as you come into the living room and he can’t find enough air to fill his lungs; by the way your cheeks instantly glow with warmth and your eyes sparkle he’s sure you are feeling the same tension fill the air around you the moment you two are in sight of one another. You are the one to close the distance as Simon’s limbs feel too heavy to move at first, blood being drawn to other places along his body that need it more now that he is near to the object of his desire. 

“Hey there stranger,” you smile up into those familiar balaclava- clad features as your heartbeat steadily becomes more erratic from your body flooding with that desperate longing to be against him once again. It is always the same: when you two are apart for long periods when he has to be away the moment you are in front of one another again it is like striking a match in a room filled with gasoline. “Long time no see.” 

He stares back down at you, light chocolate eyes taking in the face he hasn’t seen properly in too damn long. “Well ‘ello there yerself, pretty girl,” he returns, gravely tone sending chills down your spine as he drops the gear on his shoulder to the floor so that he has free range of motion to cup his calloused hand along your soft, delicate cheek. “It’s been a hot fuckin’ minute. Did ya miss me, luv?”

Before his brain can register what’s happening he senses something brush up against him in the small space still between your bodies and as his eyes travel down he sees that your hand is grabbing at his belt buckle, silky digits lacing themselves around the metal clasp. His eyes jump back up to yours instantly.

You aren’t wasting any time, are you? Fucking hell.

“Missed you a whole fucking lot, Simon,” you say under your breath as you give his belt a firm tug forward so that he has to take a step into you. Your thighs are already being rubbed together where you stand; it’s instant the way he can turn you on just by his presence alone. “Didn’t know when you’d be in; been waiting as patiently as I could, but I gotta say it hasn’t been easy. Got my nerves all flustered. How about you? Are you flustered, baby?”

You just have to do it, don’t you? That one damned gesture that always sends him reeling.

It isn’t a secret how the time apart makes him pine for you as if he is a man dying of thirst: for those hot, breathless moments spent between your thighs, for the way your bodies seem created only for the other, for the intense sensations of euphoria that only you can give him. So when your fingers hook into his belt to pull him in closer, you know what effect it will have on making him crumble, don’t you? 

Eight months is far too fucking long not to have any piece of you and any little touch would have done the trick to do him in, but you know the exact combination that will have him throwing you on your back in a heartbeat. He is a man starved of his addiction and it’s about goddamn time he had another hit. As you tug at the leather with a smirk across your lips, doe-eyed stare not so innocent anymore, all that yearning that had been bubbling right under the calm surface of those autumn-colored eyes for eight long, agonizing months explodes with force. 

No words, not a goddamn sound as that skull mask is ripped up off of Simon’s face in a flash quicker than your eyes can catch. Your body is moved by two strong arms more than capable of manhandling those curves with ease and find yourself slammed into the wall while he clasps your chin securely in his grip so that hungry lips can scramble to aggressively capture your own. While your lips dance, his free hand roams up under your clothes to grab ahold of any piece of available flesh as all that pent up desire surges through his veins like liquid fire. His fingertips tremble as they brush across all that soft, balmy skin along your abdomen and around your hips, making him produce a guttural moan into your open mouth that you are forced to swallow down. 

That huge, hulking body of his with its prominent muscles bulging everywhere even through his clothing overwhelms your own as he pins you harder against the wall while his grip descends to around your ass so that he can bring your hips forward, clothed pelvis rutting into you to catch any extra bit of friction he can as that tenting at the crotch of his pants swells the longer he grinds against you. His mouth is insatiable, stealing sloppy, frantic kisses one after another until your lips burn from the abrasion… and yet you still aren’t satisfied. 

Simon feels your nipples through your t-shirt stiffening as his chest rubs against them, a reminder to his numbing brain that there is even more of a feast for him waiting just beneath your clothes if he can just get them off you; the couple of nudes he keeps in his phone that you send him while he’s away are only a pale comparison to the real fucking thing and he’s been dying see it in person.

You’re close to one another, but not fucking close enough. 

He needs skin on skin, curves molded into curves, cock buried in you deep. That’s the crux of it all - he needs to be reminded of what you feel like wrapped around him, lose his mind as your cunt gives him the sensation he can get nowhere else from no one else. It consumes him in that moment until his thoughts are filled with nothing but the oncoming ecstasy that will soon be his. 

Feverish fingers slip themselves into the waistband at the back of your pants as he continues to rut against you, the few layers of fabric between you about to be reduced as he shoves down taking your pants over the arch of your ass until they fall around your ankles and you can step out of them. Your own fingers are already undoing the buckle of his belt before your clothes can hit the floor; thank fuck that Simon likes to keep his wardrobe uncomplicated when on leave. 

“Christ, I’m so fuckin’ hard for ya, sweetheart,” he breathes the heated, desperate words against your raw lips as hips continue to grind on you and make your work that much more difficult, “it’s been hell being away for so long. I’ve been fuckin’ starved, baby. That sweet little pussy of yours is callin’ my fuckin’ name. I need it, I need ya…fuckin’ can’t wait another goddamn second.” 

The muscles along his abdomen tense through his shirt as you brush against them until finally his belt comes loose and you can move onto the button securing his pants. You finish undoing everything just in time for him to tear that fucking shirt clean off your top half before doing exactly the same to his own. 

The middle of his chest is flushed pink and hastily you lean in to press your lips to it, through the tingle against your mouth from tiny hairs brushing over the delicate skin you can feel he is so warm it’s like he’s heated from the inside out. That broad chest heaves up and down heavily with the weight of his lust-filled breaths as you dot tender pecks along the center before he can’t take anymore and picks you up, throws you over his shoulder, and hurriedly drags you off to the bedroom hungry and ready to indulge.  

“That’s it,” Simon says in that brash tone that lets you know he’s reached his limit. “Can’t take this ache ‘nother goddamn second. You and that sweet thing between your legs are mine now.”  

He’s able to make it across the apartment in no time and throws open the bedroom door so that it hits the wall behind it with a booming thud as he stalks to the bed and sets you down on the surface, making sure to remove the pants hanging loosely around his hips as quick as he can along with his boxers. The moment he’s free of the clothing binding him that thick, meaty appendage springs to life, bobbing at attention as the vein along it pulses, and your breath hitches as your eyes are drawn to it; he’s not the only one who’s hungry and its been a hot fucking minute since you’ve laid eyes on all he has to offer.

You barely have time to scramble up towards the pillows at the head of the bed before he is crawling up towards you, a predator’s gaze making his iris’ flash and sparkle with an internal fire in the scant bit of light from the bedside lamp that illuminates the room. 

Simon’s shoulder muscles tense as he moves on all fours until he’s over you, his cock dangling down as he gets between your legs so that it drags over the petals of your pussy. You can feel it throb as it becomes even more engorged with blood at the stimulation and it makes your mouth salivate. A strained grunt echoes through his closed lips as the tip grazes over that silky, heated skin between your thighs; he’s already vibrating with pleasure… what the fuck is gonna happen when he gets inside?

Only one way to find out…

Simon pulls your legs up high around his waist, wide torso keeping you nice and spread for him. You claw at his shoulder blades with your nails as you shove your hips into him, body practically begging for him to get inside already. Screw any foreplay, you can’t afford to wait and let this frantic moment slip by. There is only one thing you want in you and it is already throbbing at its destination. 

“Fuck, please Simon, just get inside me,” your plea sends a shiver down his spine. “I don’t want to fucking wait…waited long enough.”

Spitting into his hand he applies the moisture to your entrance, lubricating the opening with hard presses of his fingertips along your cunt to help get things moving in the right direction. “Been a while, baby,” he returns as he aligns the tip and presses it against you while trying not to fall apart at the seams, “ya sure ya can still fuckin’ take it all?”

You nod aggressively, the need to be filled out by him overwhelming your every sense. You’ve waited patiently all this time, chomping at the bit for him to get back to you and now that he is here between your legs it’s all you can think about. “Give it to me,” you demand. “I need it baby, please, I’m aching something terrible. I need to feel you inside me again.”

How could he ever deny a request like that from you? 

The world falls away as the tip slips through the threshold of your body and inside and he has to stop as just the head alone stretching you wide sends him spiraling. Your back arches off of the bed as you squirm under him, mouth falling open with half-formed moans that get caught in the back of your throat as the tight space is beginning to fill. Simon shudders with ecstasy, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth to bite down in hopes that the sharp pain will force him to stay sane.  

Another thrust shoves him in a bit more so that now he’s more than halfway there, but still has just a bit to go. Your body doesn’t stand a chance as you lay under him at his mercy. His fingernails graze your waist as his hands hold on tight; he has to fit it in, get to the base, completely surround himself within you. Taking a deep breath he gathers another burst of energy to thrust all the way until he bottoms out and you release a cry into the silence of the room. 

“Goddamn ya feel so fuckin’ good princess, like a goddamn dream,” he gasps out as his head snaps down against your chest. “Pretty girl, my pretty fuckin’ girl, wanna keep ya fuckin’ full ‘a me all the time.”

Simon’s brain is quickly becoming mush as the warmness and growing wetness of your pussy makes his large form quiver at the bliss. You are no better, sanity slipping away as his hefty cock practically molds your walls to his specific shape as it rests inside. Hips begin to rock and are immediately punctuated by a deep-throated groan with each snap as he settles into a steady rhythm.   

Thrust after thrust each one harder than the last pushes your body until it is shoved up and your head hits the wall behind the bed. Simon’s nose nuzzles into your neck as feeble whimpers leave the confines of your mouth and pack his head full. “Missed your sounds too,” he says, amidst another thrust. “Keep this up and it’s gonna be my fuckin’ end, sweetheart.” Another strong thrust follows and then another.  

A yearning need to see himself fuck your gorgeous body suddenly engulfs his mind and so he slow sits himself up on his knees, making sure to keep himself inside you, so that he can get the perfect birdseye view of the beautiful way your body takes him in. It’s perfection and he cannot help but become absorbed in watching as each thrust in and out makes his cock disappear inside that narrow passage only to slip back out covered in more of your juices with each pass. 

Over and over his hips rock into you, the muscles along his abdomen clenching, fingertips digging into your sides to hold you still as his speed steadily increases the longer he goes. Your music fills his head, whimpers of pleasure as he strikes against your g-spot from the angle he’s positioned in, and that is the only thing that is floating in there now as everything else becomes a blur. 

The stoic and collected military officer is reduced to a glorious mess the longer he thrusts, drooling over you, going blind and delirious at the feeling of those tight, silky walls sucking him all in as they flutter around his cock. It’s been too long, too many nights spent alone without your company stuck half-way across the world with only his hand to keep him occupied when he can get a free moment, which those were few and far between. But nothing, nothing ever could compare to the feeling of you.

“Can’t get enough,” he stammers with a groan, so wrapped up in the moment that speech is near impossible to produce. “Fuckin’ desperate for ya, need more…need fuckin’ more…”

Simon is deep inside you and yet that ache is still monstrous, eating him alive so that anything outside of the ecstasy of your flesh is just fucking gone. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he’s obsessed with your body. It isn’t enough though, never enough. You have completely consumed him; he is under your spell and nothing can break the charm.

His head is spinning, thoughts vacant like he is wasted; fuck, he’s high off the sensation of your pussy clenching around him. Now that he is inside you, there is no way he can leave anytime soon. There’s no goddamn way he’s going to let either of you come yet, not after how long you two have gone without each other. 

That hot coil tensing in the pit of his stomach pulls tighter and tighter, but he will not let it snap… not yet. No, he needs this to last as long as he physically can keep it up and so he knows what he has to do and with all his strength he does it; that once intense pounding slows down until he stops amongst your whimpered mewling. 

“What’re you doing?” you stutter, hips desperately trying to buck against him, but he pins them down for a bit. 

“Uh, uh,” he shakes his head, “don’t ya fuckin’ dare think you’re gonna come yet. Ya feel too fuckin’ good to let go of.”

Oh shit… You were in for it now, but just how much you could have never guessed. 

“No…no, please… I need you to keep going,” you plead as your throat strains to release the words, water rimming the whites of your eyes. That consuming ache is so deep in your bones it threatens to devour you whole, causing you to rip at the very seams as it permeates every fiber of your being until your entire form is primed like an explosive ready to combust. You can’t breathe, you can’t fucking think; everything is focused on how much the feeling of him is consuming all of you like a fire burning through dry tinder.

A shuddering breath escapes his lips; even stopping doesn’t help much, your body just feels too good and so he has to at least rut carefully against it. “I know, baby, I know,” he groans as his fingers dig into your hip to now force you to grind your clit into the base of his shaft. “But ya want this to fuckin’ last, yeah? Ya don’t wanna be done with me just yet, do ya?”

That thick, veiny appendage lay inside you, its girth stretching out the walls of your cunt to capacity as it simply rests there throbbing with the beat of his rapid heart rate, stewing in the filthy mess of juices he’s already made between your legs. You choke on a whimper as the stimulation to your clit sends a shockwave through to your toes and you clench them together, gathering some of the sheets into their grip. 

“No,” you shake your head wildly. “You just feel so fucking good, I can’t help it… feels so good… I just wanna keep feeling good with you, Simon.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he praises as he leans forward and presses his burning lips to the skin on your stomach, knowing that no matter what you would have said he wasn’t going to let you tap out yet; he needs your pussy like he needs air to survive. “It’s been too fuckin’ long since we’ve been able ta do this…need ta make up for all the lost time.” 

Simon’s dreamt about this the entire time you’ve been apart; insatiable, desperate, carnal fantasies about fucking your tight hole to within an inch of your sanity, making you come so hard that you can’t move for hours after. His cock has been throbbing for months with nothing but his fucking hand to take the edge off as he pictures filling out every inch of your hole until there is nowhere left for his cock to go.

Another couple of minutes of simply breathing, grinding, and focusing on the way the skin of your torso is so soft against his lips and he’s far enough from that ledge that he wants to start thrusting full force again. He leans down and wraps his arms around your body and you take it as a sign that he’s going to start up again, only for him to roll you both until you are the one on top now. The movement is unexpected, but you are more than willing to go along with it if it means you can take control of your own pleasure. 

As he situates himself under you, his hands roam up and down your sides while he takes a second to enjoy how you look perched over him: full tits directly in his face, hair cascading around your cheeks as you peer down into his face, eyes rolling back in your head every time a sensitive point gets stimulated. You are his fucking fantasy when you get on top. 

“I wanna have ya ride me for a bit,” he breathes. “Show me how good ya ride it, pretty girl. Make my cock your toy.”

As long as he stays inside you, you’ll do whatever the hell he wants.    

Placing your hands on his hard chest for support while his hand moves back to your hips, Simon guides you up and down until you are bouncing in rhythm to match his racing heartbeat. Harder and harder he shoves you forcefully down to get as deep into you as possible until you can feel bruises rising where his hands have a hold of you, yet that doesn’t matter at all as you can only comprehend the way his cock is rendering you too fucking dumb to think of anything else.  

Pushing down against his chest you bob up and down on your knees as best as you can, trying to keep up with his relentless pace. He told you to use him, but all you want is for him to make you his living fleshlight as you are forced to take it all. Your movements start to get sloppy after a time as you can hardly keep yourself focused anymore with how good it feels and Simon takes notice, though he is ready with the solution.

His hips start to strike up into your pussy as even though he is beneath you he is more than capable of taking control, not wanting to move into a new position just yet. You whimper and whine with your mouth hung open as each percussive hit sends shockwaves of euphoria ripping through you just like you want. This is too much for anyone to handle: you being entirely ravaged by him until you are so desperately lost in the pleasure of it all that you are in a complete state of full body bliss. 

You can only sit and take every last delectable inch that he gives you as his massive girth stretches your walls with every thrust of his pelvis upward. The room fills with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as he works your hole as if this is the last chance he will ever get to fuck you and he needs to make it count.

Minute after minute, his full attention being focused solely on you, each stroke along that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerves inside your core drives you increasingly closer to that razor’s edge and threatens to violently throw you off at any point without notice. He must be feeling it too, for again his thrusting slows until he is simply grinding against you once again and that building pressure falls away. 

Over and over again this happens, Simon edging you both closer and closer before struggling to back off and changing positions in a constant rotation, each position just as mind-numbing as the last now that you are cockdrunk. You find yourself on your knees with your head shoved into the mattress  and then on your side with him pressed up against your back, bouncing on top with his hand desperately cupping at your tits and then returning to where it all started on your back, all the while the constant humping during the calmer moments keeps you primed and yet just far enough off the edge that each new round keeps building towards that desperate end. 

Goddamn his stamina is something of legend, but when he wants something bad enough he will make it work no matter how hard he must push himself. And right now he cannot get enough of you no matter how he tries. 

Fuck, your clit is throbbing so hard you think you might pass out, the room so warm your hair sticks to the sides of your face, the scent of sex pungent with each ragged breath shared between your close mouths; every single sense overstimulated to the point of barely being able to process it all. You are perched on his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, foreheads pressed together tight with eyes shut. 

Simon leans in to kiss your raw mouth, but even the contact from your lips makes him gasp from the sensitivity. Your legs are shaking violently now as he’s slowed once more, every muscle pushed to its limit as he rocks his hips into you just because it feels too good to ever stop completely. Both of you are sparkling from head to toe, coated with the speckled dew of perspiration to match the absolute mess Simon has made between your legs. 

Smooth thighs glisten with that warm, moist, natural lubrication of your cunt as it dribbles out of you and onto the sheets beneath to leave a noticeable dark spot on the bed that’s still warm to the touch. Simon’s mouth waters as the taste buds along his tongue prick to life at the sight, begging to savor all your sweet nectar, but he tells himself to not get ahead of things. 

The rest of the night you are going to be his and he will get everything he wants of it all before the end.

Just like you, Simon is out of his goddamn mind with pleasure. The sensation consumes everything inside him until there is nothing left; the only way he can communicate is through breathy groans and staggered grunts as if he is only an animal now. He craves to be the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs, the only goddamn thing you need. And that is when he knows that he cannot hold off another second. 

Without warning he pulls out of you only briefly so that he can aggressively flip you over onto your back, getting into position by kneeling in front of you as he throws your legs onto his broad, sculpted shoulders before he grips your hips and instantly re-enters you. This is it, though he can’t barely speak, it’s gonna happen whether he is ready or not so he is going to be damned sure to make it go off with a fucking bang.

Again Simon picks up his desperate pace, his abs dripping with sweat as they contract and release after each desperate thrust. Those brown eyes close off to the rest of the world, just absorbing every last second of that mind-numbing goodness that he can before he blows.

“F-fuck, Simon...mmmm…” you whine your plea as you can feel that warmth rising harshly in the pit of your stomach, “p-please… d-d-don’t stop.”

Your mind is all static, so lost on Simon’s cock that you cannot stand it; it’s overwhelming in its intensity that you actually aren’t entirely sure you want to come yet. If you could just stay suspended in this moment forever, you’d die happy. All that edging has done its job just as intended though and with a few more strong thrusts of him deep in your core, that is it: like a hot flash of white light you squeal out in unsteady whimpers as your orgasm rips through you with such force you nearly bolt off the bed as your back arches and your hips buck harshly against him. 

A roar is released from within his chest, his body writhing as he holds on to your waist for dear life while he milks his cock inside you, coating your walls in his cum until he has no more left in him to give. He sounds like a wild animal and it makes your body vibrate with exhilaration; you are the one to make him come with such force he is reduced to more basic instincts. 

You fall back against the bed as your body shakes violently with the force of your orgasm. Never has such intense pleasure overwhelmed you so thoroughly that your limbs tremble uncontrollably before and though the exhaustion overtakes you, it is euphoric. Simon slowly slips himself out of your pussy as he sits back, his overstimulated cock twitching with sensitivity as he removes it from your tightness.

You whimper a little, instantly missing the feeling of him stretching you out and honestly wishing he would have just stayed inside even longer, but you know if you don’t have even a small break that you are not going to survive.

His strong hands hold your vibrating legs apart as he sits back on the mattress exhausted and a million miles away as he watches as his cum dribbles out of your pussy like honey; goddamn did he stuff you to the brim. All you can do is lay there with your eyes shut tight, heart thudding against your ribs as you focus all your remaining brain power on breathing. From your head to the tips of your toes you sparkle with perspiration as if you are decked out in diamonds that shimmer in the low light of the room.

“Christ Simon…gonna kill me,” you chuckle lightly as your mouth finally is able to do something other than hang open. 

Eyes still closed, the sensation of his lips brushing against your inner thigh catches your attention. “Not…yet,” his low, gruff voice hits your ears from between your legs, accent heavy with his fatigue. Why did that sound like a promise?

Your mouth is already forming the question when it instantly dies on your tongue as you become aware of a firm grip from those strong hands spreading your legs open even further as his body slides off the edge of the mattress and onto the floor to sit on his knees with his face at optimal level with your pussy.

“Simon?” you ask hastily as you struggle up to your elbow to see those dark eyes peer up at you just over the mound of your sex. 

The corner of his mouth is barely visible, but you can see it upturn. He may have come, but he is nowhere near finished yet. “Still fuckin’ hungry for ya,” he growls before descending down into the ecstasy of the space in between your thighs. 

Simon just needs to buy time until he can get it up again…good thing his tongue is always ready to go. Sharp features are instantly soaked as he dives in without hesitation, the scent of your arousal instantly clinging to his cheeks and making his cock begin to twitch. His mouth is filled with a combination of both of your flavors as his tongue does what it does best: find your clit like a pleasure-seeking missile. He is ready to get completely lost in you all over again, this time with his first favorite activity and all you can do is hold on as he straps you to his face.

Let the feast on your pussy continue…it’s gonna be a long fucking while until he’s done with you.

Tagging: @llelannie @thicksexxualtension @cheolsblkwife @cum-tea-and-towels @sillylittlereader @mesyakee

[fortune-fool02]

End of the Day

Shanks x female reader

Summary: After rescuing Luffy from the pirates that caused trouble at the bar, Shanks seeks out medical aid.

Warnings: Spoilers for One Piece Live Action. Fluff

This is my first attempt at writing for Shanks so please forgive me if it's bad. Also, I have only seen the Live Action One Piece on Netflix so that's what I'm aiming for.

Thank you for taking the time to read this! Please reblog and comment as it really means a lot to me. Thank you very much.

Please enjoy.

The cluttering sounds behind her soon died down after a little while, soft rumbles of the sea brushing and lightly scraping against the support beams of the wooden docks and the rocks of land around them filled the air. [Name] stood in the same place she had done since Shanks left to find Luffy. The boy was reckless at times but he had a good heart, a good heart that Shanks had hope in.

Worry gnawed away at her chest, chewing relentlessly since the moment Shanks' rowboat disappeared from her line of sight. She was no stranger to the sea nor the dangers that lurked both beneath and on those waters. The sea was something to respect, in her eyes, as it could either offer you great riches and mercy or destroy everything you spent your life creating in one swift motion; leaving nothing to bury at home.

The light tap of her shoes against the wooden dock was muffled by the hissing waves as she paced back and forth, glancing up every couple of seconds as if the boat would appear out of thin air.

"Come on, Shanks. Please both you and Luffy be alright." She softly prayed, her hands tugging at a loose thread in her shirt, trying to find something to help ground herself and not be swept away in the anxious thoughts that whispered.

What if something happened? What if the bastard who took Luffy hurt him? What if there was a rouge wave or creature that took the boat down? What if-

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as she spotted a speck in the distance. Something lurched inside of her, she grabbed her telescope and peered through it. Her grip shaking lightly but held its focus long enough for her to identify the speck. It was Shanks! He was alright. Relief flooded through her at the sight of his red-hair along with Luffy waving his arms frantically, shouting something incoherent.

Wasting no time, [Name] moved, rushing down the docks further to meet them as they would dock. The closer they got, the more that relief faded, replacing with that bitter concern again. From where she could see, Luffy was trying to row the boat, his movements a little clumsy but determined. Shanks was slumped backwards a bit,

"Help! Get help!" Luffy's voice became more clear the closer he got, stirring the attention of the other members of Shanks' crew. [Name] barely waited for the boat to come to a stop before she was already in it, moving to Shanks' side and looking him over.

"Shanks? Shanks, what happene-?" Her words were cut off at the sight of red on his left arm sleeve. His arm was missing entirely. Luffy clung to the back of her, wrapping his arms around her like she was a mother of sorts. Apologies spilled past his lips, mixed with sobbing.

"Get Shanks inside, now!" She ordered the others, her arm wrapped around Luffy's small, shaking frame in an attempt to comfort him. She would ask what happened later on, she just needed to make sure that both Shanks and Luffy were going to be okay.

The sun was dipping down below the horizon before [Name] was able to see Shanks. He had been patched up and was resting in his quarters on the ship. The man laid on his be, a damp cloth on his forehead to help and the bandages on what was left of his arm stained red. His shirt had been removed away, showing the other collection of scars he held on his body. Each one a brush with Death and yet he still stood.

"Hey, love." His voice pulled her from her thoughts, drawing a soft smile on her lips to hear his voice. Moving over, [Name] set herself on the edge of the bed beside him, her hand immediately seeking his out, interlocking their fingers together and gave a soft squeeze. "How's Luffy?"

"He finally stopped crying and he's fallen asleep, poor boy was distraught." she answered, her voice music to his ears as always. He could see the worry in her eyes with as much clarity as the sun on a cloudless day. He pulled his hand away from hers and reached up to her cheek, gently brushing his thumb along her skin and smiled.

"You okay?" She asked him, gazing down at him with such a loving expression, nuzzling against his touch. He chuckled softly at her question,

"Can't really feel my left arm." Shanks' chuckle grew louder at the look that flashed her face before he leaned backwards into the bed with that same smile she fell for.

"That's not funny, Shanks."

"Then why're you smiling?" He shot back at her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her down to lay beside him. Her body heat more comforting and soothing than the sun could even come close to, and he savoured it at every opportunity he could. Her hand found place over his heart, feeling it beating in a steady rhythm, focusing on it to reassure herself. Shanks was alive. He was alright.

"[Name], it's just an arm." He whispered softly, using his other arm to pull her closer. He was right. At the end of the day, he was alive.

[writers-advocate]

kitty | l.h.

description: you’ve given logan a nickname. he tells you time and again to quit using it, but eventually comes the moment he accepts defeat [requested]

cw: none! just fluff

he sniffs. just faintly heard over his much heavier footsteps. “don’t start,” his gruff voice comes before he’s even around the corner and you smile innocently when he’s face to face with you… holding a beer.

“don’t start what?”

his eyes narrow and one hand pocketed in his jacket rests on his hip. you offer the bottle and he hesitantly takes it with his free one. “you know what.”

you lean towards him and he stops breathing. “don’t what-?”

“quit, kid-”

“-kitty?”

he just rolls his eyes and continues on past you, grumbling to himself as he tries to ignore the way he warms at the sound of your giggles. you do it every chance you get. he comes back from a trip, he’s had a particularly rough day, you always manage to find him and you always use that fucking nickname. he’s told you a million times to keep it to yourself. but you’re smart about it. you’ve got an offering every time. like the beer he’s currently downing.

the next day, the same thing. you find him in a quiet corner of the mansion, not travelled through much by anyone else. but you know him. you settle on the windowsill in front of his chair and his nose wrinkles slightly. “what?”

“just wanted to see how you’re doing, kitty.” you hold out a plate of food this time -he’d missed dinner?- and he stares down at it. he huffs and takes it with a muttered “thanks.”

you wait, watching him expectantly, and he raises a brow. it makes you smile, clearly amused. “i told you, i wanted to see how you’re doing.”

for some reason it still takes him by surprise. he can see it in your eyes, that you mean it. you’re not being an asshole. you’re not being sarcastic. he’s simply not used to it. “… i’m fine.”

you’re used to this. you know not to push. so you nod as if you’re satisfied even though you’re not, and you get up to walk back down the hall, squeezing his shoulder as you pass. “okay kitty-“ another round of grumbling but you continue, “you’re welcome to join me for a movie night later.” by the time he turns to look at you, you’re gone, and he’s left staring down at the plate, contemplating your offer.

he didn’t mean for it to get so late. the mansion is near silent by the time he finds himself coming down to the common area, encouraged by the sound of the television still going. maybe you’d waited…

well, you’d certainly tried.

he finds you curled up in the corner of the couch, snacks scattered over the cushions and a few drinks. both of which, he sees, you chose many of his favorites for. he feels that warmth again at the sight, and your sleepy murmurs only make it spread. guilt gnaws at him when he sees you even chose a movie he didn’t particularly hate. the least he can do, he thinks with a heavy sigh, is make sure you don’t wake up with a crick in your neck.

he shuts off the tv and leans down, one arm curling around your shoulders, the other under your knees to scoop you up against his chest and take you to your room. your head tucks just perfectly under his jaw and you murmur again incoherently, to which he replies with a nearly imperceptible apology. your voice rings a little clearer as your arms drape loosely around his neck, “s’okay kitty. knew you’d come.”

he just sighs in defeat, unable to argue with you. not when your sweetness invades his every sense and tears his guard down, piece by piece. “… ‘course, kid. always will.”

@rogueinmymind ♡

[another-lost-mc]

Where They Prefer to Bite MC THE DEMON BROTHERS + DATEABLES + SIDE CHARACTERS 1.1k words | NSFW | gn!Reader | Vampire!AU Content warnings: Possessive behaviour, biting and blood-drinking, some sexual content (oral sex) in the third portion. They/them pronouns are used for the characters.

─ PREFERS TO BITE YOUR NECK: Satan, Belphegor, Diavolo, Simeon, Thirteen

There's something so appealing about the tantalizing seduction of feathery-light kisses against smooth, delicate skin.

The evening started as all fairytale romances do: a sweet, chaste kiss pressed against your lips. Sin disguised as passion unravels tears at your self-control until you fall into their greedy embrace. Their tongue curls so eagerly with your own, and it’s enough to set your heart and body ablaze.

The lazy drag of their kiss across your warm cheeks and against the soft edge of your jaw leads them down, down, down. Their hand cradles the back of your neck so gently, and you relax into the seductive trap you've willingly stumbled into as you feel a white-hot pinprick of pain—

—but your gasp of discomfort in their ear stutters into a confused, breathy moan as pleasure washes over you. The desperate sounds of their lips sucking wetly around punctured skin are disguised by your own incoherent pleas as you beg them for more. Your hands scramble for purchase in their hair and you clench the front of their clothes so tightly that your knuckles turn white. You whimper their name as you melt against them because whatever this feeling is, you never want it to stop.

They flick their tongue teasingly against your pulse point, and it's almost like they can taste your heartbeat as heat surges through your body and warms the skin beneath their lips. They caress the delicate column of your throat playfully until they start to suck a little harder, drinking greedily as hunger and lust take over. They leave little marks that bloom like amethyst clouds across your skin; it's the first of many ways they intend to claim you tonight.

Let go, their voice whispers in your mind, and you fall apart untouched except for the hint of fang that scrapes your neck and their hands wrapped around your waist. They hide their smirk against your skin as the scent of your arousal floods their senses, and they drink until they've had their fill.

─ PREFERS TO BITE YOUR WRIST: Leviathan, Barbatos, Mephistopheles, Raphael

Your hands are so soft.

That's what they think to themselves when you walk together, your arm linked with theirs or your fingers laced together as they lead you through nighttime's busy streets. Their eyes shine brightly in the moonlight and their lips curl into small, loving smiles each time you glance at them shyly with an affectionate gaze of your own.

They spare no expense when it comes to selecting the most thoughtful gifts for you. The silk scarf around your neck compliments the unique kaleidoscope colour of your eyes. (It hides the tempting sight of your bare neck from view, for they can only control themselves for so long.)

There’s a delicate chain around your wrist made with precious metals and jewels, specially designed and crafted for you. Their fingers trembled slightly when they put it on you earlier. It’s understandable that you would mistake the mouthwatering hunger in their eyes as simple adoration for such a beautiful trinket. (Their namesake is engraved on the chain you wear—they’ve claimed both your heart and your blood for themselves.)

At evening’s end, they’ll urge you to sit comfortably before drawing your hand to their lips for the softest kiss, one that demands nothing of you but promises you the world so long as you remain theirs. They kneel at your feet like you’re an altar of worship, and hunger gnaws deep in their belly when they remove their gift and tuck it away for safekeeping.

Your gentle fingers card through their hair when they move closer to you, setting comfortably between your legs, as their lips moving lazily against your skin. You wince when the soft kiss on the inside of your wrist gives way to a flash of fang and a moment of searing pain.

They watch you with dark, half-lidded eyes as you squirm with pleasure while they feast upon the generous gift you’ve given them in return. When they’ve sated their bloodlust, the jewelry they clasp around your wrist once more will hide the lingering marks that adorn your skin.

─ PREFERS TO BITE YOUR THIGHS: Lucifer, Mammon, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Solomon

The heat between your legs diffuses your natural scent, and their heightened senses can detect the faint metallic taste of copper in the air. Desire warms the blood that pumps through your veins and it's irresistible. Desperation brings them to their knees before you and they’re ravenous as they peel back the cumbersome layers of clothing until you’re both bare and wanting in their dark silk sheets.

The time for sweetness and coy flirtations has ended, and all that remains is the heady scent of your arousal and your trembling body beneath theirs as their gentle hands pry your legs apart. The first drops of arousal dot your skin and they’re powerless to resist the temptation to taste you. The sounds of their lips and tongue coaxing pleasure from your body is muffled by your soft thighs clenched around the sides of their face, legs trembling beneath their hands that hold you in place while they ravish you.

They lift their head when your pleasured cries finally fade away to silence, showing you their mouth shining with your slick release. Even as you pant heavily with satisfied exhaustion, your greedy eyes still track their tongue when they lick their lips with a satisfied hum.

They cherish you above all else—your love and your blood sustains them, and they would be lost without you. They take you to bed so they can prove their love to you with unholy worship. They draw pleasure from your body with their hands and their mouth; afterwards, their loving words and needy kisses are saturated with your taste.

The soft, jiggly flesh of your thighs is the perfect place for them to litter your skin with evidence of their claim on you. The lingering tenderness you feel tomorrow will be undeniable proof that your heart and body belongs to them. You stroke their hair while they mar your delicate skin with bruises, and they shudder each time you sigh their name.

When you’re relaxed and satisfied and pliant beneath them, it’s their turn. Hot, open-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs turn into suckling bruises and nips with too-sharp teeth. Your back arches so beautifully when they finally break the skin and the warm, syrupy blood mixes with the taste of your cum on their tongue.

[b-o-e]

sleepy phone call Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: fluff :))

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #6 :)

You find yourself unable to fall asleep, leading you to call Wally in the late hours of the night.

“Hello?”

Ah, jeez.

What had you been thinking?

You’d been staring up at your ceiling for who knows long. You’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to fall asleep, despite the exhaustion seeping through your body.

What made you think calling Wally would be a smart idea in your barely coherent state? Well, actually, it was probably just that. You incoherent state did.

“Hi,” you finally mustered out. You were already regretting your decisions. What if he’d been asleep? What if he had been peacefully reading a book in bed? Painting, for whatever reason?

“... Are you alright?” Wally’s voice returned, laced with concern. There was a bit of rustling. “It’s late,”

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. You were debating hanging up there and then, but that would be even worse at this point, wouldn't it?

“I don’t mind in the slightest.”

Your heart swelled. He was always so sweet and considerate, wasn’t he? Always there when you needed him. You shouldn't have doubted that.

“... I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, gnawing lightly on your bottom lip. 

“Ha ha, I think I know how that feels,”

You facepalmed. You’re an idiot, aren’t you? No, he had not been asleep.

Nonetheless, a giggle slipped past your lips, amused by your own silly mistake.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be one to speak, huh? That was insensitive,” you chuckled, “I’m sorry,”

“I don’t mind,” he told you. “I’m quite used to it. What keeps you up though, neighbour?”

What was keeping you awake? Really, you had no clue. Was it the fact that you couldn’t get him off your mind, to the point where you subconsciously thought ‘hey, calling Wally in the ungodly hours in the early morning is a good idea’?

You shifted your seated position, fiddling with the phone's cord as you pursed your lips in thought. Finally, you decided on an answer.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you sighed. “I just… maybe my brain is being too loud, tonight.” You claimed. It wasn't a lie, yet it saved you from telling the full, embarrassing truth.

“Is there something on your mind you’d like to speak about?” You heard a bit of light shuffling.

“I…” you paused, trying to find the words you wanted to say. “I’m not sure, honestly,” you grumbled. “I think… I think I just wanted to hear your voice,” you confessed to him, blunt and honest.

The call went silent. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach. Did that sound odd?

“Wally?” You forced a chuckle, wiping your sweaty palms on your sheets. When did it get so warm in your house? “Sorry, that was probably a strange thing to say, wasn’t it?” You apologized, grimacing a little.

“Not at all,” his response came swiftly, pausing before he continued. “I’m honoured to hear you say that, neighbour,”

“Okay,” you breathed, relieved you hadn’t creeped him out. You knew Wally wasn’t very judgemental, but you still worried sometimes with the things that slipped past your lips.

Silence fell between the two of you, leaving you to desperately wrack your brain to figure out the right words to say.

What was the point of being so uptight? You already let that last comment slide. You were getting too tired to care, anymore.

“Would you mind…” you began, taking a second to figure if you really wanted to say this.

“Would you mind, just… talking?” You requested shyly. 

“Hmm…” he hummed, “Would you like me to talk about anything in particular?”

“Anything,” you shook your head, despite the fact he wouldn't be able to see it.

“Anything…” Wally parroted, going quiet for a while. Your eyes fell shut, your body further into your mattress. Even with him on the phone now, you were feeling less restless than you had been beforehand. His company was comforting, even over a silly call.

“Can I… confess, something to you, neighbour?” Wally’s sweet voice returned to your ears. 

“Of course you can, Wally. I’m always here for you if you need me,” you mumbled.

“... Do you promise?” His tone almost seemed to be one of slight insecurity, an unusual sound for him. Your eyes reopened, staring back up at your ceiling. This seemed like something that could be important to him, and you wanted to ensure he had your full attention.

“Cross my heart, always and forever…” the words fell off your tongue with ease, repeating a vow he told to you some weeks prior. A promise you were more than willing to keep in return.

“Well,” Wally began, “I have… a secret. One that I’ve been keeping from you, that’s about you. One that I've found to cause me some distress,” 

About you? Now, that was a bit worrisome. 

“I hope I haven’t done anything wrong to harm you,” you stressed. That was the last thing you wanted.

“No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong at all,”

“Thank goodness, I was terrified,” you breathed a chuckle, your worry levels lowering. The feeling was still there, as you remained unsure of what the cause of Wally’s distress truly was.

“Sorry, neighbour… I’m struggling to find the right words to say it to you,” he admitted, sounding slightly defeated.

“Take your time, Wally. There’s no rush. I’ll be ready when you are,” you tried to put his mind at ease.

You could hear him inhale deep and slow, holding it for a few moments, before letting it back out. He spoke gently.

“Your eyes,”

He paused for only a second, releasing a sigh.

“They rob the words off of my tongue.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes widening in surprise.

“My heart,” he went on, “it sings with euphoria every second you are near,”

There was no way this was happening.

“Ha ha… we may as well call it yours, with how full of you it is,”

Said heart pounded in your chest so loud, you could hear it in your head. 

“It’s no secret how I enjoy indulging in art quite frequently,” He continued.

“And yet, you manage to be the most extravagant masterpiece I’ve come across,” His voice was at a new level of gentleness than you’ve ever heard before. It was filled with nothing but open honesty, although you felt like there was something else laced in with it.

“You’re unfathomably endearing, and I crave more of you every time we part. That night we spent time together under the stars?” He ended with a questioning lilt, causing you to reflect back on that evening.

“There were so many things I wanted to say to you then. I wanted to tell you that if you asked me to, I’d figure out a way to give you the moon. That, despite the sky full of them, you shine brighter than any star up there in my eyes,” 

You didn’t know what to say. Truth be told, you were simply just… speechless.

“And after all this time, I’m still dancing around the point that I’m trying to get across, ha ha,” 

“The truth is, my darling…”

Your mind is playing tricks on you, if you heard what you were expecting next.

“... I’m in lo–”

You slammed the phone down on its base.

This was not happening.

Were you dreaming? 

Have you been asleep this whole time, stuck in an extremely realistic dream?

The pain in your arm when you pinched it tightly answered that question for you…

You stared into the darkness of your house, wide eyed.

Was he really about to say what you thought he was?

“Of course he was!” You answered that question aloud, slapping your hands to your face.

And you just hung up on him!

You froze.

You hung up on him.

…

You scrambled out of bed.

You tripped over your twisted blankets in the process.

Go, go, go! Your mind screamed at you.

You didn’t care to put on any shoes. It was the least of your concerns right now. You yanked your front door open, darting out of it, and making a mad dash to Home.

Your feet padded against the ground below them, your legs moving faster than you thought they even could. Your adrenaline was spiking through the roof!

What if it was too late now? What if you ruined your chances, forever?

Your brain nagged at you. What if this? What if that?

When you came into Home’s view, it didn't even see you as you approached, attention focussed elsewhere. Once it did take notice of you, its door swung open for you, swaying slightly as if to usher you in. That's exactly what you did. 

Your eyes, blurred with stressed tears, scanned the room around you. Drifting to the table where Wally's phone typically sat, you found it to be missing. You followed the line that connected to the wall, ending at the landline, sat right next to the man you were looking for. 

His head lifted from his knees, attention captured by the sound of your hurried breaths as your body tried to compose itself. 

His widened in shock eyes met yours, teardrops rolling down his cheeks as they did on yours. No matter, a smile still remained on his features, despite being the most pathetic you’ve ever seen. You stared at each other for a moment, until you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

“Say it to my face,” you panted out.

You walked closer, kneeling before him, your hands cupping his cheeks. His own came up, wrapping gently around your wrists.

“Please,” you begged softly, voice cracking with desperation, choked up. “Please, Wally, say it to my face,”

His gaze softened, never breaking from yours. He opened his mouth, hesitating.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispered.

And that’s all you needed to hear.

You closed the gap between you, kissing him, his grip on your wrists tightening. 

“Again?” You murmured softly as you pulled away, looking into his awestruck eyes. He took a moment to process what had happened, before he responded.

“... I’m in love with you,” 

Your lips pressed to his in another gentle kiss, Wally having the mind to return it, more prepared this time. When you pulled away, the corners of his smile quirked upwards.

“Ha ha, again?” He was the one to request this time, leaning his forehead against yours. “I'm in love with you,” he repeated, hopeful of receiving another kiss. You gave a choked giggle, giving him what he desired. You pecked his lips, his cheeks, and then his forehead.

“I’m in love with you too, Darling.” 

imagine getting deceived twice in a row AHAHAAH, I had to make you think it would be more angst so you wouldn't expect this ending like so many of you did, bwahahah! yes, you get a happy ending! yippe! however, this still isn't the end, and there is more to come!

but! feelings are out there! feelings are reciprocated! yippee! I hope you enjoyed this part, maybe just a smidge more than the last, haha!

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

alas!! 'tis all for now! next will likely be out in two days! like and reblogs are extremely appreciated, gimme dopamine rahhhh!!! until next time! MWAH! <3

Posted Sunday, May 6, 2023, at 11:37 AM

[ddejavvu]

Play wrestling with your gf Robin Buckley, but Steve walks in and practically shrieks because he thinks you two are doing something wildly different

In Steve's defense, you are biting Robin's thigh. But you're biting her thigh to overpower her, which- doesn't sound much better. But you're wrestling - really wrestling, not wrestling.

You've got her pinned to the wall, and you'd dropped to your knees to gnaw at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The pinch from your teeth is meant to make her knees give out, and once she's on the floor you'll grab her wrists and pin them to her back. Then you'll declare yourself the winner before she can escape. It's meant to be a foolproof plan, but- well, Steve Harrington has been called a fool before. Perhaps no plan is foolproof enough for him.

He's accustomed to walking into Robin's room like it's his own, but this time you're sure he wishes he'd knocked. He finds you kneeling between Robin's legs, face buried in her thigh a little too close to what's between them for Steve's comfort.

He screams. He screams, and slaps a hand over his eyes, and stumbles backwards all at once, which means he goes tumbling back down Robin's staircase. Her bedroom is right at the top of it, and the hallway is evidently not wide enough for Steve to stop in before he falls right back down the way that he came.

You both dart to the staircase and watch as he lands at the base with a sickening thud, and a groan that you've come to associate with visits to the emergency room.

"Steve?" Robin calls, feet pounding against the stairs as she races to his side. She prods at his temple, and when he grumbles something incoherent in response, she lifts his head off of the floor. She cradles it in her hands, checking for his pulse, "Steve, can you hear me?"

"Yes, dipshit, stop poking me," He swats her hand away when he regains the wind that was knocked out of him, and he sits up while glaring at you where you stand at the top of the staircase.

"That was fucking disgusting." He accuses. You're fairly certain you have the right to do whatever you want with your girlfriend in her own home, but you'd just caused Steve possible brain damage, so you don't point that out.

"We were play-fighting," Robin huffs, rubbing the back of her hand where Steve had smacked her, "You're the one who didn't knock."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I've been your best friend for two years," Steve gripes, struggling to his feet and rubbing at the back of his head where you presume it hit a step, "I didn't know I had to alert the presses to my arrival. Listen- you two," He turns his glare back to you, "I'm- happy for you, okay? But don't- don't ever do that shit again. Close the door, put a sock on it, put up a sign, I don't care, just- never again."

Steve chooses to ignore your rather snippy 'Yes, sir,' in favor of exaggerating a wince as he prods at a sensitive spot near the base of his neck. "Un-fucking-believable," He scoffs, "Another concussion, and this one didn't even come from an interdimensional monster.

[nickeverdeen]

Under My Care | Kate Bishop x fem!reader

Pairings: Kate x reader (romantic), Clint x reader (father), Kate x Clint (platonic)

Type of fic: Comfort

Warnings: Fever

Summary: After coming back home and finding you with a raging fever Kate is determined to take care of you and calling off anything that’d be in her way - missions, erands etc.

——————

The familiar hum of the elevator echoed through the hallway as Kate made her way back to the apartment she shared with you. It had been a long day of training and meetings, and all she wanted was to sink into the couch with you, maybe watch a bad movie and just relax. As she opened the door, she noticed your coat slung over the couch arm, but the place was eerily quiet. Usually, you’d be curled up in the living room, waiting to greet her. But tonight, the silence was heavy.

“Hey, babe, I’m home!” she called out, her voice echoing in the empty apartment. She set down her coat and scarf, kicking off her boots by the door. That’s when she heard it—a faint noise coming from the bathroom. The steady sound of the shower running. So she just waited for you to get out after some time, but as it stretched on Kate was starting to get worried.

“Thirty minutes?” she muttered, a little worried as she checked her watch. “You don’t usually take that long.”

After a few more minutes of waiting and pacing, Kate’s worry got the best of her, and she headed toward the bathroom, knocking lightly. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

No response.

Kate frowned as she turned the handle and slowly opened the door, steam billowing out into the hall. Her eyes widened when she saw you sitting under the spray of the shower, wrapped in a soaked towel, head tilted against the wall and completely out of it. Panic surged as she quickly rushed over to you, turning off the water and kneeling down, gently shaking your shoulder.

“Hey, hey… Wake up.” Kate’s voice was soft, trying not to startle you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you mumbled incoherently, barely lifting your head. “Just… resting…”

Kate’s heart squeezed. You didn’t look like yourself—your cheeks were flushed, and you looked exhausted, your eyes glassy and unfocused. She placed her hand on your forehead, and her breath hitched at the heat radiating from your skin. This wasn’t from the hot shower, though.

“Babe, you’re burning up.” Her tone was laced with worry. “This isn’t normal. Let me call an ambulance—”

“N-No, don’t… It’s just… tired…” You protested weakly, but your head lolled against her shoulder.

Kate took a deep breath, deciding not to push it for now. “Alright, alright. Just… let me help you.”

She carefully dried you off, trying her best to ignore your sleepy murmurs of protest. Despite your attempts to convince her you were fine, Kate couldn’t stop worrying. Gently, she lifted you into her arms and carried you to the bed, ignoring your grumbles about not needing help.

“There. All cozy.” Kate tucked the blankets around you, smoothing the damp hair away from your face. But when she saw the way your eyes barely opened, how flushed your cheeks still were, the worry gnawed at her again. She wasn’t taking any chances.

Kate rummaged through a cabinet, pulling out an assortment of pills and fever reducers she kept on hand. But even with the assortment in front of her, she felt out of her depth. She didn’t know which would be the best to bring your fever down without causing other issues.

Dialing quickly, she got Clint on the line. “Clint! Uh, hey, sorry to bother you, but which of these should I give someone with a fever? Tylenol, Advil, Ibuprofen…”

Clint’s voice was calm, and he talked her through which fever reducer to choose. “Start with Tylenol. And make sure she’s drinking enough.”

Once she knew what to give you, Kate returned to your side, coaxing you into taking the Tylenol and holding a glass of water to your lips as you drank.

“I’ll be right here,” she whispered, brushing her thumb gently over your cheek. She quickly texted Clint, letting him know she was calling off any upcoming missions. Whatever work awaited her would have to wait.

Settling onto the bed beside you, Kate watched over you with a fierce, protective determination. She held your hand, occasionally feeling your forehead to see if your fever had gone down. Every little noise you made, every tired sigh, had her undivided attention. And for the rest of the night, Kate never left your side, murmuring soft reassurances until she saw the soft rise and fall of your breath, peaceful at last.

As dawn broke, she knew she’d stayed right where she was meant to be—right beside you.

[carefreecoffee]

⋆·˚ ༘ *Fluffbruary Day 1: Coffee with Shigaraki Tomura⋆·˚ ༘ *

Word count: 549, gender-neutral reader

Your coffee maker beeped, ringing through the quietness of the league hideout. You carefully took the pot out, the aroma of coffee beans filling the room as you scooched your mug closer, pouring it in delicately as to not spill any. A small smile reaches your lips, setting down the pot into its respective place and rummaging through the kitchen for your cream and sugar. The kitchen isn't used often, the drawers and cabinets are always barren besides whatever had been lying around for days on end. You began to make your coffee how you pleased, the excitement of drinking the caffeinated beverage and feeling awake once more gnawing at your senses.

Small patters of feet make their way into the room, shuffling around before landing just a foot away. “What are you doing?” You didn't have to turn around to know that was your boss, Shigaraki Tomura, the sound of his aching skin being itched at once more as his vermillion eyes observed your movements. “Making coffee” you respond, finishing your fixing and lifting the mug for him to see.

He grunts in response, looking at the deep brown liquid you held. “Do you want some?” you turned to face him, noticing his interest. He stops scratching for a moment, in thought before huffing. “Yeah sure…whatever” you nod, reaching up for another mug and pouring him some. Carefully, you handed him the hot drink, watching as he eyes it.

“Is that how you like it?” you inquire, seeing his eyes roam over the mug he now held.

“Huh?” you nod to the coffee, “Black, I mean. Would you like cream and sugar?” He looks to the coffee once more before replying, his voice gravelly.

“I don't know, never had it before” he shrugs. Now that caught your attention, “You’ve never had coffee before?” he sees the surprise in your face, scoffing as he speaks “Tch, no, i never needed to” you hum at his response before nodding to his cup. “Take a sip, see if you like it” Now if you know Shigaraki, you know he is not one for being told what to do but who was he to decline this first-time offer?

He grumbles incoherently before sipping it, disgust immediately etching itself onto his face. “Eugh ew- why the hell is it so gross?!” you chuckle, watching his face contort in frustration. “Cause you didn't wanna add any cream or sugar, duh.” you move the sugar and cream toward him, letting him do as he pleased. With careful fingers, he poured a hefty amount of creamer in, along with a generous amount of sugar.

Finally, he took a sip, the liquid having been cooled down preposterously. He wasn't ecstatic; rarely was he ever but still, there was a hint of contentedness upon his face. With raised brows you spoke, “Might as well go ahead and drink the creamer” you teased, sipping your own coffee once more. He grumbled a small ‘Shut the hell up’ before sipping it once more, his dry lips reaching the edge of the mug.

Can he actually taste any of the coffee at this rate? You decided not to question him, maybe for the better. Seeing him in such a content state of mind and being…you could never strip that away from him.

[nahoney22]

🥳🥳congrats on 4000 !!🥳🥳

For your follower celebration

May I request a sfw f! Reader x crosshair

In which reader is woken up from a nightmare and is comforted by cross, which leads to cuddles and falling asleep in his arms? 👉👈

Maybe reader has a crush and wasn't expecting to be shaken from a nightmare nor was she expecting cross to be the one to wake them out of it and comfort her (because despite his standoff attitude Mr. Snarky has a crush too )

Lol sorry if that sounds confusing or complicated

Totally fine if you pass this request up lol

Nightmare Rescue

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 1.2k

When a nightmare takes over your sleep, your roughly awakened by the squads Marksman. But what you didn’t anticipate was for him to crawl into the same bunk with you.

warnings: Safe for work, female reader, mutual pining, reader has a nightmare, moody Crosshair, fluff and comfort, cuddles. Can be read as GN.

authors note: many thanks for the support and request @secretthegriffin. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy 🤍

With intense, inscrutable eyes, Crosshair observes you from across the room, attuned to the slightest shift in your typically calm expression. Your brows furrow as you begin to mumble incoherently, your breath turning erratic, punctuated by occasional gasps.

He keenly discerns the distress etched on your face. The fluttering of your eyelids, as if ensnared in a tormenting dream, leaves him deeply unsettled. He can't bear to witness it any longer and he firmly grips your shoulder and shakes your body.

Abruptly, you awaken with a jolt, your heart racing and your body ensnared in tangled bedsheets. The nightmarish grip still clings to your mind, the vivid and unsettling images haunting you. As you strive to make sense of it, your thoughts race in a whirlwind of fear and confusion, your mind wrestling to distinguish dream from reality. But then you meet his gaze.

"C-Crosshair? What... are you okay?"

He hums, his moody facade making it hard to discern his emotions. "I'm fine. You're not."

You wipe the sweat from your brow and swing your legs around the bunk as you sit up. "Did I wake you?" you groan, running a hand through your untamed hair.

"Yes," he replies dryly, his moody expression giving nothing away.

Cursing internally, guilt gnaws at you as Crosshair moves back to his bunk and hunches forward once he sits.

“What was it about?” His unexpected question catches you off guard. You had anticipated Crosshair might wake you and leave you to your own devices, so his display of concern surprises you. It's a rarity, but not unwelcome. You've always found him intriguing since joining the Batch, though you can't envision a relationship beyond comrades, and perhaps, at most, friends.

His inquisitive "Well?" breaks your reverie, snapping you out of your thoughts. His frowning gaze meets your momentarily blank expression, making you feel like you've been gawking at him as if he has three heads.

"Oh, erm," you stammer, not eager to revisit those dreams, "just like... death, I guess." It's not far from the truth.

You glance back at him, finding his gaze unwavering. "You must dream about it a lot."

Your heart twinges, realising that Crosshair has likely seen your internal struggle more than once, and it's possible that the others have noticed too. It's not every time you sleep, but it happens often enough for someone to say, ‘oh, another one?’.

"Yeah, I guess," you admit.

The ship falls into a comfortable silence, with only the typical hum of the engines and the faint, rhythmic tapping of Crosshair bouncing his knee. His silence doesn't bother you; it's not unusual, and merely being in his company is enough, especially with your lingering crush.

Moments pass until he suddenly looks at you, his eyes piercing, a code you can never fully decipher. Your legs feel like jelly, and you momentarily forget how to breathe.

"You should go back to sleep," he orders abruptly. However, for that fleeting moment, there's a softness in his tone when he meets your gaze. "Long day ahead tomorrow."

You nod softly, releasing a deep exhale, breath-taken as usual when he speaks to you. "I suppose. Goodnight."

He doesn't respond with the same words, instead emitting a subtle grunt, his own version of 'goodnight.' But tossing and turning brings no relief as you fail to fall back asleep.

Uncertain whether your inability to sleep is due to the fear of more nightmares or the worry of disturbing Crosshair, you let out a subtle sigh. To your surprise, Crosshair remains awake.

"Can't sleep?"

"Nope," you say, emphasising the 'p'. You turn your head to see Crosshair has maintained the same position for nearly an hour now. He sits in his stark, stoic silence. "What about you?"

"I don't need to," he mutters, reaching under his bunk to retrieve his rifle and a cloth. His hands move with precision and care as he idly cleans his most prized possession, a ritual he performs with unwavering focus.

You watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the graceful movements of his hands. Then, you return your gaze to the dull and boring ceiling above you. A minute or two later, something shifts, and the whole galaxy seems to pause as Crosshair stands over you, his expression stoic. "Move up."

You blink up at him, words caught in your throat. "Huh?"

"Move," he commands, taking a step closer. His voice holds a hint of determination. "Up."

And you comply, shifting your position to make room for him.

He lays down, and the atmosphere in the cramped bunk is charged with tension. Both of you are stiff, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the ceiling, your hearts pounding in the confined space.

Summoning your courage, you turn your head to face him. "Why are you in my bunk?"

You see him suck on the inside of his cheek, a subtle sign of his nerves, and you wonder what's going through his mind. He turns to face you, his face incredibly close, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. "Do you want me to leave?"

You find yourself briefly lost in the depths of his eyes, drawn into their enigmatic allure, but you snap out of your trance before it becomes awkward, shaking your head slightly. "No," you whisper softly, your heart fluttering as you watch him turn his head away to gaze at the ceiling once more.

A silence descends once again, a little more comfortable than the last, and just as you begin to relax, you're nearly startled when you feel his fingers, with the utmost gentleness, twitch toward yours.

You hold your breath, uncertain if it was accidental, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his fingers gradually interlace with yours. Slowly, you close your hand, allowing the realisation to sink in that you are holding Crosshair's hand.

Crosshair remains quiet for a while, and you don't mind the silence. However, when he does speak, his voice is barely above a whisper. "You can sleep into me," he says, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "If it would help you sleep better."

"Really?"

"Yes," he replies swiftly, anticipating your question. "Cuddle... into me."

How could you resist such an invitation?

You quietly shift onto your side, laying your head in the crook of his torso and armpit, your arm draping delicately over his toned frame. If this wasn't an innocent gesture, you might have melted at the sensation of his body against yours.

You half-expected him to flee, second-guessing his decision, but instead, he chuckles lowly. "Don't be scared, come closer." His words send a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you shake off any distracting thoughts, pressing yourself more firmly against him and sighing contentedly.

But nothing feels better than when his arms snake around you, pulling you close, and he lays a hand on the back of your head, gently massaging your hair.

Your eyes flutter closed, and you hum in delight. "Crosshair, you don't need to do this," you comment shyly after a few minutes.

"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't," he replies, gently meeting your gaze. For a brief moment, your gazes fully lock, not just fleeting glances. His eyes roam your face and pause briefly at your lips, but he doesn't give in. Instead, he smiles, a soft and rare expression.

"Go to sleep now, darling."

As soon as your eyes fall shut, you drift off into a peaceful slumber, and not a single nightmare disturbs your rest.

Masterlist

More Crosshair Works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @seriowan @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @imalovernotahater @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @id-rather-be-a-druid @the-bad-batch-baroness

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Across the Ropes… a Zilla Fatu x Oc Fanfic.

Chapter 6: Realizations…

May 25th, 4:00 AM

Zilla quietly shut the bathroom door behind him, the muffled sounds of laughter and music from the late-night party fading into the background. His heart raced, not from guilt but from the anticipation of what he was about to do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag—his so-called escape.

Placing it on the edge of the bathroom counter, Zilla poured a small amount onto the surface, his hands steady despite the hours of drinking and indulging. With practiced precision, he formed a line and bent down, inhaling sharply through his nose. The substance burned slightly, but the discomfort was quickly replaced by an electrifying rush that coursed through his veins. He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back, feeling that familiar wave of euphoria flood his senses.

Every two hours since they had returned from the yacht to Jey and Rhea’s house, he had been sneaking away, indulging in the high. It felt like a release, a temporary reprieve from the chaos inside his mind.

This wasn’t something he did—this was new territory for him. But tonight, after the whirlwind of emotions over the past few days—Jacob’s growing distance, the weight of fatherhood, the constant need to prove himself—he needed this. He needed to feel alive again.

7:30 AM

The party had dwindled down to just Damian and Jon. They were the only ones still awake, sipping on what was left of the alcohol and exchanging stories in low voices. Zilla stood up from his spot on the couch, swaying slightly as he tried to make his way to the guest bedroom. The combination of the alcohol and the drugs in his system made it nearly impossible to walk in a straight line.

Jon and Damian exchanged a quick glance, both realizing Zilla was in no condition to make it on his own. They stood up and caught him just as he bumped into the corner of a table.

“Yo, man, you good?” Damian asked, slipping an arm under Zilla’s to steady him.

Zilla let out a slurred laugh. “Yeah, yeah… just… tired, you know? Long night.”

“Uh-huh,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took Zilla’s other side. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed before you wreck the place.”

They half-carried, half-guided him to the guest bedroom. Zilla mumbled a few incoherent words of thanks as they helped him onto the bed. He kicked off his jeans with some effort and flopped back onto the mattress, pulling the comforter over himself.

“Thanks, man,” Zilla muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“No problem,” Jon said, patting his shoulder. “Get some rest.”

As they left the room, Zilla turned onto his side, his head swimming from everything in his system. His arm reached out instinctively, pulling Dahlia closer to him. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her body molding against his.

For a brief moment, Zilla closed his eyes and let the warmth of her presence ground him. Despite everything—his mistakes, his choices, the weight of his secrets—this was his safe place.

But as the high began to wear off, a flicker of unease crept into the corners of his mind. He pushed it aside, burying it deep down, and let the exhaustion finally take over.

—

3:25 PM

Zilla groaned as he opened his eyes, his head pounding like a drum. The room was dimly lit, but even the soft light made him squint in discomfort. He turned his head to the side, expecting to see Dahlia beside him, but the bed was empty.

Slowly sitting up, Zilla scanned the room. Across the way, the bathroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a scatter of makeup, hair tools, and brushes on the counter. The faint, familiar scent of Bath and Body Works’ A Thousand Wishes lingered in the air, a reminder of Dahlia’s presence.

He sighed, running a hand down his face as the events of the night before replayed in his mind like a blurry montage. The partying, the drinks, the… other substance. Regret gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, but he shoved it aside. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not now.

Dragging himself out of bed, Zilla stood on shaky legs, his body protesting every movement. He peeled off his wrinkled T-shirt and boxers, leaving them in a pile on the floor, and made his way to the shower. He turned the knob, letting the water pour down without checking the temperature.

The first spray hit his skin, icy cold, but he didn’t flinch. It wasn’t until the water gradually warmed up that he leaned his head against the cool tiles, letting it cascade over him. He closed his eyes, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

What was Dahlia thinking right now? Had she been up long? Did she leave the room because she needed space, or was she just going about her day?

The water did little to soothe his racing mind, but at least it washed away the remnants of the previous night. Zilla stood there for a while, letting the droplets hit his skin, feeling the weight of his choices sink in.

Finally, he straightened up, running a hand through his wet hair. He turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel from the rack. Wrapping it around his waist, he looked at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror.

The man staring back at him looked tired—more tired than he’d ever seen himself. But beneath the exhaustion was something else: determination.

Zilla clenched his jaw. He couldn’t keep spiraling like this. For Dahlia, for the baby, for himself—something had to give. He had to face it all, no matter how difficult it would be.

Drying himself off, Zilla headed back into the bedroom to find some clean clothes. As Zilla pulled a plain black T-shirt over his head, his thoughts drifted to the night before again. The adrenaline rush, the sharp clarity, the fleeting euphoria—it was intoxicating in a way he hadn’t expected. But now, in the stillness of the afternoon, the crash was brutal. His body felt like it had been wrung dry, and his mind was a foggy mix of guilt and rationalization.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and ran a hand over his face. “Cocaine,” he thought bitterly, “just one time to deal with the stress. Just to feel something… to quiet the noise.”

It wasn’t hard to see how it could become a crutch. The high was undeniable—like everything in his world finally aligned, even if only for a few hours. But the aftermath? The hollow ache in his chest, the pounding headache, and the nagging feeling that he was teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

Zilla’s hands fidgeted, picking at the edge of the comforter as he tried to reason with himself. “I won’t let it become a problem,” he told himself, his voice firm in his head. “I’m not gonna end up like those dudes on the streets. I’m better than that.”

But even as he thought it, doubt crept in. Was he really? He could already feel the pull—just the thought of another hit to smooth out the jagged edges of his mind was tempting.

Still, he shook his head and forced himself to his feet. “Only when things get bad,” he muttered under his breath, as though saying it aloud would make it true. “Only when I really need it. I can handle it.”

Yet, deep down, a small voice whispered that he was playing with fire. The same fire that burned others to ash before they even realized they were in too deep.

He tried to shake off the thought as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. He had bigger things to focus on—Dahlia, the baby, his family. But as he scrolled aimlessly through his notifications, his mind kept wandering back.

Stress events. That’s all it would be for. Just to cope when the world felt too heavy. Just to help him keep it together when everything threatened to fall apart.

Zilla placed his phone back down with a sigh. He could feel the rationalizations piling up in his mind, but for now, he told himself, he was in control. He had to be. For Dahlia. For the baby. For himself.

Zilla’s eyes softened as he heard the door push open and watched Dahlia walk in, her smile lighting up the room. She stepped closer, her presence filling the space, and kissed him gently. As she pulled away, Zilla raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Where were you?”

Dahlia grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Rhea took me to go get my toes done.” She kicked off her sandal, revealing the fresh pedicure. She lifted her foot slightly, showing off the little initials etched into her nails.

Zilla let out a laugh, his smile widening. “Are those my initials?” he asked, amused.

Dahlia shrugged playfully. “So what if they are?”

Zilla leaned forward, pulling her closer, and kissed her again, this time with more urgency. As they pulled apart, he shifted beneath her, pulling her gently on top of him. “Are you hungry?” Dahlia asked, her voice light and teasing.

Zilla stretched slightly, feeling the pull of hunger in his stomach. “Actually, I am.”

Dahlia chuckled. “Jey told Rhea he’s been starving, but she said she’s not falling for that shit because she saw him eat five waffles this morning.”

Zilla rolled his eyes, smiling. “Well, let’s go join them downstairs. See what they want to eat.”

Dahlia nodded in agreement, her lips curving into a soft smile as she watched him slip on his shoes. He grabbed his wallet and stood up, reaching for her hand. Together, they made their way downstairs, the hum of the house around them as they headed to the living room to see what the family was up to.

Rhea, Jey, Liv, and Dom were lounging. The room was filled with casual conversation and laughter, but as soon as Zilla walked in, Jey’s voice cut through the chatter.

“Finally, Sleeping Beauty has risen,” Jey teased, a grin plastered across his face.

Zilla laughed, rolling his eyes. “Chill out, Uce’.”

Dominik, sitting next to Liv, leaned forward with an amused expression. “So, what’s there to eat around here?” he asked, looking at the group.

Rhea turned to Jey, her voice light with a playful edge. “Babe, you wanna take them to that Stamford Diner we went to last week?”

Jey’s face lit up at the suggestion. “Oh yeah, I’m down for that.”

Zilla, glancing over at Jey, called out, “Yo, where’s Jeyce at?”

Jey looked back, shrugging casually. “Jeyce went over to Demi’s.”

Zilla raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. “Lil Uce’ got himself a girlfriend now?”

Jey’s expression shifted slightly, his grin fading as he shook his head. “Don’t get me started,” he muttered, a slight tone of exasperation in his voice.

Rhea, sitting next to him, leaned in with a chuckle. “He sticks up for her so much, he’s been using my headbutts when he starts fights,” she added, her voice full of amusement.

Zilla looked at Rhea, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh man, that’s a new level of tough love.”

Jey gave an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me about it.”

—

The group pulled into the parking lot of the Stamford Diner, their chatter still lively from the car ride over. Zilla and Dahlia walked in behind Jey and Rhea, while Liv and Dom brought up the rear. The diner had a cozy, retro feel, with red leather booths and a faint hum of ‘80s rock playing in the background.

They were quickly seated at a large corner booth. The server, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, handed out menus and took their drink orders.

“I’ll take a Coke,” Jey said first, handing over his menu as he glanced around the table.

“Make mine a root beer,” Rhea added, her hand casually resting on Jey’s arm.

Zilla leaned back against the booth. “Pepsi for me,” he said.

Dahlia smiled up at the server. “I’ll have a lemonade, please.”

Liv and Dom went next, with Liv opting for an iced decaf coffee and Dom ordering a Dr. Pepper. Once the server walked off to grab their drinks, the group began looking over their menus.

“The menu is massive,” Liv said, flipping through the laminated pages. “They’ve got everything from pancakes to burgers.”

“Yeah, but you gotta get their wings,” Jey said, tapping his finger on the menu. “Best in town.”

“Not even a debate,” Rhea chimed in. “I got the buffalo ones last time, and they were insane.”

Dom smirked. “Okay, but what about dessert? Because I see a milkshake section that’s calling my name.”

Zilla glanced at Dahlia. “What about you? Decided yet?”

Dahlia shook her head, her eyes still scanning the options. “Not yet. It all looks good, though.”

“You can’t go wrong with the chicken and waffles here,” Jey added, leaning back as he closed his menu. “Trust me.”

“Damn uce’, you cheating on Waffle House?” Zilla joked.

“I have to… we don’t have none here!” Jey exclaimed.

The server returned with their drinks, setting them down before asking, “Are you guys ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?”

Everyone exchanged quick glances, and Jey spoke up, “Give us just a couple more minutes.”

Dahlia’s phone buzzed on the table, and she glanced down, smiling at the message from Sabrina: White Chocolate wants to know if we want to go tubing for the Fourth, said he will get us a prettier cabin than last year? She giggled softly, amused by the pet name Sabrina used for her sugar daddy.

She quickly typed back: Idk, can I tube the river when I’m pregnant?

Sabrina replied almost immediately: I already checked with Patel, yesssssss lol.

Zilla noticed the playful grin on Dahlia’s face. “Who’s that, babe?” he asked, leaning slightly toward her.

Dahlia locked her phone and set it down. “It’s just Sabrina. She’s asking me if I want to go tubing for the Fourth of July.”

Before Zilla could respond, Rhea’s curious voice broke through. “I’m sorry, but what’s tubing?”

The table went quiet for a moment as everyone exchanged looks before collectively turning to Zilla and Dahlia—the Texas natives.

Jey smirked and chimed in. “Trinity tried getting us to tube one time, but the weather cancelled it. I still don’t know what the big deal is.”

Zilla chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Tubing’s simple. You just float down the river in an inflatable tube, drink beer, and blast music. Some people go all out and rent cabins or houses near the river to make it a weekend party.”

Rhea’s eyes lit up. “That actually sounds amazing! I wanna try that!”

Jey turned to her, raising a skeptical brow. “Babe, you’re gonna be like a month away from your due date by then.”

Rhea shrugged confidently. “So? I can always ask Dr. Brown.”

Jey sighed but smirked, already knowing where this was going. “Fine, but Dahlia, if you don’t mind, can we tag along? It’d be fun to make a group trip out of it.”

Rhea grinned, jumping in. “Yeah, for sure! I can even look into renting a house by the river. You can invite your friend too, Dahlia!”

Dahlia nodded, excited. “Totally. It’s usually just me and Sabrina anyway, so she’d love a bigger group. She’s also a big Liv and Dom fan.”

Liv perked up at the mention of her name. “It’s like she’s about to live her dream partying with us.”

Dahlia laughed, pulling out her phone. “I’ll text her and see if she’s cool with it.”

Dom, always ready for an adventure, grinned. “After we eat, Rhea, you should start looking up houses with pools.”

Rhea rolled her eyes but smiled. “Picky much? You gotta enjoy the nature too, you know.”

Zilla nodded in agreement, a teasing glint in his eye. “See, now you’re talking! It’s not tubing if you don’t feel like you’re out in the wild.”

The table burst into laughter as their drinks arrived, and the group started diving deeper into planning the perfect Fourth of July getaway.

—

Later that afternoon, Jey and Rhea stood by the drop-off zone, waving as Zilla and Dahlia made their way into the airport. Rhea called out, “Don’t forget to text us when you land!” before the sliding doors closed behind them.

Inside, Dahlia held Zilla’s hand tightly as they navigated the airport crowd. Her mind wandered back to the weekend—the laughter, the late night, and the overwhelming warmth of being surrounded by his family.

As they approached the gate, the announcement rang out overhead: “Flight 1725 to Houston is now boarding.” Zilla turned to Dahlia, his hand giving hers a reassuring squeeze. “So, what’d you think of meeting everyone?”

Dahlia glanced up at him, her lips curling into a small smile. “It was… a lot,” she admitted. “But I loved it. Jey and Rhea are so chill. Joe and Galina were sweet—Galina gave me that whole ‘you better treat him right’ talk.” She laughed lightly. “Liv and Dom are just as wild as they seem on TV, and Trinity’s hilarious.”

Zilla smirked. “That’s my family for you. They’re loud, crazy, but they love hard. And what about Joseph and Almia? Did they scare you off?”

Dahlia shook her head with a soft laugh. “Not at all. Almia was so nice—she kept asking if I needed anything. And Damian and Kayden? I wasn’t expecting them to be so down-to-earth. Honestly, I felt… welcome.”

“That’s ‘cause you are, babe,” Zilla said, his tone softening. “You’re part of this now. They’re your people, too.”

They handed their boarding passes to the agent and made their way onto the plane. Finding their seats, Zilla stored their carry-ons and slid into the window seat. Dahlia settled beside him, her expression thoughtful.

“You know,” she said, glancing at him, “I was nervous about meeting everyone, but they made it so easy. Even with Jacob not being there, I didn’t feel out of place. It was like they just… accepted me.”

Zilla leaned back in his seat, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s because you fit, Dahlia. They see what I see.”

Her cheeks warmed, and she reached over to take his hand. “Thank you for bringing me into your world, Isayah. I didn’t realize how much I needed this.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he teased, giving her hand a squeeze.

As the plane taxied toward the runway, Dahlia rested her head on his shoulder, her heart feeling lighter than it had. She wasn’t just building a relationship with Zilla—she was finding a family, a home, and a sense of belonging she never knew she needed.

Zilla and Dahlia stepped off the plane and into the warm Houston air. After collecting their luggage, they made their way to the parking lot where Zilla’s black Camaro was waiting. The sleek car gleamed under the afternoon sun, and Zilla unlocked it with a press of his key fob.

He opened the passenger door for Dahlia before slipping into the driver’s seat. As they pulled out of the airport, Zilla reached over and laced his fingers with hers. The hum of the engine filled the silence between them until Zilla spoke.

“I’m gonna leave the Camaro with you again,” he said casually, his eyes on the road.

Dahlia turned to him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I want you to keep using it,” he replied, glancing at her briefly. “I’m not here all the time, and I know you are. You can use it to get to work or wherever you need to go.”

Dahlia’s mouth parted in surprise. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, babe,” Zilla said firmly. “I don’t want you bumming rides off Sabrina. You deserve to have something reliable—and something that’s mine, just like you are.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked down at their joined hands. “Thank you, Isayah. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just say you’ll take care of it,” he teased, shooting her a grin.

“I will,” she promised, squeezing his hand.

As they approached Sabrina’s apartment, Dahlia couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in her chest. Zilla’s gesture wasn’t just practical—it was a sign of his trust and commitment to her.

They pulled into the parking lot, and Zilla parked the Camaro in front of Sabrina’s unit. He turned to Dahlia, his expression soft. “I mean it, D. You’re everything to me. If this makes things easier for you, then that’s all I care about.”

Dahlia leaned over and kissed him gently. “You’re too good to me.”

“Just giving my girl what she deserves,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

With that, they got out of the car, grabbing their bags and heading toward Sabrina’s door. Dahlia felt a new sense of security settle over her.

Zilla unlocked the door to Sabrina's apartment, pushing it open and stepping inside. The place was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the empty space. He glanced around and raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like no one's home," he said, letting the door close behind them.

Dahlia, however, had other plans. She grabbed his hand, her grip firm, and tugged him toward her room at the end of the hall.

"Eager much?" Zilla teased, a sly grin spreading across his face as he followed her lead.

"Before she comes back!" Dahlia whispered sharply, glancing back at him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Once inside her room, Dahlia shut the door, locking it for good measure. She turned around, her cheeks slightly flushed, and faced Zilla, who leaned casually against the wall with his arms crossed, watching her with an amused expression.

"You're really worried about Sabrina walking in?" he asked, smirking.

"Yes!" Dahlia said, her voice hushed but insistent.

"You know how nosy she is. She'll make it her mission to come in here and ruin the moment."

Zilla laughed softly and pushed off the wall, stepping closer to her. "And what moment are we talking about exactly?" he asked, his voice dropping slightly as he tilted his head.

Dahlia bit her lip and smiled, her hands trailing up his chest. "This one," she whispered before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Zilla chuckled against her lips, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. "Guess we better make it quick, then," he murmured, his words laced with playful sarcasm.

"Or," Dahlia said, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, "we could lock her out when she gets home."

Zilla's laughter filled the small room as he kissed her again, deeper this time. "You're bad," he muttered, his lips brushing against hers.

"Only for you," she replied with a grin, tugging him toward the bed as they both tried to forget the world outside for just a little while.

—

As Zilla lay peacefully asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, Dahlia slipped quietly out of bed. She stretched, throwing on her shirt with the softest of movements, trying not to disturb him. As she tiptoed across the room, she heard the doorbell ring. A package, she assumed—probably one of Sabrina’s countless Amazon orders.

Without thinking too much, Dahlia grabbed Zilla’s boxers from the chair, sliding them on quickly. Just as she pulled them up, she felt something unusual poking at her side. Frowning, she tugged at the waistband, pulling it back to reveal an insert, slightly cut and sewn into the fabric. Her heart skipped a beat as she studied the seam.

What the hell?

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked over at Zilla, still obliviously asleep. Dahlia’s mind raced as she tried to make sense of it. She carefully slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her as quietly as possible.

Once in the living room, she opened the front door, grabbing the package off the porch. She threw it casually onto the couch and hesitated for a second, glancing back toward the hallway.

Her mind wouldn’t stop churning, and her curiosity got the best of her. Turning on the kitchen light, she walked back to the couch, staring down at the boxers.

What had she found?

Dahlia pulled the waistband back again, this time with more urgency. She slid her fingers into the fabric, feeling around, but came up empty. No hidden messages. Just a secret lining.

Frowning, she tried again, her fingers tracing the seams more carefully. She moved slowly, her heart pounding as she searched for something she couldn’t quite place. Something didn’t sit right.

There was something more to this.

Dahlia went back to the room, her mind racing. She quickly slid off the boxers and tossed them back onto the chair where Zilla had thrown them earlier. Her hands were still shaking, but she pulled on her pants, trying to act like everything was normal. Just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, she heard the doorbell ring again.

“Fucking Sabrina, stop ordering from Amazon,” she muttered under her breath, her patience running thin. She walked toward the door, preparing for yet another unnecessary delivery, but as she reached the door, she heard a knock instead.

Dahlia opened the door, only to be met with a surprise—Jacob Fatu, standing there with a serious look on his face.

“Hello,” Dahlia said, her voice hesitant, sensing that something was off.

Jacob barely acknowledged her, his eyes scanning her face before he spoke. “Where’s my cousin?”

The directness of his question made Dahlia’s heart skip a beat. There was no friendly greeting, no warmth in his tone.

“He’s sleeping right now,” Dahlia replied, keeping her voice steady despite the unease growing in her chest. “Is there something important?”

Jacob’s face remained impassive as he responded, “A work matter.”

Without another word, he pushed past her and into the house. Dahlia was left standing in the doorway for a moment before following him down the hall, her steps slow but determined.

Jacob reached the door to Zilla’s room and knocked sharply, pushing the door open without waiting for a response. Inside, Zilla groaned from beneath the covers.

“Get your ass up,” Jacob ordered, his tone commanding. “We got work tomorrow.”

Zilla, still groggy, squinted at his cousin. “I don’t have to be at RAW tomorrow,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Jacob’s frustration was palpable. “If you bothered to check your email, yeah, you do. Get your shit and let’s go.”

Dahlia stood just outside the doorway, watching the exchange unfold, but her confusion only grew when Jacob addressed Zilla again.

“Stop playing fucking house,” Jacob said sharply. “Meet me downstairs in the car in five minutes.”

With that, Jacob pushed past Dahlia and left the room without another word. Dahlia remained frozen for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked at Zilla, who was still half asleep, and felt an overwhelming sense of unease.

She moved toward the bed, her voice shaky as she asked, “Isayah, what the hell was that?”

Zilla slowly propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes heavy with sleep but confused nonetheless. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, trying to piece things together. He looked at the door where Jacob had left, then back at Dahlia. “I wasn’t expecting him. He never usually comes by like that.”

Dahlia felt a pit form in her stomach. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but whatever it was, it didn’t feel right.

Zilla hurriedly pulled on his clothes, the sound of fabric rustling filling the quiet room. Dahlia stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, her eyes following his every movement. There was a tightness in her chest, the unease that came with the unexpected departure gnawing at her insides.

She spoke before she could stop herself, her voice small but clear. “But I thought we had the week together.”

Zilla’s movements slowed, his hand pausing on his shirt as he turned to face her. His expression softened, a flicker of regret flashing in his eyes. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, guilt tugging at his features. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his voice laced with sincerity. “Come here.”

Dahlia hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, the distance between them feeling suddenly wider than it ever had before. Zilla pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as if trying to absorb the weight of the moment. He kissed the top of her head, the warmth of his lips a small comfort against the growing ache in her heart.

“Don’t worry, honey,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, “I’ll be back Saturday morning, okay?” He held her even closer, as though his embrace could make everything better.

Dahlia pressed her cheek into his chest, trying to calm the rising wave of frustration within her. She lifted her head slightly, looking up at him with soft but searching eyes. “That’s too long,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. The disappointment was evident in the slight tremor of her words.

Zilla’s eyes softened with regret, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I know, I know,” he said quietly. “But work calls, babe. You know how it is.” His gaze met hers, holding it for a long moment, as if silently asking her to understand.

Dahlia exhaled, the tightness in her chest refusing to loosen. She wanted to be understanding, to be the supportive girlfriend he needed, but the thought of spending the rest of the week alone felt like a weight pressing down on her. She stood on her tiptoes, closing the distance between them, and kissed him—a kiss that was soft, but held an undercurrent of longing, a plea for him to stay.

When they broke apart, Zilla rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ll text you, okay?” he promised, his voice barely a whisper.

Dahlia nodded, her lips trembling slightly as she tried to smile. “Okay.” But the word felt hollow in her mouth, the unspoken words hanging between them. She wanted to say more, to make him stay, but she knew that was selfish. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to watch him pull away, to know he was leaving her again.

Zilla kissed her forehead one last time, the gesture lingering as he stepped back, finishing pulling on his shoes. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he added, though his words felt more like a promise he wished he didn’t have to make.

Dahlia watched him, her heart heavy, her mind racing with a mix of emotions. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust that the days apart wouldn’t be as difficult as they seemed. But the lingering feeling of loss, even before he’d left, was hard to ignore.

As Zilla grabbed his bag and headed for the door, he turned back to her, his eyes softening once more. “I adore you,” he said quietly.

Dahlia’s throat tightened, and she forced a smile, her voice shaky as she replied, “I adore you too.”

With one last look, he stepped out the door, leaving Dahlia standing there, the silence of the room filling the space between them. She let out a slow breath, trying to push aside the sadness that threatened to overwhelm her. She wasn’t sure how she was going to fill the next few days without him, but for now, she had no choice but to let him go.

Zilla slammed the door shut as he hopped into the car, the engine roaring to life as Jacob sped off down the street. The rush of air through the open windows did nothing to calm the tension brewing between the two cousins. Jacob’s hands gripped the wheel tightly, his jaw clenched as he navigated the roads with a focused intensity.

“That kid really yours?” Jacob asked, his tone laced with skepticism as he glanced at Zilla.

Zilla let out a long, drawn-out sigh, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Yes, I’ve already told you this,” he replied, his voice flat but heavy with the weight of repeated explanations.

Jacob shook his head, his eyes fixed on the road. “Man, I don’t get you,” he muttered under his breath.

Zilla crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, staring out the window. The sound of tires against pavement filled the air as they sped down the highway. “Damn, uce’,” Zilla finally broke the silence. “I’ve already made up with my mom. What more do you want from me?”

Jacob’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his eyes narrowing with a sharp edge of concern. “It’s not about that. Don’t you realize that you’re throwing your life away?” His voice cracked with the weight of the question. “You’ve got all the potential in the world, Zilla. And I’m telling you, if you keep going down this path… it’s not going to end well.”

Zilla’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing into fists at his sides. “Uce’,” he said, his voice growing more pointed. “You had a kid at my age! Why are you pressed on me?” His words cut through the air, the anger in his tone palpable.

Jacob shot him a sharp look, his frustration matching Zilla’s. “Because I’ve seen this before, uce’. I’ve seen where it goes when you’re not focused. And you—” He shook his head, exasperated. “You’ve got too much going on to be messing around like this. You’re letting everything slip through your fingers.”

Zilla clenched his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest. “I’m not like you, Jacob,” he said, his voice lower but no less heated. “I’m trying to figure things out. I’m not gonna rush into something just because it’s what everyone else expects.”

Jacob’s gaze softened for a moment, his tone shifting, though the concern never left his eyes. “I’m not saying you need to rush, uce’. But you’re throwing yourself into something that doesn’t make sense. You’ve got to take a step back and look at the bigger picture.”

Zilla stayed quiet for a long moment, the weight of Jacob’s words settling in the air between them. He wanted to argue, to push back against the idea that he was making mistakes, but deep down, he knew Jacob had a point. However, he wasn’t ready to face it—not yet. Instead, he stared out the window, lost in thought.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Zilla finally muttered, his voice softer. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

Jacob pulled up to a red light and let the car coast to a stop. The weight of the silence between him and Zilla seemed to press down on both of them, thick and suffocating. Jacob glanced over at Zilla, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and concern. His voice was low but heavy as he finally spoke, breaking the silence that had hung between them.

“Do you even know what you’re gonna miss?” Jacob’s question hung in the air like an accusation. Zilla didn’t respond immediately, the question seeming to catch him off guard. But Jacob didn’t wait for an answer. He continued, his words coming faster now, as though he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“You’re not going to be there for the first ultrasound. You’re not going to be there when the baby starts to kick,” Jacob’s voice broke with the weight of his own regret, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You’re not going to be there for her baby shower. You’re not going to be there when you find out the gender… all those moments. All those things she’s going to experience, and you’re just gonna let it slip away.”

Zilla’s stomach twisted, a knot of guilt beginning to form as Jacob’s words hit harder than he expected. He looked out the window, his mind flashing to Dahlia—her smile, the way she’d looked at him with so much hope when they’d first talked about the baby. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the realization of what he might miss starting to settle in like a weight.

“I’m not missing anything,” Zilla finally said, his voice low but defensive. “I’m doing what I need to do. I’m making money. I’m getting ahead. I’ll make up for the rest.”

Jacob’s laugh was bitter. “You think that’s gonna make up for it? You think that’s gonna make up for not being there when your kid needs you? When Dahlia needs you?” He shook his head, frustration lining his features. “You’re letting it all slip by. You’re letting her slip by. And one day, you’re gonna look back, and you’re gonna regret not being there for her, for that kid.”

Zilla’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to push back against Jacob’s accusations, but part of him knew they were true. The thought of missing out on all those first moments, the small milestones that would make up his child’s life, began to eat at him. What if Jacob was right? What if he wasn’t there when his child took their first breath, or when Dahlia looked at him, hoping to see more than just a father in a photograph?

“I… I’m just trying to get ahead,” Zilla muttered, his voice strained. “I don’t want to be behind, you know? I want to provide for them. I want to be able to give them everything.”

Jacob let out a long sigh. “You can’t give them everything if you’re not there. Money doesn’t mean shit if you’re not around for the real stuff. The stuff that makes you a father. The stuff that makes you a man.”

Zilla was quiet, the weight of his cousin’s words sinking deeper. Jacob wasn’t wrong, but Zilla wasn’t sure how to fix it. He wasn’t sure how to balance everything—his career, his responsibilities, and the life he was trying to build with Dahlia.

“You’re gonna have to figure it out, uce’,” Jacob said softly, his voice lacking the bite it had earlier. “But you don’t have much time.”

Zilla nodded, feeling the sting of the truth in Jacob’s words. He didn’t know what to say, or what he could do, but the idea of losing time with Dahlia and the baby wasn’t something he was ready to face.

As the light turned green and Jacob accelerated the car, Zilla sat back, his mind racing with the gravity of what his cousin had just told him.

—

Zilla felt the familiar weight of exhaustion hit him as soon as he stepped off the plane. Salt Lake City, Utah—a new city, another city to add to the list of places he had been. It felt like he was always on the move, always chasing something, but never really getting anywhere. He and Jacob grabbed their bags and piled into an Uber, the car humming along as they made their way to the hotel.

Once they arrived, Jacob was quick to make plans with Joseph, suggesting they hit the gym before their next obligations. Zilla just nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t in the mood for a workout, or small talk. His body ached from the travel, and his head felt heavy. “I just need rest,” he muttered, brushing off his cousin’s suggestion.

Jacob didn’t push. He grabbed his bag and went off to meet Joseph.

Zilla stood in the hotel room, looking around at the sterile white walls, the made bed, the tiny desk where he had placed his things. He felt the familiar gnawing frustration start to rise in his chest. All he could think about was the tension between the life he was living and the life he knew he should be living. Dahlia. The baby. His future.

“Fuck this shit,” Zilla muttered under his breath, grabbing his bag and heading for the bathroom. He turned the shower on full blast, letting the steam fill the room as he tried to clear his mind. He let the hot water pour over him, the heat seeping into his muscles, but it did little to ease the unrest inside. His thoughts kept drifting back to Dahlia, to the baby he wasn’t sure he was ready for, but knew he had to face.

After the shower, Zilla grabbed a fresh set of clothes. He dressed a little nicer than usual, something more refined. His eyes fell on the pair of boxers he had left in his bag, folded neatly, but there was something more hidden in them. His fingers traced the inseam before he made a decisive cut. Inside was a small bag of powder, neatly tucked away. Zilla didn’t hesitate. He pulled it out, stared at it for a moment, before snorting the contents. His mind went blank for a moment, the high settling into his veins.

“Fucking Houston TSA.. don’t know how to tell what a bag of coke looks like..”

The bag was discarded, hidden away in the trash, and Zilla quickly wiped away any trace of the evidence. He didn’t have time for anyone to question him. He needed to keep it together. He grabbed his wallet and keycard, shoving them into his pocket, and left the room without a second thought.

The hotel lobby was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound as he walked past the reception desk. He made his way to the bar, his footsteps heavy but deliberate. The dim lighting of the bar was comforting, almost inviting, and Zilla settled into a seat at the counter, ordering a drink without a second thought.

He didn’t know what he was searching for, but he hoped the answer would come eventually. Maybe this was the only way to drown out the constant pressure—the feeling of being stuck in the middle of everything.

Zilla ordered and thanked the bartender. He took a long sip of his Jack and Coke, the warmth of the alcohol settling in his chest as the tension in his muscles started to ease. His eyes scanned the bar, the low buzz of conversation blending with the soft clinking of glasses. He was trying to shut everything out, trying to enjoy the brief peace that came with being away from everything he was avoiding.

That was until he heard the voice.

“Hey, fresh meat.”

Zilla froze for a moment before slowly turning his head. He wasn’t expecting to see her. Cora Jade—her face unmistakable, her presence magnetic. He hadn’t seen her since that night they had danced, the night Jacob had to pull him away from her after things had gotten a little too heated. He remembered the heat of her touch, the way her perfume had lingered in the air. But he wasn’t in the mood for distractions tonight.

“No offense, but I’m not in the mood,” Zilla muttered, keeping his voice low, nursing his drink as he turned back to face the counter.

Cora wasn’t easily deterred, though. She slid into the seat next to him, her presence a little too close for comfort. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air, sweet and intoxicating. She smiled, a knowing grin that bordered on mischievous, as she leaned in closer.

“I can be an ear if you want,” she said, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. It had that sultry quality to it, the one that Zilla knew all too well. She wasn’t just offering a friendly ear—she was offering something more, something dangerous, something he wasn’t sure he could resist.

Zilla stiffened slightly, his fingers tightening around his glass. He had to admit, there was something about Jaida that always drew him in. The way she used her voice, her manipulation skills, the way she seemed to know exactly what to say to make him feel like he wanted to talk. But he couldn’t let her in—not tonight. Not after everything.

He glanced at her again, his eyes scanning her face, but it was hard to read her intentions. Was this just casual? Or did she have another game to play?

“I don’t need to talk,” Zilla replied, his tone a little sharper this time as he tried to focus on his drink.

Cora smiled, unfazed. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “You sure about that? You’re not fooling anyone,” she teased, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of his glass. “I know when a guy’s got something on his mind.”

Zilla stared at her for a moment, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. Cora was persistent, and Zilla knew she was good at getting people to open up, even when they didn’t want to. But he wasn’t ready to let her in, not with the mess his life was right now. Not with the thoughts of Dahlia and the baby clouding his mind.

He took another sip, this time with more force, and forced himself to meet her eyes. “I don’t think you’re the one I need to talk to,” he said, his voice firm.

Cora’s grin widened, and Zilla knew she wasn’t going to walk away easily. But for once, he didn’t let her pull him in. He wasn’t in the mood for her games. He just needed a little peace—even if it meant shutting her out.

Zilla let out a sharp breath, rubbing his temples as Cora’s persistence wore him down. He wasn’t sure why he even gave in, but something about the way she kept pushing, her voice low and smooth, made it hard to keep up the wall he’d built around himself.

Cora leaned in a little closer, her eyes never leaving his, as if she could already sense the cracks in his resolve. “I’m just here to listen, Zilla. No judgment. Just… talk. It’s easy. You’ll see.”

“Fine,” Zilla muttered, the words leaving his mouth before he could think better of it. “But don’t go thinking I’m gonna spill everything. I got enough shit going on already.”

Zilla sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him. It wasn’t like he wanted to unload on her, but the tension in his chest was suffocating, and he knew he couldn’t carry it alone for much longer. Maybe talking about it—just getting it off his chest—might ease the pressure, even if it was just for a moment.

“I got a baby on the way,” Zilla started, his voice low and rough. “And I’m still trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. I’m not ready for this, I don’t know if I’ll ever be, and I feel like everyone’s waiting for me to get it together, but I can’t even get myself together. There’s always something…”

Cora didn’t interrupt, just sat there, watching him with a calm intensity that made it hard for him to look away. For the first time in a while, Zilla let himself breathe and let the words come out. It was almost like he couldn’t stop once he started.

“My family’s all over the place. Jacob’s been on my ass, making everything feel like it’s a bigger deal than it is. And Dahlia…” Zilla paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know if I’m doing right by her. I’ve got this kid coming, but I’m still not sure what kind of man I’m supposed to be.”

Cora sat back in her chair, nodding slowly as she let the words settle. She didn’t speak right away, just gave him the space to finish his thoughts. But when she did, her tone was almost soothing, like she was guiding him through the fog.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cora’s voice was gentle, almost teasing, but there was something comforting in the way she spoke. “You just needed to say it. Sometimes, just putting it out there makes it feel less heavy. You can’t keep everything inside forever, Zilla. It eats at you.”

Zilla frowned, leaning back in his seat as the weight of her words lingered. He wasn’t sure if she was right—if talking about it really made it easier—but for the first time in a while, it felt like a small weight had been lifted. Still, he wasn’t about to let himself get too comfortable with this. Cora was just someone he’d met again tonight, and he couldn’t let himself be fooled by her smooth words.

“What do you mean?” Zilla asked, his voice still low, guarded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cora gave him a look, one that held a mix of understanding and something else. Maybe sympathy. Maybe something else he couldn’t place.

“I mean exactly what I said,” she replied, her voice almost motherly. “It’s just talking, Zilla. It doesn’t have to be some big dramatic moment. You don’t have to have all the answers. You just have to keep moving, keep breathing. That’s how you get through it. One step at a time.”

Zilla stared at her, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and wariness. She didn’t know him, didn’t know everything he was going through, but there was something in the way she talked that made it hard to dismiss her completely.

“I don’t know if that’s gonna fix anything,” Zilla muttered, looking down at his drink, unsure of what to feel.

Cora leaned in slightly, her gaze never leaving him, the intensity back in her eyes. “It won’t fix everything, Zilla. But it might make it easier to figure out what to do next. Talking always helps. Trust me.”

Zilla didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He just sat there, feeling the weight of her words sink in, even if he wasn’t ready to fully admit it. He wasn’t sure if talking would help him, but for now, it was the only thing that didn’t feel like a dead end.

She leaned over the bar to order another round of drinks—a tequila sunrise and two shots of Patron, her hands steady even as she swayed just slightly. Her smile was almost predatory, but Zilla didn’t seem to mind. He barely noticed when the alcohol started to creep up on him, making everything blurrier, a little softer around the edges. It felt good, in a way, to let go and just be in the moment.

“Don’t worry about it,” Cora said as she slid the drinks across the counter toward him, the clink of the glass louder in the quiet bar than it should’ve been. She slid a shot toward him and took one herself. “My treat.”

Zilla hesitated for only a second before tossing back the shot. The warm burn of the alcohol slid down his throat, mixing with the hazy, almost numb feeling creeping over him. He wasn’t sure what it was—maybe the tequila, maybe just the weight of everything, but it felt good to drown in it, if only for a while.

Before he knew it, after several drinks and topics that were useless, Cora was leaning in again, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that Zilla had seen before but never really paid attention to. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the loneliness gnawing at him, but he didn’t stop her when she smiled and said, “Let’s go up to my room. I’ve got a bottle I’ve been dying to crack open.”

Zilla blinked, his mind swimming in the fog of the alcohol, and before he knew it, he was nodding, following her toward the elevator. He wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t questioning what he was doing. The weight of everything was too much, and for just a moment, the idea of losing himself in something—anything—seemed like a way to escape the crushing pressure.

Before he knew it, they walked down the hall to Cora’s room. Zilla felt the walls closing in, the dim light of the hallway creating long, ghostly shadows. Cora opened the door with a keycard, stepping inside with a smirk on her face as she gestured for him to follow.

The room smelled faintly of vanilla and something else—a hint of that familiar perfume he remembered. Zilla sat down on the bed as Cora dug around in her bag. She pulled out a bottle of something expensive-looking and casually cracked it open, pouring them both generous sips before sitting beside him.

She handed him the bottle, her fingers brushing his as he took it. He could feel the alcohol working faster now, his mind fogging, the edges of reality blurring. She took her own sip, not breaking eye contact, her smile widening as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Here,” she said, handing the bottle back to him. “It’ll help you forget. Just relax, Zilla.”

He didn’t respond right away. He took another sip, the liquid burning on its way down. Cora was right. It did help him forget, just for a second. He felt lighter, less… trapped.

They traded the bottle back and forth, each sip taking him deeper into a haze that felt both comforting and dangerous. Every time the bottle passed between them, it felt like he was giving more of himself away, but in that moment, he didn’t care. Everything he was running from was forgotten, slipping through his fingers, fading into the background.

The alcohol was working quickly now. Zilla felt dizzy, the world spinning around him in a way that made his thoughts scatter. Cora’s voice seemed muffled, but her touch was clear, her fingers lingering a little too long as she passed him the bottle again.

His breath was uneven, his chest tight. Something in his gut told him he should stop, should get up and leave, but Cora’s eyes were locked on him, her gaze pulling him in like a magnet. She leaned in closer, her lips close to his ear as she whispered, “It’s just you and me now.”

The words rang in his head, making him feel even more disconnected from everything he was trying to run from. He should’ve stopped, should’ve left the room before things went further, but in that moment, he was caught in the haze. It was easier to stay, easier to let Cora’s presence wash over him.

Zilla shifted on the bed, his vision blurring even more, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t think about Dahlia, about his responsibilities, or the future. He just… existed in this moment.

Cora’s lips pressed against Zilla's with a sudden urgency that pulled him in. The world around him felt like it was falling away, the weight of everything in his life fading into the background.

Her hands slid up to his face, cupping it gently as she deepened the kiss, her touch confident, almost commanding.

Zilla hesitated for just a moment, the fog of alcohol clouding his thoughts, but that hesitation quickly dissipated. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this detached, this free. He didn't think about Dahlia, didn't think about the baby or the responsibilities that weighed him down. All he knew in that moment was Cora’s hands on him, her lips, the heat of her body close to his.

She pulled him closer, her fingers threading through his hair, the kiss becoming more demanding, more heated. Zilla's mind was a blur, the alcohol mixing with the pull of desire, the confusion of where he was and who he was with.

The weight of his emotions, of his struggles, seemed to disappear entirely as he kissed her back, his hands moving to her waist, instinctively pulling her in even closer.

Cora didn't break the kiss. She knew exactly what she was doing, pushing all of his boundaries in a way that made it impossible to think clearly. There was something about the way she moved, the way she took control, that made it hard for him to step back, even if part of him knew he should.

He couldn't walk away now. He could feel the tension, the pull between them, and for once, it felt like the chaos of his life was far away. Everything lately had been a blur of stress and responsibility, but now, with Jaida's kiss still lingering on his lips, it felt like he had finally found an escape, even if it was only temporary.

Cora broke the kiss just long enough to look into his eyes, her breath shallow as she spoke with a sly smile. "You're not walking away from me now, are you?"

Zilla opened his mouth to respond, but the words stuck in his throat. He wanted to say something— anything-but all that came out was a breathless exhale. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it was as if every part of him was locked into this moment, unable to break free.

"Good," Cora whispered, her lips brushing against his jaw before moving down to his neck. "I thought so."

As the kiss progressed, Zilla opened his eyes and they fell on his phone in the corner of his vision, the soft glow lighting up the dim room. Dahlia’s contact picture flashed across the screen, the pink heart next to her name pulling at him in ways he couldn’t ignore. The image of her kissing his cheek sent a rush of warmth through him, a reminder of everything he had at home, everything he had almost thrown away in that moment.

Without thinking, he shoved Cora off of him, the sudden motion startling her. She stumbled back, confused, trying to catch her balance. Zilla’s pulse raced, not from the heat of the moment, but from the weight of the realization crashing down on him. His mind cleared, his heart settled where it always should’ve been: with Dahlia, the mother of his unborn child.

He didn’t even glance at the phone as it buzzed with Dahlia’s call still coming through. Zilla shook his head, trying to push out the fog of alcohol and temptation. This wasn’t him.

“I ain’t doing this shit,” Zilla said, his voice firm but strained.

Cora tilted her head, clearly taken aback. “You were just fine a minute ago,” she replied, her voice teasing, trying to reel him back in.

Zilla stood up, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted his clothes, trying to regain control of himself. “Yeah, until I realized where my loyalties are at,” he said, the words feeling heavier than they should. He locked eyes with Cora for a split second before turning away.

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Without another word, he grabbed his jacket from the chair and strode toward the door. His heart was already pounding as he walked down the hallway, the echo of his footsteps in the quiet hotel. He had no intention of going back to that room, no matter how loud the temptation tried to call him back.

As he stepped into the elevator, Zilla didn’t look back. He was done. He knew where he needed to be. His mind was set.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime.

[kalims]

Omg requests are open! I hope you get really awesome requests 🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖 may I request leona or ruggie on a rainy night just cuddling and being corny and talking about books or food? (I recently read in a translation that leona likes to read long books so 😳😳)

ㅤits pouring

"is that a book?"

there's a knock on the window by the pitter pats of the rain, smell of petrichor floods your nose. a pleasant smell that relaxes your shoulders. leona smells it better, rain means not having to deal with anyone else because no one's out during the time of the day.

so he bares with a smell, he doesn't dislike nor like it. it's fine, but compared to your scent it's practically nothing.

a chortle from you shifts leona's rather peaceful expression into a gruff frown, an expression you were more used to. he doesn't release the literature from his grasp, only shifting it to the side to take a peek at your chuckling face and steering an irritated stare—though devoid of the fire it usually has.

he scoffs at you. ears folding in itself as if to block out the sound of your voice, you'd argue that his... more animal features only twitched, or swayed because you only spoke. but you know that he is also aware of the fact so he willingly just chooses to settle on the warning from his eyes alone.

you stand in front of his bed. hands on your hips, idly tapping the sole of your foot on his carpet made entirely out of fur (kind of concerning.) and most importantly, adorning a feigned, mortified expression as you nod your head towards the item in his hand. "so what?" he grumbles, only illiciting another laugh from you.

"I didn't know you read, I'd expect.. I don't know, jack to read but definitely not you." you prod gently—teasing. practically pouring gasoline into the fire that's bound to spark, yet.

but it doesn't. he simply offers an incoherent rumble straight from his chest, deep and scratchy as his eyes stray away from your standing figure and back onto the sheet of the page he's been reading. 520. "just because I failed to ascend to the next level doesn't mean I can't read," he deadpans, eyes sliding smoothly over the expanse of words.

his ears, though still folded over itself unconsciously listens intently at your words.

he adds. "that grunt knows how to focus for sure, in exercising. I doubt he deems reading more important than that."

you blink, tilting your head at him. "then, what are you reading? I'm curious what kind of book has you so enamored that you've been cooped up in here all day and ignoring me." that seems to create a reaction in him, tail going still and tense from it's relaxed notion of sways. even his eyes pause on a particular word and grows unfocused as if processing your words.

he looks away. "I.. wasn't." he scowls, wracking through his memory to browse through something that would support his answer but there isn't, because all he remembers is indeed, reading all day, in between naps and besides that the only memory he remembers of you was your sleeping face before you... went to the main grounds...

oops. maybe that was just a slip of his mind.

a sliver of guilt gnaws at him. he stares at your face, the pride in him not wanting to admit to a mistake on his part—his stare is rather challenging, despite his predicament. leona is searching through your eyes, and you allow him indifferently. he knows you too well to believe that you were all but willing to let it slide with how many jokes you've been sprouting.

he concludes you're most likely, if not, a little upset.

leona sets down the book beside him and decides to pour more attention to the more important thing. "why don't you come over here and see for yourself then?" he offers. a bit unsteady with his feelings. your brows raise, contributing to an unimpressed stare.

"are you trying to seduce me?"

"yes,"

a quick, laid back answer said so casually. it was very leona-like, so much so that your blank face breaks into a little grin, and that time his warmth was not present nearly the whole day—your heart soared, and yearned. your brain thinks quickly, listening in and moving your feet without your will. until you've just climbed on his bed, on the edge.

not next to him, just closer.

leona eyes the distance with disdain as he shakes his head at you. "what, being petty?"

you retort fast. "a little space hurts you already, leona? why don't you try me ignoring you half a day?"

when he meets the smug, knowing look on your face he knows this is gonna be your excuse now on to use against him. every single day.

when it seems like you're not backing down he's at the end of his guilt-patience. he leans forward, a hand supporting his weight against the bed as the other reaches out for your limb. it happened fast, too quick for your liking. since when was he storing this haste under that lazy demeanor?! you'd think he moves like a snail (which he actually does.)

but you blink and you're being yanked forward by your arm, by a brute force you're sure you can't even struggle against. more so, he's using a single arm to yank you towards him. he doesn't need two to handle you, just one. you can't imagine if he uses both, practically a kidnapping sentence.

and, you're huddled in his arm, between his legs, on his chest. jailed, and unable to wriggle out with how secure one grip is.

leona casually picks up the book as if nothing happened. placing it in front of you so that even you can read what it is.

the rain falls harder, suddenly you feel warm beyond the cold it brought.

"cat got your tongue?"

his mocking voice echoes in your ear—beside your ear actually, maybe it was the heat of his breath that spread through your face and down your entire body..? you pursue your lips, uncharacteristically unable to make up a quip back because, what were you even supposed to say in this situation?!

and that tight knot of affection you've been admittedly craving all day comes loose just from less than a minute of an embrace from him. "..." you sigh, reluctant to submit to your fate but here you are; body relaxing as though a blanket has been thrown over your body but there isn't because that's just how warm leona feels.

"you're reading, romance?" you deadpan, gaping and stifling a laugh. not minding the nose buried between the crook of your neck from your behind and inhaling deeply. leona grunts on the flesh of your nape, the sound tickling.

"stop laughing." he groans. "what, you want me to say being with you got me in a mood?"

lovey-dovey mood?

your laughing ceases, and he's the one chuckling at your obvious fluster. he kisses the spot where his lips are. "I was wondering if there was a story as glorious as ours."

beneath the muffled song of rain, is that of peace.

520, represents "love."

[l2vedive]

GUTS w. sim jaeyun & park jongseong

scream au + graphic description of violence, murder and mention of character deaths (923)

featuring: park chaeyoung (isa) from stayc, ning yizhuo (ningning) from aespa mentioned, lee heeseung from enhypen

pairing(s): jake sim x fem!reader, park jongseong x fem!reader

note: PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !!! in honour of spooky szn, here's something i came up with after a scream binge. might turn this into a series but lmk what u guys think by rbing and liking , enjoy !!!!

you stand there, surrounded by chaos and deception, as the truth becomes clearer and more sinister by the second. jay's unconscious form lies on the floor, a pool of blood forming around him. you can't help but glance at jake, his face twisted in pain and desperation.

"where have you been?" you demand, your voice trembling.

jake winces, clutching his bleeding side. "i got attacked. it was brutal— fuck! — it was so fucking bad, yn." he rambles.

with scepticism still gnawing at you, you hesitate to accept his explanation. the phone rings persistently, a deafening reminder of the danger closing in. jake's voice grows more urgent: "don't answer it. it's ningning, i'm telling you!"

but you can't ignore the ringing any longer. your curiosity gets the best of you, and you reach for the phone. just as you pick it up, the closet door flies open with a loud crash, and ghostface emerges, armed and menacing.

fear courses through your veins as you face the killer, and jake immediately steps forward to shield you. it turns into a frantic, deadly chase through the dimly lit room. ghostface lunges, and you dodge, narrowly avoiding the blade.

desperation surges within you, and you scramble for safety. jake spots the closet nearby, and in a heartbeat, you both rush inside, slamming the door shut. the confined space offers minimal refuge, but it's better than facing ghostface head-on.

darkness surrounds you both, and you're acutely aware of your pounding heartbeats. jake's hushed voice breaks the silence. "stay quiet; they won't find us here."

"oh my god, holy shit. fuck, jaeyun, i don't wanna die," your mind races as you try to make sense of the situation. the closet feels cramped, and you're pressed against each other, refusing to fall over and make a sound. in the tense silence, you suddenly feel something wet seeping through your clothes and a sharp, delayed sting.

your eyes widen in shock, and jake's chilling words cut through the darkness: "you really shouldn't trust anyone, princess."

instincts take over, and you push the closet door open, ready to bolt. but you collide with jay, who's bleeding even more now, his eyes fluttering open. a knocked-out ghostface lies just a few feet away, the horrifying truth of betrayal and deception becoming more twisted with every passing moment.

suddenly, jake's hand grips your shoulder tightly, and before you can react, he stabs you. " ah! " pain shoots through your body, and you gasp in shock and agony. weakness overwhelms you, and you slump against the closet door, struggling to breathe.

jake's voice, now devoid of any sympathy, echoes in your ears. "you really shouldn't have trusted anyone."

with trembling hands, he reaches for the light switch and flicks it on. the harsh, fluorescent light reveals the gruesome truth behind the door: chaeyoung's lifeless body lies there, a horrifying testament to the betrayal that has unfolded.

you're standing there, gasping for air, with pain coursing through your body as you clutch your wounds. jay, groggy and confused, finally stirs, his eyes widening as he takes in the bloodstains on your clothes.

"oh my god, are you okay? what happened?" jay's voice trembles with fear and concern.

your words tumble out incoherently as you point shakily to the closet door. " jaeyun. jake's the killer. jay, we need to leave. call the cops."

jay's hands fumble for his phone, shaking uncontrollably as he dials for help. panic fills the room, and you move to help him stand, your trust wavering. but just as you reach out, he stabs you again, the knife plunging into your side with a sickening twist.

pain courses through your body, and you gasp in shock, betrayed once more. your world spins, and you slump against jay, your heart heavy with disbelief and agony.

he takes out a small device, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "surprise, yn. bet you didn't see that one coming."

tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to comprehend the relentless betrayal. "jay, why ? " you manage to whisper, your voice filled with hurt.

but there's no remorse in his eyes. instead, he taunts you, "because i did, baby."

except jay doesn't finish that sentence. the other ghostface, the one who was knocked out earlier, begins to stand up from the floor, making his way towards the scene.

jay presses the knife against your throat, forcing you to watch as ghostface removes his mask, revealing heeseung, your boyfriend, whom you thought you had watched die.

your heart sinks as confusion, anger, and betrayal swirl within you. this nightmarish reality has blurred lines, leaving you grappling with a revelation that defies understanding.

the room definitely feels colder now, and the air is heavy with tension. heeseung, or rather, ghostface, fixes his gaze on you, his voice laced with a chilling calmness. "you thought you'd come out of this on top, baby? think again."

fear grips you as you realise that nothing is as it seems. the person you believed was dead is standing before you, wearing the mask of the very thing that haunted your nightmares.

jay, still holding you hostage with the knife to your throat, smirks. "we planned this all along, babe. a little lesson for you."

your mind races, trying to make sense of the deception. you thought you knew these people, trusted them with your life, and yet here you are, trapped in a web of lies and betrayal.

as heeseung advances, you're left with the sickening feeling that there's no escaping this nightmare.

— please do not copy , translate or repost any of my works anywhere.

© l2vedive on tumblr

[partially-controlled-chaos]

Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte X f!Rook (Veil Jumper Rook. Unnamed, but heavily implied backstory) Rating: Good for everyone because it's fluff. Warnings: Mentions of nightmares and possibly PTSD from Rook, but mostly just sad Rook and fluffy Lucanis. Also grumpy Spite because it's Spite. Summary: After the dragon attack in Minrathous and Treviso, the choice that had to be made haunts Rook. Guilt and shame snake their way into her dreams, causing sleepless nights and panic induced episodes of sleepwalking. Her hands are stained with the blood of innocents and who better to wash it off than an assassin for hire. Word Count: 11.9K

an: I'd taken a bit of a break from writing, but the brain rot caused by Lucanis Dellamorte has struck me hard. This was originally supposed to be a little drabble, but it very quickly got out of hand. Set after the dragon attack in Minrathous and Treviso, but before Siege of Weisshaupt.

Full can be found under the cut or in the link above on AO3!

The rich, aromatic scent of a special Antivan blend coffee filled the dining hall as it sputtered and rippled through the coffee maker, the smell soothing Lucanis as he fought off the ever persistent gnawing of his demon. His eyes remained focused on the coffee maker, watching the brew with a scowl as Spite scratched at the edges of his mind, clawing and snarling with a ferocity that had been dormant for a few days. But, that was the routine he now faced. Even with coffee, days without sleep was making his control over the demon more and more precarious. He couldn’t remember how many cups he’d had over the course of the day and into the evening, but considering he was running low on clean mugs, it told him all he needed to know. 

We had an agreement. Spite hissed beside Lucanis, crouching like a caged animal. We. Want. Out!

Lucanis ran calloused hands over tired eyes, letting out a lengthy sigh as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Spite had been incessant for most of the day. Screaming and shouting in riddles and half formed sentences about agreements and leaving, making less and less sense the longer the day dragged on. He was tired, both from the lack of sleep and the constant snarling of the demon that inhabited his body. Perhaps with a few hours of sleep he could think with a clearer mind and satiate the mad ramblings that bounced off the inner walls of his skull, but it was too risky now to try and rest. With the rest of the team asleep or in their rooms for the night, it wasn’t wise to rest his eyes. It would almost be inviting for Spite to take control and send them into the endless abyss of the Fade or through the evluian to Maker knows where in an attempt to escape.

“Enough!” He shouted at Spite clawed at his back, the flesh burning and itched under phantom nails and fingertips. Spite appeared in front of Lucanis again, teeth bared and almost frothing at the mouth as he prepared to either lunge or actually rip at the tender skin of Lucanis’s throat, but stopped almost instantly. The demon stood straight, his mood instantly calming as he sensed the approach of the one person he actually liked.

Rook.

Spite turned towards the door, his nose pointed towards the ceiling, sniffing in short bursts. His face twisted and contorted as he searched for the right words.

No. Not right. Rook is here. But also. Gone.

Before Lucanis could question in incoherent ramblings of the demon, the door to the dining hall swung open suddenly, the force behind the shove strong enough to knock the solid wood against the stone wall with a sound that echoed in the near silence of the room. Rook stumbled into the dining hall, her bare feet padding against the stone floor with an uncoordinated haste. The doors to the dining hall closed, cutting off the ever illuminated sky of the Fade outside and bathing the room in firelight once more. Both demon and assassin watched in uneasy silence as Rook clumsily made her way towards the wash basin, seemingly not noticing Lucanis’s presence in the room.

Rook discarded the blanket that she had wrapped around her form, unceremoniously dropping it to the ground as she made her way across the room, making Lucanis avert his gaze at the sight of so much bared flesh. Even in her downtime, Rook was never undone in the way she dressed. When not clad in armor, Rook could always be found in well put together Arlathan leathers that covered most of her freckle-kissed skin. Lucanis had never seen more than the skin of her hands and bare feet as she flitted around the Lighthouse with a graceful ease, but now there was very little that wasn’t covered.

Dressed in nothing more than a simple sleep tunic, Rook appeared rather disheveled. The collar of her shirt had slipped over the elegant curve of one shoulder, revealing skin that rarely saw sun or the gaze of another. The hem of the tunic opposite of the bared shoulder had been lifted with the shift of the fabric, teasing the smallest hint of the smallclothes that beneath the off-white fabric. Her legs were bare, toned muscles flexing and tightening with each frantic footstep towards the sink, illuminated nicely in the crackling light of the fireplace.

Smells like. Sweat and leather. Afraid. Although Lucanis had looked away from Rook in such a vulnerable state, he was powerless over the infatuation Spite had over the amount of skin on display.

Rook stood at the wash basin, bumping into the counter with a light grunt before her hands began tapping almost blindly around for whatever she was searching for, her movements almost frantic as she went. Eventually, she grasped the carafe of water by the edge and tipped it over, the stone of the water container clinking against the wooden bowl as water poured from the spout and splashed against the sides of the basin. Rook pressed her palms against the bottom of the washing bowl, submerging her hands in the cool water before rubbing them together in an attempt to clean them hastily.

“Rook?” Lucanis called from across the room, his body still partially leaning against the coffee counter as he observed her unusual behavior, yet was met with only silence.

Before he could recall his personal demon from slinking around Rook, Spite had scuttled up to the elf, watching her with absolute curiosity as she scrubbed more and more frantically at her skin. He pushed himself off the counter, slowly meandering towards her, a hand wrapping around the knife he had stashed behind his back in his waistline. 

Although Rook had a tendency to rush into things head first and think about consequences later, she was still careful when it came to combat. She moved with an almost otherworldly ease and swiftness combined with a deadly accuracy when equipped with her bow. She preferred attacking from a distance, allowing her an advantage and better opportunities to see the battlefield as a whole instead of having something sneak up in the heat of the moment. However, she wasn’t afraid to jump into the middle of the action with a sword and rapier. 

Such an opportunity had arisen earlier that day in the Hossberg Wetlands, which left an unpleasant taste in Lucanis’s mouth as his mind started to form unfounded ideas as to what had Rook in such a frenzy. He, Rook, and Davrin had been knee deep in mud and sludge collecting blight samples for Antoine and Evka when they had been swarmed by a group of darkspawn. The battle that ensued was fierce and bloody, leaving everyone exhausted and soaked from head to toe in swamp water, although relatively unharmed. The singular casualty of the day came in the form of Rook’s leathers, which had been sliced through cleanly with a javelin on the upper arm. Rook was more upset about damaging her favored armor than she was the wound that had been inflected on her flesh, but had later admitted to how the cut ached after the adrenaline had worn off.

Lucanis had patched her up quickly enough in the moment with a few swipes of a clean rag dampened with part of a healing potion and wrapped the wound in a scrap of cloth to protect it from any other impurities in the water they trudged back through to get home. The cut had appeared fine at the time, large and deep enough to bleed but not enough to scar. But, most importantly, the wound and surrounding area had been cleaned well, he was sure of it. She had acted normally on the journey back to the Lighthouse through the Crossroads, showcased her usual appetite at dinner, and had joined him for their nightly cup of cioccolata calda after almost everyone had turned in for the night.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the horrid idea that blight had gotten into Rook’s system through the unassuming cut struck Lucanis in the heart like one of his knives, twisting and wrenching as he inched closer. He wasn’t sure how to put it into words, but he had begun to care for Rook in a way that was equal parts exciting and terrifying. Relationships, either platonic or romantic, were not his strong suit. He was much better equipped with a blade than a quill for fine words and romantic gestures. As far as he could tell, there was nothing romantic going on with Rook, but there was something present that he couldn’t quite place. She’d pulled him from the Ossuary after a year of torment, taken him in and trusted him despite being possessed by a demon of spite, and she was always so, so kind to him even when he couldn’t find kindness for himself.

He wasn’t completely oblivious to her moments of flirtatious banter, but he always took them with a grain of salt. Rook was kind and gentle and flirted with everyone on the team; it was her nature. But sometimes late at night when he fought sleep, he liked to imagine that perhaps she flirted with him a bit more than everyone else. That maybe the softness and warmth in her eyes when she looked at him meant something more than simple friendship brought out by a job, but he would never admit it aloud. The thought alone terrified him, but also brought feelings of sorrow. He was a deadly assassin possessed by a demon; death, pain, and spite were all he knew. It wasn’t the type of misery to share with someone else, especially not someone who had done so much for him in so little time.

However, in this moment the thought that terrified him the most was thinking that everything could come to a complete halt if she was indeed infected with blight. No one lived long once they’d been blighted. By the time Lucanis had settled at her side, Rook had found the bar of soap sitting on the edge of the basin and held it firmly enough to where her knuckles had turned white. Her nails dug into the hard soap as she soppily scrubbed her hands and fingers, even reaching up to her forearms. He cleared his throat, hoping the noise would be enough to get her attention, but was once again ignored. His eyes fell to her bare shoulder where her tunic had fallen and realized it was the same arm that had been bandaged earlier in the day.

With a gentle touch to not startle her, Lucanis used two fingers to peel back the edge of the fabric of her shirt and expose more of the bandage. At first glance, the wrappings around her arm appeared to be fine with nothing oozing, leaking, or smelling. Slowly, he placed the very tips of his fingers to her skin. It was warm, but not in a way that was alarming. In the few times she touch had met his, he was always met with a gentle and wonderful warmth; something that was mild and soft. He’d half expected her skin to be ablaze with heat and pulsing with blight, but his fears held no weight when he saw she was of normal temperate and complexion.

“There’s blood on my hands,” Rook said finally, her voice soft and on the verge of breaking, “can’t you see it?”

Lucanis quickly snapped his touch from her arm, thankful that she had not mentioned the intrusion. A twinge of guilt settled in his chest for the inspection, knowing Rook didn’t particularly care for causal touch. He glanced to her hands, finding them to be soapy and pink from her frantic scrubbing, but blissfully clean of blood. His gaze then shifted to Spite, who had already taken to sniffing along Rook’s personal space.

Smells like. Lavender and salt. No blood. Only fear. Spite picked up the scent of lavender and salt from the bar of soap she’d purchased from the vendor in the Veil Jumper camp; something to remind her of home, but he too sensed no blood.

“It won’t come off,” she continued, her voice now turning into the whine that comes before a sob as her lip trembled lightly, “I can’t get it off.”

His eyes traveled to her face, looking over her features for any signs of blight. No darkened tendrils had sprouted from around her eyes and the orbs were still green and not reddened from corruption. His gaze traveled lower, cautiously inspecting what he could see. There were no blotches of darkness cascading down the column of her throat, but one thing did catch his eye. Deep red scars on her chest appeared in the absence of her tunic to keep them covered, the wounds almost purple with how deep they went. He’d never seen the marks before, given that she always kept herself well covered, but she’d also never mentioned them. They ran parallel with her collar bones, turning sharply and descending along the length of her sternum. Each line was dotted along the sides with pinpricks for holes, evidence that at one point they had been stitched together. Lucanis yanked his gaze back towards Rook when he realized that has inspection of her scars had him staring at the curvature of her breast and the realization that nothing else was underneath the shirt in terms of clothing.

He found it to be good timing as Rook all but threw the bar of soap in the basin and reached for the hard bristled brush that was used to scrub pans. She began raking over the soft skin of her fingers at a distressing pace. Rook’s eyes were typically bright and clear, a piercing green that always had a warmth to them, but had gone dull. Her gaze was almost glazed over as if her mind were in a thick fog or if she was somehow looking past her hands and to some inner depths of the Fade. With eyes that were half-lidded and heavy when she blinked, Lucanis recognized the look. Rook was sleepwalking.

Here. But also. Gone. Spite’s ramblings now made sense. Rook was in the Lighthouse, within arms reach, and safe. Perhaps a little confused, but nothing that couldn’t be solved by getting her back into bed and asleep. But, as Spite noticed, her mind was gone from these walls and wandering somewhere in the Fade, the realm of dreams, and was disturbed by whatever she saw that her own physical body had to run away. He admittedly gave a small sigh of relief, pleased to know it was simply a bad dream that had her acting erratically and not blight coursing through her veins. Lucanis removed his hand from the hilt of his blade and wiped his palms on the front of his vest, smoothing the fabric.

“It won’t come off.” Rook whispered, her eyes met his, but her consciousness seemed far away. 

“May I?” He motioned towards her hands with a quick nod of his head, seeking permission for a touch before simply reaching out. Even dazed by a dream, there was a hesitancy within Rook. Her body bristled at the question, her heart thrumming and was evident by the twitching pulse point in her neck; fear. 

Rook was finicky. She could charge head first into battle against Venatori or Antaam without hesitation or fear, but flinched under a seemingly friendly touch. Of course essential touches were different and most certainly welcome, whether it be wrapping a bandage around a teammate after a particularly brutal fight or being hoisted up on a roof when she nearly missed a jump. She wasn’t obvious with the aversions she did have, but after years of working as a Crow, Lucanis knew how to read body language. Sometimes there was a subtle tightening of her muscles, an intake of breath, clenching of the jaw, a smile that was a bit too practiced to remain polite as she dodged a pat on the shoulder; rehearsed and performed more than once.

Although he couldn’t put a definitive answer as to why she shied away from physical contact, there was something lurking beneath the surface to her aversion, but would never explicitly state why. Rook was a closed book when it came to sharing personal details, which he can’t say he didn’t sympathize with given that he often did the same. Lucanis knew she had joined the Veil Jumpers not long before she paired with Varric and hailed from Arlathan Forest, but much more past that was a mystery. 

Perhaps the only member of the team that knew anything about Rook was Bellara, who had known Rook before she ever got the moniker or agreed to fight gods. But, being the ever loyal and genuine friend of their leader, Bellara had sworn herself to secrecy. Lucanis had lost count how many times Neve had cornered the mage in the kitchen to get the tiniest bit of information about Rook. Apparently even the greatest detective in the Tevinter Imperium couldn’t dig up anything about Rook.

The sudden movements of Rook’s nodding head pulled Lucanis from his thoughts. Carefully, he took the scouring brush from her grasp and placed it back along the edge of the wash basin. He took her hands in his own, glancing to her eyes once more to look for any of her usual signs of discomfort, but was met with her sleep heavy eyes and the same trembling lip that had greeted him earlier. The backs of her hands were swiped over a few times before he began rinsing. Cupping one of his palms, Lucanis poured handfuls of water over her fingers until they were mostly free of soap. He worked quickly, hoping to get her calmed and back to bed before she either collapsed from exhaustion or found herself wide awake holding hands with an assassin while being a hair’s breadth away from standing nude in the dining hall.

“No!” She whined, freezing Lucanis in his spot, “Not clean. Blood. Dripping.” For a brief moment she almost sounded like Spite with his unusual way of describing the world around him. Water dripped from the tips of her fingers as they hovered over the wash basin, her dream controlled mind mistaking the droplets for something far more sinister. 

With a light nod, Lucanis set to his task properly. Picking the bar of soap up and out of the basin, he twirled it in his grasp a few times, lathering his own skin in a thick layer of the scented solution. He took Rook’s hands in his own again, carefully smearing the tops of her hands and palms with the lather before settling on just one hand at a time. Her hands trembled and shook against his own, fingers tightly clenching around his. He softly thumbed over her knuckles in an attempt to soothe, waiting for her grip to loosen before continuing. He wasn’t entirely sure if the trembling was a result of the nightmare or that he was touching her.

“Whose blood is it?” He moved methodically, gently cupping her wrist with one hand while the other set to the task of properly washing over her skin. His thumb moved across the back of her hand in sweeping motions, lathering each bit of skin with the floral soap, Spite watching in awe at the bubbles that formed with the movement. Lucanis took each finger one by one in his own, lathering soap along one side from knuckle to fingertip, swirling around her cuticles and along the underside of her nails before descending back down the opposite side and repeating again.

“Minrathous.” The sob she tried to suppress earlier finally broke free as tears fell from her eyes. Lucanis felt his heart clench at her words and tone.

When dragons attacked Minrathous and Treviso, Lucanis had hoped deep down that Rook would come to his aid in his city, but never expected it. He was all too familiar with the threat the Venatori posed if they managed to take Minrathous and, in hindsight, knew in his heart that Treviso was not the wise choice. A merchant city was nothing when compared to the heart of Tevinter, but it never stopped him from pleading his case to Rook. He’d left before she’d made her call, never expecting to see her twisting through the streets of Treviso to stop a blighted dragon.

He couldn’t describe the feeling that latched onto his heart when he saw her running at full speed towards him in the city, jumping over rubble and ice to find him. Her bare hands had found his cheeks, the warmth of them melting away his icy exterior in a few heartbeats. She’d held him firmly in place, checking him over for injuries before simply asking if he was all right. He remembered nodding as an answer before she pulled from him to turn to Teia and Viago, who gave her as much information as they could about the dragon haunting the skies. His cheeks burned for the remainder of the fight, but he was certain it wasn’t from exhaustion or the battle.

Rook fought the blighted beast brilliantly, landing more hits on the abomination than he or Davrin combined. She showed no fear when standing face-to-face with a god, even going so far as to taunt with the enchanted dagger she kept on her hip. All done without fear or hesitation to help his city. To help him. Ever since that day, Lucanis found himself smiling more, especially when she was around, and even cracking a smile at her godsawful puns. His face was quick to flush if she ever looked at him for more than a moment and would have trouble finding his words when they spoke, more so than normal.

But while he had found himself almost a touch lighter in recent days, he knew the same couldn’t be said for Rook and Neve. Neve hadn’t returned from Minrathous since the attack, staying behind to help and reverse some of the damage. He wasn’t there for the conversation, having stayed behind in his own city to quell small fires and coordinate with the fifth and seventh talons, but the unusual silence and somberness from Rook signaled that Minrathous had not fared well and Rook had been ribbed fairly well. Rook had offered to stay and help Minrathous how she could, but she later in the dead of night, she confided in Lucanis that Neve wanted nothing to do with her for the time being, understandably so. 

Rook wept that night in the safety of her room in the Lighthouse, away from prying eyes and hushed whispers. Lucanis had only noticed that she cried more than she slept when she crept into the dining hall in the early hours the following morning to steal a cup of coffee and bread from the night before. Her eyes had been red-rimmed and wet and her voice was hoarse. He invited her to sit at the dining table and made the coffee for her, sitting with her in silence as she drank; never explicitly asking her to discuss the issue, but offered an ear if she wanted to talk. She never did. 

Rook placed a high value on living creatures, only considering the death of someone when it was absolutely necessary and even then there was some degree of remorse. Saving lives is what had her exiled from the Veil Jumpers and she had expressed countless times that saving the lives of fellow jumpers was much more important than any knowledge that could have been found some flimsy old map. The loss of life showcased in Minrathous had weighed heavily on her and Lucanis could only assume that it was heavier than she let on because she was the one who decided to go to Treviso instead. 

“Their blood is on my hands.” She whispered as tears streamed down her cheeks, “They’re all dead because of me.” Rook took a sucking breath, the air catching in her chest before the exhaled and tried again.

“Shhh.” Lucanis shushed softly, the sound slipping from behind his teeth as he shook the soap and water from one of his fingers. When his skin was dry enough, he hesitantly reached forward, his thumb barely grazing the skin of her cheek as he clumsily wiped away falling tears. Rook leaned forward and pressed her head against Lucanis’s shoulder at his touch, her body relaxing against his. Lucanis cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping that maybe the sound would be enough to have her straighten back up. Instead, she remained pressed against him, the occasional warm tear slipping from her skin onto the pressed fabric of his shirt. 

With her ear pressed firmly against his chest, Lucanis could only hope that she was oblivious to his heart pounding away in his body. He tried to distract himself by resuming his duties of hand washing, but Rook’s breath was warm against his throat. Her breath came in even, steady puffs that slowed as time went on. It didn’t take Lucanis long to realize that she was falling asleep. Lucanis gave a few final strokes of his fingers against her skin before lacing his fingers with hers, gently turning her palm towards the ceiling, using the leverage of intertwined digits to seamlessly shift her hand. His thumb rubbed small circles in her palm, showering the skin there with the same amount of care and attention he had previously shown the top. 

They spent the rest of the moment in silence, Rook’s eyes beginning to droop as sleep beckoned her once more and Lucanis repeated the cleaning process on her opposite hand. Her hands were surprisingly soft, given her skill with both blade and bow. She had the faintest beginnings of callouses forming on her fingertips from the string of her bow and a few forming along the heel of her palm from her sword. He imagined they’d formed more quickly since their fight against the gods started.

Once he, and of course Spite, were sure her hands were thoroughly scrubbed, Lucanis poured the remaining water from the carafe over her hands. Rook shuddered at the cool water, her eyes fluttering open briefly, but not enough to wake her from her dream-induced midnight waltz to the dining hall. She settled back against him rather quickly, dangerously close to falling asleep in the kitchen and on top of Lucanis.

“Is this better?” Lucanis asked quietly once the last traces of soap had been rinsed away, craning his neck as best he could to steal a glance at her face and see if she was still awake. Rook brought her damp hands up towards her eyes and gave a half hearted attempt at an observation, but was ultimately happy with their cleanliness.

“Better.” She echoed his words with a weak nod, her voice was slurred and soft with exhaustion as her eyes gave another slow blink. Satisfied with her answer, Lucanis took a dish towel from the counter. He placed it over her damp skin and blotted Rook’s hands dry, being careful not to tear the small cuts that formed with the dish brush she had raked frantically over her skin. 

“Come on, Rook,” he said after tossing the dish towel into the wash basin, “you need rest.” Rook’s eyes were fully closed by now and she merely gave a small hum in recognition, but made no effort to move. 

Lucanis managed to pull his arm from between them, pressing his palm against her mid back as he gingerly nudged her from his chest. Rook was uncooperative and instead doubled down, leaning more heavily against him, her fingers hooking around the small crow buttons on his vest. He floundered momentarily, unsure of exactly where to place his hands against her to guide her back towards her quarters. The night shirt she was wearing had shifted with her movement, twisting tightly around her body and bunching together in the wrong places. 

“Mierda.” He whispered harshly as his fingers grazed a piece of bare skin somewhere along her stomach as his free hand latched there in an attempt to have her stand straight. He desperately tried not to think about how he was certain his little finger ghosted over the hem of her smallclothes. Spite snickered from behind Rook’s shoulder, finding Lucanis’s struggle to be immensely amusing. Lucanis shot his a straight lipped glare as his mind raced for a solution.

These situations were always much easier and significantly more romantic in the novels he read at night than it was in reality. He knew that if this was literature, he would have swept Rook up into his arms like a true romantic and carried her bridal style across the courtyard, up the spiral stairs of the library, and through the heavy doors leading to her room. From there, he would drape her across the chaise lounge that she considered a bed and she would wake up in just enough time to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a searing-

He shook the thought from his head with an actual shake. Now was certainly not the time to indulge in unrealistic daydreams while he supported a rather vulnerable Rook against his person. Lucanis ultimately decided that dragging Rook back to her room was out of the question. Carrying her while draped across his shoulder might actually make Davrin or Harding think he’d killed her if they happened to cross paths. Instead, he settled for shuffling across the dining hall and to the couch he’d almost forgotten about while Rook leaned heavily against him, her feet only working to take a step wither every four of his. Spite remained on their heels, assisting Lucanis in thought more than action.

It took a bit of time and maneuvering, but Lucanis was able to finally guide Rook to the couch near the door, using two hands to make sure she was firmly planted against the cushions and not at risk of falling forward and onto the stone floor beneath them. Her eyes cracked open just enough for Lucanis to see that they were still glazed over and that she more than likely had no idea what was going on around her, but he couldn’t help the warmth that crept up his neck when she gave him small, blissful smile.

Leaving her perched precariously on the edge of the couch, Lucanis retraced their steps and found himself by the door, standing over the blanket she’d hastily discarded when she entered. He bent forward, scooping up the knitted mass in his arms to return to Rook. The fabric was soft and ever so faintly warm in the centermost parts, suggesting that this was a blanket Rook used while sleeping. It was sage green in a chunky knit and very obviously well loved. The fabric was thinned in some places, fading along the edges, and had torn and been mended by Rook to the best of her abilities. Perhaps in his spare time he could make her a new one to keep as a spare. Knitting was good dexterity training, after all. 

Spite had left his post from beside Rook and appeared next to the blanket, sweeping his nose across the surface of the fabric and inhaling sharply.

Smells like Rook. He said simply. Smells. Nice.

Lucanis hummed in agreement, running his fingers over the fabric a few more times before returning to Rook. By the time he’d come back to the couch, Rook had slumped to the side, her head resting awkwardly on one of the small decorative pillows that sat in the corner of the seat while her legs remained in their previous spot. Her eyes were closed and her breaths were slow and deep, signaling that she’d finally returned to sleep. Lucanis smiled softly to himself as he glanced to her face, which seemed much more relaxed than he’d seen in the past few days.

He tossed her blanket at the foot of the couch, letting it rest momentarily as he focused on making her as comfortable as possible. Gently, he secured his hands on her calves, lifting gently until her legs were lying along the length of the couch, being careful not to lift her shirt in the process. He once again averted his gaze as her tunic shifted and bunched anyway as her hips and legs adjusted, still wanting to give her as much privacy as possible. He couldn’t help but notice the scars on her legs that matched the ones on her chest in both color and depth, suggesting that maybe they occurred at the same time. Once seemingly wrapped around her knee on one leg and another around the ankle of the opposite with one particularly deep one on her thigh. 

Once Rook was secured, Lucanis snatched one of the pillows that sat in the chairs that Neve and Bellara frequently used when they chatted in the dining hall. Being gentle and careful not to wake her, he placed his hand on the underside of her neck, lifting slowly until there was a space large enough to slide the pillow into. With the extra support, Rooked appeared to be much more comfortable and hummed softly as she nuzzled into the fabric. Finally, Lucanis took her blanket into his arms once more and spread it over her sleeping form, lightly smoothing over the fabric with his hand without putting too much pressure on her.

“Keep an eye on her.” Lucanis said to Spite, pointing from the demon to the elf finally sleeping peacefully. He didn’t have to tell the demon twice. Almost immediately, Spite had crouched on the ground beside Rook, his arms crossing on top of the cushions on top of the cushions before he rested his chin on his own arms, simply watching. 

With the excitement of the evening dying down, Lucanis felt the ever familiar lull of sleep calling his name from the inner depths of the Fade. Spite had finally calmed because of his current fascination of watching the steady rise and fall of Rook’s chest or investigating every little whimper or mumble that passed through her lips as she slept, which left Lucanis in actual silence for the first time in days. He still didn’t feel comfortable, however. Spite could easily take over while he rested and he didn’t want to entertain the thoughts of what Spite might do to Rook while inhabiting his body. 

Coffee. He needed coffee.

Thankfully, the pot he was brewing when Rook barged in was still hot and fresh and he promptly poured himself a cup. He gave a content sigh as the steam from the coffee wafted into his nose as he brought the cup to his lips, the familiar smell bringing a sense of comfort. Lucanis took a long, slow sip, the brew was wonderfully dark and rich and just the right balm to soothe the fraying edges of exhaustion. Initially, he’d planned on returning to his cot in the dimly lit pantry with coffee in hand to attempt to finish the latest serial Bellara had given him, but now that Rook was asleep in the dining hall, he felt conflicted.

On one hand, Rook deserved some semblance of privacy. She was barely dressed in a communal space after experiencing what must have been a rather disturbing nightmare, so a peaceful sleep for the remainder of the night was certainly needed. She frequently spread herself thin between elven gods, blood mages, a brutish army, and requests from the team that ranged anywhere from walks in the forest to life altering decisions; she needed to rest and needed to do it without disturbance. 

On the other, Lucanis didn’t fully trust that Rook wouldn’t sleepwalk again and do something dangerous. She was already near the door and it would take would be to take one too many steps once outside and plummet into the abyss of the Fade surrounding them. Honestly, he found it to be a miracle that she didn’t lose her footing on the questionably floating stones of the courtyard on her way over to begin with; forever thankful that she decided to go to the kitchen and not to see Bellara or Harding with their questionable masonry. 

Ultimately, Lucanis decided that if he went back into the pantry, he would drive himself mad with checking on Rook every once in a while to ensure she was still firmly seated in place on the couch. To reduce possible noise disturbance from repeatedly opening the pantry door and for the sake of his already frazzled sanity, Lucanis pulled up a chair from the corner of the room and drug it near the couch. He was within arms reach of Rook in the event something were to happen, but angled himself to where she could sleep without being watched head on. 

Stepping inside the pantry for a brief moment, he pulled the loaned book from his cot and brought it back with him to his seat in the dining hall. Lucanis eased into the chair with a tired sigh, nestling his back along the hardened frame while perching the ankle of one leg atop the knee of the opposite, laying the open book in the triangle crated from the bend at the knee. The handle of his coffee mug remained looped around his two middle fingers as it rested on the arm of the chair, still steaming in his grasp.

Lucanis ran his fingers along the edges of the pages as he read, quickly getting lost in the words on the page. He found it astounding with how much easier and more enjoyable reading was when he didn’t have a demon screaming in his ear every waking moment. It was peaceful, even, which was something he hadn’t truly felt since before his imprisonment in the Ossuary. He never thought that he could find a peaceful moment as an abomination, either through the stigma that brought or the actual antics of the demon, yet he found himself enjoying a book and a cup of coffee in pleasant, although sleeping, company. 

He glanced to Rook, a small smile tugging at one of the corners of his mouth as he watched her steady breathing and listened to the small whimpers she would release on each exhale. She looked as peaceful as he felt, hoping that whatever dreams that came to her were pleasant ones. It was the least she deserved after all she did for the team, but especially for him. Lucanis never expected someone who valued life so highly to want to be close to someone who dealt death so freely, but Rook always managed to seek his company and seemingly never judged him for it. She knew his trade and knew that he had killed countless people over the years. He was dangerous and lethal, yet she accepted him for it without hesitation.

And that danger was only enhanced now that he shared his body with a demon of spite, and yet Rook was unfazed by the spirit. Although she couldn’t see Spite, it never stopped her from including him in daily life around the Lighthouse. Asking how they were both doing as she cleaned dishes after dinner, inquiring about what scents Spite preferred to make him calmer, even going so far as to entertain his incessant questioning with a genuine response. It was no wonder the demon favored Rook. Perhaps it was naivety on her part, given that he wasn’t exactly sure how familiar she was with the world outside of Arlathan, but perhaps it was a wisdom far beyond what he could comprehend. He wondered if he should be concerned with just how fascinated Spite was with Rook in return, but for the time being he relished the calmness of the moment. The feeling created a fluttering in his chest that he didn��t quite understand. 

In a sudden movement, Rook groaned softly as she shifted in her sleep, rolling onto her back and releasing a long sigh before quickly settling back into place. Her arm shifted as she did and slid over the edge of the couch, bending at the elbow and dangling just above the ground and straight through the astral being that was Spite’s leg. Lucanis could see the visible excitement on Spite’s face as he ghosted his touch over the bared skin of her arm, enthralled with how her skin prickled at the mild electricity that emanated from Spite’s fingers. 

“Spite.” Lucanis said firmly but quietly, not wanting to wake Rook. He nudged the demon with the toe of his boot, shaking his head slowly, signaling him to stop his investigation and let Rook sleep in peace. Spite grumbled for a bit before ultimately settling back down, not wanting to miss a moment of being this close to his favorite person.

Satisfied, Lucanis took a sip of his coffee before returning to his book, running his fingers over the edges of the pages once more while Rook slept soundly for the rest of the night. Hours passed before Lucanis pulled his gaze from the pages of his novel after hearing a small whine that turned into a deeper groan. Rook’s limbs and body were moving, her arms lifting upwards and then straight back as she pulled them into a deep stretch, her back arching up and off the cushion of the couch with a few audible pops of her back. Her legs stretched out in front of her, trembling after a few moments with the intensity of the stretch. Lucanis looked back towards his book as half the blanket covering her body slipped off her form with the movement, exposing her legs to the warm air of the dining hall. 

Rook’s body relaxed into the cushions once more with a satisfied huff, her eyes remaining closed as she rolled onto her stomach, one arm snaking under the pillow as she scrunched it under her head, her hand hanging over the edge of the cushion landing delicately atop Lucanis’s thigh. His body tensed at the touch, unsure of her state of consciousness, although ultimately deduced she must have been somewhat aware of her surroundings as her touched changed. Instead of simply resting against him, Lucanis felt Rook’s fingers begin to move across the fabric of his trousers, blindly patting up the length of his leg in and attempt to figure out what she was touching.

“Rook.” Her name fell from his lips in the form of a croak, the wandering and curious nature of her hand lighting a flame that burned across his cheeks. The movement on his leg froze, Rook’s fingers scrunching into a ball before slinking back and from under the pillow like a viper in a hole. Rook raised her head, her eyes finally opening as she slowly blinked. 

“Lucanis?” Rook asked groggily, her eyes squinting to adjust to the little bit of light radiating from the fireplace. He stole a quick glance as she remained on her stomach rose onto her elbows, the corner of his mouth turning upwards at her appearance. As all great romance novels portrayed, people just waking up were the epitome of beauty and grace, waking up blissfully with perfect hair and perfectly pressed night silks. Rook, on the other hand, was plucked out of Arlathan Forest and not a romance novel. Her hair was messy and wild from tossing and turning before marching into the kitchen, she had sleep crusted in the corner of her eyes, and he thought he saw the faintest remnants of dried drool stuck to her lip; far more beautiful than anything he’d found in a book. 

“Good morning.” Lucanis tried to say as casually as possible, purposefully keeping his gaze on anything but the delicate skin between her neck and shoulder or down the expanse of her bare leg. With a small grunt, she flipped to her side once more, scratching the remnants of sleep from her eyes as the collar of her tunic slipped over the crest of her shoulder again.

“Why…” She paused momentarily as she glanced around the room once more, “am I in the dining hall?”

“You don’t remember?” He asked softly. Rook looked at him quizzically, head tilting to the side as she took in his response, “…You were sleepwalking.” 

“Ah. Of course.” She said, almost sorrowfully. “Must have been a bad dream.” Lucanis hummed, confirming her suspicions, but didn’t press the issue further. Using the heel of her hand, Rook rubbed at her eyes as a deep yawn overtook her. She buried her face into her pillow and released a long groan, making Lucanis keenly aware that Rook was not a morning person.

“Coffee?” He offered after a long pause, waiting to see if Rook wanted to discuss her late night journey further. 

“That sounds wonderful.” Her voice was muffled by the pillow. Lucanis stood silently, placing his book in his chair before making his way to the coffee pot across the room. 

This wasn’t their usual morning routine, but Lucanis found it peaceful regardless. Typically, Rook found him in the early mornings before the others could come from their rooms and make their way to the dining hall for breakfast. It would begin with the distinct creak of the dining hall door opening just enough for Rook to slip through before closing with a soft click. From the silence of his cot in the pantry, he would listen as her bare footsteps padded closer to the door, noting on the pace. Quick, light footsteps meant she was in a particularly social mood and he could expect a chatty morning. If she hadn’t slept much the night before, he could tell from the slow and heavy footfalls and he always made sure to brew a strong roast. Usually, her pace was steady and soft and the direction the morning conversation took would depend on him.

As she trotted her way to the pantry door, he would wait for Rook’s usual knock before calling her inside. A quick set of three, one single, and two final knocks greeted him every morning before Rook would poke her head inside and greet him with a smile that was always warm and friendly. Lucanis insisted every time that she didn’t need to bother with knocking, considering he’d decided to sleep in the pantry, but Rook would have none of it. She always rebutted by saying he deserved a sense of privacy and a place to call his own.

Lucanis scooped beans from his strongest variety of coffee into the grinder, ensuring there would be enough for the two of them. As he set to work on milling the beans into a fine grind, Rook stayed silent. By the time he’d finished grinding and had begun scooping the beans into the coffee pot, Lucanis heard a soft rustling and another yawn behind him. He stole a quick glance over his shoulder as Rook began sitting up, pausing briefly to give a final stretch of her arms over her head. He averted his gaze once more as her tunic twisted and clung to places that would have left very little to the imagination had he kept looking.

“Do you sleepwalk often?” Lucanis asked as coffee began to bubble and brew in the pot.

“Not as much as I used to,” Rook as she sat up fully, pulling her tunic back atop her shoulder, “but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t doing it more often recently.”

“And you said this is because of a nightmare?” In as many mornings that they shared together, Lucanis couldn’t recall a time that Rook had been up and wandering around. In fact, he always assumed she slept pretty soundly given that she was always properly dressed and put together by the time she made her rounds. 

“If a dream gets bad enough I’ll get up and walk around. I guess it’s some last ditch effort to wake myself up.” She said with a shrug, “Usually I’m awake by the time I get to the library, but I guess I was in too deep this time. I also tend to have more clothes on…” Rook’s voice tapered as she overlooked her sleeping ensemble, a blush forming on her cheeks. 

“Same dream every time?” Lucanis pulled the two remaining clean mugs off the shelf in front of him, a matching pair from the tea set Rook had purchased for him not long after they met. 

“Oh, no, they vary. Back before Varric found me, I always dreamed about…,” Rook paused suddenly, as if she realized something private had slipped out, “but lately it’s been about whatever new horror we stumble upon. New experiences. New regrets. New nightmares. Vicious cycle.” She changed course quickly, wrapping her blanket around herself as she stood before joining Lucanis beside the coffee maker.

They stood in silence together as they watched the coffee drip into the lower reservoir of the machine, the drops fast and frantic against the stillness of the dining hall. The fire in the room had begun to die down from its roaring blaze, blanketing the room in a soft glow. Lucanis wanted to say something to make Rook feel more at ease; something to take some of the weight off her shoulders and let her breathe. But finding the right words never came easily to him. He was much better at stuffing down his emotions and letting them fester and brew until they hardened within him. In an impromptu attempt at comfort, he reached forward to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but decided against it at the last second. Thankfully, the bowl of sugar cubes sat beside her elbow and gripped that instead of her arm.

“I don’t even remember what I dreamt about last night.” Rook glanced around the room, her brows knitting together in thought, “Why did I come in here?” Her head rolled to the side, looking to Lucanis for answers. 

“You came to, well, wash your hands.” Lucanis wanted to find a way to mention the sleepwalking without divulging the reason why. He wasn’t particularly keen on reopening freshly healed wounds.

“To wash my hands?” Rook’s face scrunched at the thought, nose crinkling in confusion, “I walked all the way in here just to wash my hands?”

“You were very adamant that they were clean.” Lucanis plucked cubes of sugar into Rook’s coffee mug until three rested neatly on the bottom, sliding the sugar bowl away once he was finished. Although he preferred his coffee rich and black, he knew she preferred hers sweet, as she did most things.

“I’m sorry,” Rook said softly, “I feel bad for troubling you.” Lucanis waved his hand in a dismissal of her apology.

“Don’t be. You’re no trouble. You slept well once we got you to bed.” He avoided her questioning gaze as he began to pour fresh coffee into each of the cups.

“We?” Rook all but squeaked, the slightest bit of panic hiding in her voice. 

“Spite and I.” Lucanis reassured gently, “I believe he thinks he was more help than he actually was, but he did keep watch.”

“Maker, take me.” Rook groaned as she ran her hands down her face, “You shouldn’t have had to make sure I didn’t tumble head first into the Fade.”

“Of course I did,” Lucanis said matter-of-factly, glancing up from his cup, “how else would I get paid?” Rook snorted a chuckle which quickly turned into a fully bellied laugh.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a wide grin, her laugh subsiding, “I wasn’t aware you were being paid, Master Dellamorte.” Lucanis scoffed at the name.

“I’m contracted two kill two elven gods and I don’t get a single gold piece?” Lucanis said with feigned offense, “That’s not exactly a fair trade, Rook.” He tried to sound firm and insulted, but the smile on his face quickly gave him away.

“Is that why you have a contract negotiator?” She teased, leaning her hip against the counter as her blanket slipped from around her shoulders. 

“Precisely.” As a final step, Lucanis stirred the sugar in Rook’s cup of coffee until it was dissolved.

“But if you kill two gods, you can increase your prices tenfold. I’m helping you invest in a very profitable future.”

“Work for free while building that experience and I have to make all the coffee?” He asked with a playful lilt to his usually smooth voice. He handed her the steaming cup of coffee, pleased as she waited to reply until after she’d inhaled the aroma.

“Well, would you rather me make the coffee?” Rook took a long sip from her mug, the little moan she made when the brew touched her tongue was enough to make his heart pound in his chest and encourage Spite to join in the conversation, the demon lingering between them as he sniffed at their coffee and made comments on the differences in aroma.

“Rook, I’ve had your coffee and that was the closest anyone’s ever gotten to killing me.” He shifted beside her, being mindful to keep a bit of distance between them. And even though the distance between them was small, Lucanis could still smell the faintest hint of sea salt and lavender from her skin, the scent mixing with the strong aroma of the brew. 

“It’s not that bad.” Lucanis shot her a deadpan look as he paused from sipping his own beverage. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you manage to do it.” He continued, his fingers pinching together and his hand shaking to embolden his words, “You pour water over coffee grounds and it comes out thicker than cioccolata calda. What do you do?”

“Secret recipe from Arlathan that I’m not allowed to share.” She quipped, trying desperately to suppress a series of giggles, but failing spectacularly. 

“Mierda, Rook,” Lucanis grumbled, leaning back against the counter, “you keep your secret recipe from Arlathan far away from my coffee pot; you and Neve.” The simply memory of Neve’s boiled coffee was enough to make him shudder. 

There was a sudden change in the air, the mood of the conversation quickly shifting from something playful and, dare he imagine, even flirtatious, to tense and uneasy. Rook’s grip tightened on her cup, her fingernail picking at the embellished rim as she sighed heavily. Her eyes shifted downwards, no longer wanting to meet his gaze.

“Neve…” Rook said softly, the smile having quickly disappeared from her face and replaced with something somber. Lucanis cursed himself for bringing up the detective.

Idiot. Make. Rook. Sad! Spite growled from between them, snarling at Lucanis with bared teeth and squinted eyes.

“She’s won’t actually say it, but she’s so angry with me.” Rook muttered after a stretch of silence, “Not that I can fault her. I also wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t come back.”

“She will,” he said simply, not exactly sure how to remedy the situation, “You know she can’t leave something unsolved.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that, but it doesn’t seem to make things better.” Rook mumbled, still not meeting his gaze. Instead, her eyes remained glued to the floor and she shifted against the counter, anxious and ready to move. 

Rook had a hard time staying still when something rested heavily on her mind. It wouldn’t be abnormal to see Rook pacing the courtyard after a particularly rough day or to find her lapping the inner circle of the library if she couldn’t quite figure out a deeper question in the fight against the gods. Rook shook her free hand by her side with a slow exhale of a breath, something she frequently did when the group encountered something tough out in the world. A way to relieve nerves before they weighted too heavily on the mind.

“Rook-” He said her name in an attempt to calm her down and bring her back to the moment, but she cut him off before he could try and soothe her nerves.

“The people of Minrathous are dead because of me. I made a choice that got people killed. People died, Lucanis.” Tears began welling in her eyes again, but she hardened, refusing to let them fall and show vulnerability now that she was conscious and free of her nightmare.

“You’re blaming yourself for something out of your control.” He countered. 

“Am I not to blame? I made the call.” Her voice was unusually short, the sorrow she’d previously felt being very quickly replaced with anger. 

“It was an impossible choice. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the gods. Neve may blame you for now, but it’s unjustified and she’ll see that with time.” Rook scoffed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe he couldn’t see the logic in her argument.

“She is justified. Look me in the eyes right now and truthfully tell me that if you went home to Treviso and found hundreds dead and blight infecting the canals that you wouldn’t look at me differently.” 

With that, Lucanis looked away. His gaze fell to the floor as he pondered her question, effectively giving her the answer she was looking for. He would like to say that he would stand behind Rook no matter what. She had saved him from the Ossuary, returned him to his family, and treated him like an actual living person despite the demon that infected his body. Yet, there was hesitation when it came to answering. His heart cracked at the idea of seeing his home, his city, infected with blight. 

He imagined tendrils of black and red ooze wrapping around the buildings, longer pieces stretching high into the sky like damnable fingers that clawed at the heavens. The thought made I’m sick to his stomach, an uncomfortable combination of fear for what could have been if Rook had chosen Neve over him and anger for the actions of the so called gods. But in this came the realization that if this had been the outcome of that fateful day, he knew in his heart that they would not be standing here now sharing an easy cup of coffee between them.

“I don’t know why Varric chose me.” She said softly, her voice once again breaking through the increasingly loud thoughts in his mind.

“Do you wish he hadn’t?” He asked quietly, seeing that her anger had faded and was once again replaced with something sombre. 

“Sometimes,” Rook’s voice was small, almost whispering, “and I can’t help but think that I’m getting people hurt with every decision I make.”

“As long as those people are our enemies-” Lucanis started to say, but Rook quickly cut him off again.

“And what about when they aren’t? People are dead because I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time. I tried to stop Solas’s ritual and Varric paid the price. I had to make a call on Minrathous or Treviso, but no matter what my choice was, it would have ended in death and destruction for one of them.” She took a long drink of her coffee, eyes closing as she savored the taste and tried to swallow the rising fear with the drink.

Lucanis listened quietly, not knowing what to say that could make her feel better. He could see himself in her when he thought about her struggles to lead and his destiny to become head of the Crows. They were both being thrust into a positions they never asked for and had the weight of their respective worlds crushing them without mercy. Responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders in the same way it clung to his, pulling them both into a world swirling in nightmares and sorrow.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to make one stupid decision and get everyone on this team killed.” Rook continued, her eyes still closed, “One decision already lead to Minrathous being destroyed and Neve will never trust me again. How can anyone trust me to make the right call when this all comes to a head? How can I trust myself? ”

She was open and vulnerable, falling prey to the beast of self doubt and despair. Rook was normally the strong one of the group, letting anyone lean on her if they needed. She very rarely took time for herself and he could see the cracks beginning to form in her ‘fearless leader’ mask. She was asking for a shoulder to cry on and Lucanis wanted to be that support for her.

“The Grey Wardens already hate me. The Shadow Dragons would never stand with someone who let their city burn. Don’t even get me started on Strife and the Veil Jumpers.” She exhaled sharply at the mention of her former companions, “And we haven’t known the Mourn Watch or the Lords of Fortune long enough to build a decent connection.”

“You have the strength of the Crows. They’ll stand with you for what you did for Treviso,” Lucanis said confidently, “…and Teia is already fond of you.” His statement caught her off guard. Rook raised an eyebrow in his direction, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

“Teia likes me? Should I be worried?” Rook asked playfully.

“She’s already made it clear that if you ever decide to join the Crows, she gets first shot at asking you to join House Cantori. She said that your strong will and refusal to give up would make you the perfect asset. That and she actually enjoys your company.” 

“Oh?” Rook was smiling now, very much enthused by the sudden change in conversation.

“Viago disagrees, of course.” Lucanis continued casually, resting one arm on the counter behind him, “He thinks that your knowledge of plants and the life you had in Arlathan would make you a better fit for House de Riva. Poisons, antidotes, venomous snake, all of that.”

“I’d have to get on board with the whole ‘murder for hire’ thing first, don’t you think?” Lucanis chuckled around the rim of his mug as he drank the last of his coffee.

“Well, you better get on board fast, Rook. Teia’s already designing you your own cape.” He was delighted to know that his quick diversion had lifted her spirits, but he made a mental note to tell her later that he was also telling the truth. Teia was planning a way to sneakily take Rook’s measurements for a properly fitting cape.

No! Spite yelled suddenly. Tell Rook we. Want her. They. Cannot have. What is ours!

Lucanis grimaced at the sound of his voice, not wanting to admit that he shared the sentiment. Rook did not belong to him. Rook did not belong to the Crows. But if by some grace of the Maker she did ever decide to join the Crows, he would want her to choose to join House Dellamorte. He had not know Rook for too long, but he already couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. He was fond of the time they spent together from their shared coffee in the mornings to their adventures in whatever city needed them; as long as he could spent time just being around her, he was happy. And he did not want to let those moments go.

But deep down, Lucanis knew Rook would never do such a thing. Once the gods were sorted, everyone would go their own way. He would return to Treviso and try to live life as a changed man without the ever steady support he found in Rook and she would go back to her life in Arlathan. She would never want to join the Crows. She would never want to join a dying house with an abomination at the helm. She would never want him.

“Rook, I’m not…good at talking to people. At finding the right words,” Lucanis said softly, “but if it helps, I want you to know that I trust you. You’ll make the right decisions.” 

Spite also. Trusts. Rook!

“…And Spite also trusts you.” He added reluctantly, peering around Rook’s shoulder to briefly glance at the demon sporting a wide grin. Rook couldn’t help but crack a smile at the comment. 

“How long has he been standing there?” She asked, peering behind her shoulder to the empty spot she assume Spite to be standing in. She couldn’t see Spite, but Lucanis could feel the excitement radiating off the demon as Rook glanced in his direction as if she were actually seeing him.

“Too long,” he muttered as he glanced towards Rook, “and don’t stare; you’ll only encourage his behavior.” Rook stared at the empty space between them for a few seconds more before returning back to the cup in her hands. She wiped away tears that threatened to fall with the heel of her palm, sniffling softly. 

Lucanis had read enough romance novels in his time to imagine that now would be the time to reach up and gently cup her cheek, wipe away her tears with his thumb, and kiss her softly, but he didn’t. Rook wasn’t a damsel in distress that needed to be swept off her feet at the climactic end of a book, she was real and she was hurting. He wasn’t good with sweet talking like Illario was and if the end result didn’t involve killing someone, he felt almost useless in the face of Rook’s worry. However, there was one thing he could offer. 

“Do you want anything to eat?” He asked suddenly, “I could make breakfast.”

“I don’t want to make you do more for me.” She said with a final sniffle, “Maker, you’ve already stayed up all night making sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m up every night,” Lucanis said with a light chuckle, “…but I picked up more of those cured meats you liked so much the last time I was in Treviso.” Rook’s expression perked at the suggestion. If there was one thing he knew for certain about Rook, was the easiest way to win her over on something was with the promise of good food. 

“And I stashed away some of the good cheeses you like to snack on in the pantry so Harding wouldn’t find them. We have fresh eggs and cream…” He gently nudged her foot with the tip of his boot, pleased at the sweet smile that slowly started to form. 

“Maybe a quiche?” She asked hopefully. An easy smile spread across Lucanis’s lips.

“Just say the word.” His voice was smooth and low, surprising even himself with its sound.

“Well,” she said quietly, leaning towards him ever so slightly as she met his gaze, “if you’re going to twist my arm like that, how could I say no?”

Don’t. Hurt. Rook! Spite all but howled, his teeth once again bared and ready for a fight.

“Mierda,” Lucanis spat, “it’s an expression, Spite. I’m not actually twisting her arm.” The demon growled lowly, settling back beside Rook, keeping a wary eye on his host. 

Rook giggled at the exchange, elating both Lucanis and Spite at the sound. They stood in silence for a stretch. Both having finished their coffee, but not quite sure what to say next. There was still something tender in the air, Lucanis knowing that what he told her had temporarily soothed the ache in her heart, but also was aware enough to know that the wound had not healed. But Rook, being the ever persistent one that she was, would locked it away and not show weakness in front of the others. She would be bubbly and perky by the time they all settle at the table to eat, pretending that nothing had been wrong only hours before. They counted on her to make the right choice and she couldn’t afford to show any sense of having something bothering her. She and Lucanis really were alike in a lot of ways.

“I should probably get dressed before breakfast,” Rook sighed after a while, “I can’t let everyone know how much of a mess I am.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Lucanis placed one hand over his heart while raising the other, mimicking the action of taking an oath.

“Ma serannas.” She thanked him in elven with a slight bow of her head, her voice quiet as she spoke. Although Lucanis wasn’t completely sure what she had said, he understood the sentiment.

Leaving his coffee mug on the counter beside him before smoothing out his waistcoat with his hands. He met Rook’s gaze, finding her expression lingering in the realm of wanting to speak but not having the courage to do so. He excused himself quietly so he could begin breakfast, stepping around Rook to head into the small alcove that was the actual cooking area. As he made it a step behind Rook, he felt her touch graze his.

“Hey,” Rook reached around as Lucanis passed by her and wrapped her little finger around his, squeezing gently, “thank you.”

“It’s a quiche. I’ve made much harder dishes.” With a roll of her eyes, Rook gave a light tug and pulled Lucanis a step closer. 

They were close enough to where he could feel the echo of her warmth in the blanket as it brushed against his hand. He could smell the faint aroma of coffee as it lingered on her lips and the dying breath of lavender hand soap. Rook adjusted her grip slightly, her fingers climbing against his until they were interlocked securely with one another, firm yet gentle. The previous night aside, this was the most outward physical affection he could recall Rook partaking in and despite being so simple, it was enough to make his heart flutter in his chest.

“I meant for last night. And this morning.” Rook’s voice was sincere and warm, “Thank you for listening.” In all his romance novels, this would be the time to press his lips to knuckles in a chaste kiss, but he knew better. Instead, Lucanis simply gave a small smile.

“Of course. If you need me again, I’m yours.” 

Rook returned the gesture before parting. She still held his fingers in hers as she stepped away, her touch lingering in a reluctance to let go of the moment. Ultimately, she decided to part ways, her grip slipping from his before being tucked into the safety and warmth of her blanket. Her eyes remained on his for two additional steps before finally pulling away and focusing on the door ahead. Rook left quietly, her footsteps treading lightly against the stone and the door closing with a soft click.

Once Rook had slipped through the doors to the dining hall, Lucanis released a held breath as his mind tried to fully wrap around the events of the night. He kept his eyes fixed on the door in the off chance she might slip back through, but soon left to start on the meal they had planned. As he began gathering ingredients, his hand tingled where her touch had been. Her skin was soft and warm, gentle and something to get lost in. While he worked, he could smell the faintest hint of lavender, sea salt, and something that was distinctly Rook.

[emmg]

been binge reading all of your stuff lately i love your fics and takes on raphael so much 😩<3 i don’t know if you’re still doing this but if you are 2 or 20. your last one has me insane about pathetic mess raphael now. and idk it’s hot to think about him all incoherent when he’s usually so eloquent and intentional with his words. maybe tav put a cock ring on him or something so he can’t nut right away idk

(anyways pls ignore if ur not still doing these. good luck with all the grading 😤)

Ask and you shall receive.

No cock ring... but she has a hand and fingers for a reason, eh?

Raphael is beautiful. It’s not something she likes to admit, not out loud anyway, lest it inflates his overgorged ego any larger. It still makes her nervous, still makes her feel inadequate, when he stands, all regal in golden brocade and dark silks, half-curls brushed behind his ears, styled with pommade, nails manicured, skin perfumed. It makes her hide her hands as they are rougher than his, makes her rebraid her own hair, readjust her clothes. Anything to smother that gnawing feeling of being a walking flaw. 

And as much as all that polished perfection technically makes her wet, the real Raphael, the one behind the beauty, is... disappointing. Tragically so. He’s a lazy, self-absorbed piece of shit who genuinely believes that just being present is enough. That simply existing, just happening to be inside of her, should send her into a euphoric spiral, as if the mere fact of his cock being there should inspire religious-level orgasms and revelations.

While he lies there, moaning as if he’s done her the greatest favor, she’s left wondering how someone so physically flawless can be such a cosmic letdown. The reality of Raphael is far from the fantasy, and the gap between what he looks like and what he actually is makes her want to scream.

Sighing, she shifts her hips, rising up until his cock is barely inside her, the head just teasing the edge of slipping out. She pauses there for a second, savoring the control, before slowly sinking back down, feeling every inch drag against her. She’s doing all the work, as usual, trying to find some way to make this feel good—at least for her, because clearly, Raphael’s already lost in his own world of self-indulgence. She tries to focus, to make the slow grind worth something, hoping maybe the deliberate pace will pull some real pleasure out of this mess. 

And, like clockwork, he moans. That same loud, ridiculous moan that used to send a thrill down her spine, back when she thought it was about her. Back when she thought she had some power over him, a devil, no less—a creature that should be above this kind of mortal weakness. The idea that she could reduce him to a writhing, moaning mess had been enough to make her foam at the mouth.

Hell, she could probably brush his cock with a broomstick, tie a rotten piece of fruit to the end of it, and he’d still be making that same damn sound. He’s just as much of a joke as she’s started to feel in these moments, putting in all the effort while he lies there like some kind of prized statue, expecting worship for doing absolutely nothing. 

She lies down on him, rocking her hips in slow, deliberate motions, and finally, finally, the position does something for her. With each shift, her clit drags against his pubic bone, the roughness of his coarse hair adding a friction she can actually work with. She lets out a quiet sigh, her first real sign of satisfaction in what feels like ages.

"Little mouse," he groans, his voice thick with that self-satisfied purr he loves so much, as if he's the one driving this show. His hand drags down his own face, covering his eyes. 

But then his hips jerk up, thrusting into her in these erratic, stuttering movements that finally break his lazy spell. She takes the opportunity, leaning back slightly to capitalize on his sudden engagement. Grabbing his free hand, she guides it to her breast, practically forcing him to participate. His large palm easily covers her breast, and his thumb flicks idly over her nipple. Not bad, but not enough. She pulls his hand away, licking his fingertips to add some slickness, then guides it back. Now it glides smoother, less of that annoying drag, and she lets herself enjoy it, just a little.

Raphael groans again, this time louder, and without warning, he slams his hips up so hard she yelps. The suddenness of it, the sheer force, sends a sharp pain through her lower belly as the blunt head of his cock crashes against her cervix. It’s too much, too fast, and the shock of it makes her wince. Before she can recover, his hands leave her breast and his face, coming to grip her hips tightly as he holds her in place, forcing her still as he pounds into her with all the subtlety of a battering ram. 

"Just... like... that," he groans through gritted teeth, thrusting up into her again. "Stay still, ah-" Another brutal thrust, and this time she feels the cramp tighten in her belly, her body rebelling against his rough pace. But of course, Raphael’s too lost in his own world to notice, driving into her like he’s got something to prove. 

Suddenly, he surges up, flipping her onto her stomach before she even has time to process. His hands grab her hips, roughly yanking them up, and before she can even adjust, he's inside her again, filling her up in one swift thrust. His cock stretches her, the angle hitting just right, but he starts with that infuriatingly slow, uneven pace, that does nothing for her. 

He murmurs something in Infernal—one of his favorite curses. She recognizes the sound even if she’s long stopped trying to understand the exact words. He’s whispered it enough times before. "Such a little, little mouse," he mutters. "So small." 

She tries to push back, to take control, but his weight keeps her pinned firmly to the bed. His legs are spread wide, trapping hers between them, and there’s no escape. His cock moves in and out of her, bleeding warmth, the obscene sound of wet flesh slapping against wet flesh echoing around them. Every few thrusts, he slams into her harder, making her gasp as the head of his cock hits that spot deep inside her. The wet squelch every time he pulls out just to drag himself back in makes her bite her lip, even though the pace is maddeningly slow. 

His hips grind into her, harder now, the pace picking up just enough to send a spike of heat through her core. He groans, deep and low, and his tongue follows, curling into her ear like he’s trying to crawl inside her head. "Who doesn’t know just how small she is," he growls, voice hoarser now as he snaps his hips into her harder, making her body jerk with each thrust. "And, ah, happily comes to the slaughter..." 

Something shifts. His grip on her hips tightens, bruising, and his pounding grow faster, more careless. His cock slams into her deeper, harder, over and over, and she feels her body responding, her walls clenching around him as the pressure builds inside her. She gasps, her breath coming in ragged pants as the pleasure starts to coil tighter and tighter. His palm comes down hard on her ass with a loud smack, and she hisses through the sting, but it only sends another jolt straight to her cunt. 

He fucks her faster, and the momentum of it shoves her up the bed, her clit dragging against the rough sheets with each thrust. The friction sends sparks of pleasure shooting through her, and she moans loudly, unable to hold it back. 

But just as she’s on the edge of something real, he falters. 

Raphael’s stamina runs out, predictably, and he collapses over her, his cock still buried inside her but his weight smothering her. He’s panting against her ear, still muttering those Infernal curses mixed with incoherent rambling, half curses, half nonsense. It’s like being fucked by a lazy dog, one who can’t stop running his mouth even when he’s barely putting in the effort. His hips stutter, the movements sloppy now. 

"You dreamed of this late at night," he breathes into her hair, his voice low and heated, "in your little camp..." His lips brush behind her ear, "by the fire..." and then they ghost down the back of her neck. "Wanted to be torn apart..." His words vibrate against her skin. She feels his cock twitch inside her, his hips stalling as he tries to keep himself under control. 

Except no one’s getting torn apart. Not her, not even close. He’s barely moving, the promise of something wild and destructive reduced to this sluggish, half-hearted performance. She can feel him trembling with restraint, but instead of fucking her, he’s just… there. Stuck.

When he finally lifts his weight off her, giving her some breathing room, she doesn’t hesitate. With a quick twist, she slips out from under him, pushing him back, taking matters into her own hands. 

Raphael sits back on his knees, his cock still in his hand, his face twisted into a frown of frustration. But she’s not about to let him pout. She leans in close, her lips brushing his, licking the taste of him as she breathes in the heat of his exasperation. She grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away, replacing it with her own as she starts stroking him. 

"Yes," she whispers into his mouth, her tongue sliding over his, muffling her words with the wet heat of their not-quite-kiss. "I want you to ruin me." 

His response is immediate, a loud, obscene moan that rumbles through him as his cock twitches hard in her hand. She stops, though, just squeezing the base and watching as it grows even redder, the veins bulging with need. She can feel him throbbing against her grip, desperate for more, but she holds back, enjoying the way his breath hitches, the way he trembles. 

"I want you to rip me apart," she murmurs, her hand slowly beginning to move again, a slow, languid stroke slick with the wetness from her own body and the sweat dripping down his chest and pooling between his thighs. Her palm is sticky, sliding over him with ease as he groans, his head falling back in pure pleasure. There's a tiny speck of drool at the corner of his mouth that she longs to lick away. 

"Raphael..." she sing-songs, and the sound of his name on her lips makes him shudder, another low moan spilling out of him as his body leans heavily into hers, eyes shut tight. But again, she stops. Her grip tightens around the base of his cock, squeezing hard until her wrist aches, until she can feel the frantic rush of blood surging through him, only to be blocked by the pressure of her hand. 

She watches him, feels him tremble, his cock throbbing, leaking, desperate for release. 

From the corner of her eye, she sees him reach for her.

She pushes him back before he can even finish grabbing a fistful of her hair. She knows exactly where that leads—knows the second he gets a grip on her, he’ll have her on her back, legs spread wide, fucking into her with that too-fast, too-rough, too-careless rhythm that does nothing for her. His cock slipping out between thrusts, stabbing at her as he tries to re-enter, curses flying from his lips as he fumbles for his own release. It's graceless, pathetic, the way he chases his orgasm, coming too soon, spilling hot spurts half inside her, half across her thighs, his sweat dripping down onto her face from above. 

She drops between his legs instead. Her hand wraps around his cock, pumping slowly. Up and down, keeping it measured, controlled. When he gets too impatient—when his hips start bucking—she stops, gripping him tightly at the base, forcing him to wait.  

He hisses above her, his cock swelling even more, flushed dark and leaking. The tip beads with precum, and she watches with a satisfied smirk as his whole body tenses. She loosens her grip for just a moment, letting him feel some relief, before squeezing him hard again. 

Finally, she leans down, her breath hot against his skin. She looks up at him, feigning innocence, and murmurs, "Let me… let me make you come like this. You’re so large... you’re going to tear me apart otherwise." It’s pure, utter bullshit, but the sound that rips from his throat in response makes it worth every word. Loud, shameless, pathetic. She almost laughs—almost—but she knows better. Raphael would probably mop the floor with her if she dared.

His eyes stay fixed on her as she slowly, teasingly, licks the moisture from the tip of his cock. She hums against it, the vibration making his whole body shudder, before he throws an arm over his eyes, groaning deeply. 

She sucks on the head, her hands working him in tandem, focusing all her attention there, like she’s trying to melt a large piece of candy in her mouth. She drags it out as long as she can, until his frustration is palpable. His hand moves to the back of her head, fingers gripping her hair, and she finally relents, swallowing him whole. His cock fills her mouth, stretching her jaw, and she takes as much of him as she can, her hand slipping lower to cup his balls, making up for what she can’t fit. 

He bucks into her and hits the back of her throat, making her choke just a little. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, but she holds steady, her breathing calming down as she gets used to the stretch. Her tongue swirls around him, tracing every vein, and she presses it firmly against the weeping slit at the top, savoring the taste of him. Her head bobs, cheeks hollowing with each movement, creating a slick, tight suction that makes him groan even louder. 

She pulls back just enough to spit, coating his length in saliva, though she tries to keep it as quiet as possible. Despite the heat of the moment, she’s never been a fan of the sound, but the wetness helps her glide more easily as she plunges back down on him, taking him deeper. 

Again, he’s watching her, his eyes wide and hungry, and she smiles softly. Raphael never truly wants a whore—at least not fully. No, he wants something more layered. He wants a doe-eyed innocent who worships him but pretends to run. Someone who murmurs no, no, please sir while her legs spread wide. He wants the chase, the thrill of corruption, the power to pin down someone who will moan for him, maybe even shed a few tears.

She’s been the prey, the helpless maiden caught in his web whenever he asked. The one he pressed into the sheets, fulfilling his fantasy of the devil seducing the pious, tricking her into forsaking her vows of chastity. She’s prayed at his feet, his cock the twisted holy sacrament she was made to choke on to seek some mockery of absolution. Absolution that came in the form of too-hot cum spilling down her throat, or, if he felt particularly devout, across her face. And he’d rub it in, smearing it into her skin like the waters of Lathander, as if he could baptize her in filth. 

And then he’d offer her more—grant her the opportunity to climb onto his lap, to show him the dripping, sopping mess between her thighs, proof of his corruption. His fingers would slide inside her, tasting the fruits of his labor, telling her to ride him, and she would. She always did. His tail, for he always wore his true face those times, would snake its way between her cheeks, slick with her own wetness and sweat, teasing her ass, rubbing her raw until she was a trembling, gasping wreck. 

Of course, it would be even better if Raphael could actually last.

Oh, well.

So she smiles, that soft, gentle smile he loves. Always soft, always deceptively innocent. She shows him her tongue, presses it flat against the underside of his cock, ready to take him in, to finish him off properly. But before she can even move, before she has the chance to wrap her lips around him, he comes suddenly, without warning. Hot, thick ropes of seed splatter across her chin and throat, dripping down her skin. She pulls back, hissing under her breath as it to burn, the heat of it searing her skin in that familiar, uncomfortable way. 

He’s already spent, lying there, content, his breath coming in ragged, wheezing bursts between his teeth. His cock softens against his thigh, still glistening with cum and sweat, tangled in the coarse hair at his base. His chest rises and falls in that lazy rhythm of someone who’s already checked out, his focus slipping back into that self-satisfied haze. 

She hums, pushing herself up to leave, her mind wandering to the glorious bath in the corner of the room. The thought of sinking into warm, clean water is the only thing that seems appealing now, after the mess he’s left her in. Maybe she could come on her fingers, since he's obviously not seeing this through. 

But before she can take a step, Raphael’s hand shoots out, catching her wrist in a firm grip. He tugs her back toward him, eyes half-lidded. She tilts her head, curious, waiting, but frowns when the moment stretches out for too long. 

"Clean up the mess you made, little mouse," he whispers, urging her closer. She sighs, her resistance brief and token, before lowering her head, licking her lips as she presses her mouth to his stomach, tasting his sweat, as, above her, he runs his fingers through her hair.