#most nights he wakes up crying and shaking

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Swords in the Court: Peace at Last

Secret Garden

Yandere Don John x Reader

Word count: 5k+

Part 2

Warning: Violence, blood, masturbation, misogyny and a hint of religious rigidity (the fic is set in the medieval era, what else do you expect?)

Note: This story is set in a fictionalised historical setting. Though there are clear inspirations drawn from the real world and history, this tale in no way tries to explain, change or state any historical, political, communal, geographical or religious 'facts'. Kindly treat this short-series as it is, a fiction

Unedited and poor attempt at medieval-world description

He is swinging.

Muffled sounds, yelling, groaning, hooves, metal....

He is laid somewhere.

Cool cloth on his face, and a faint fragrance he fails to grasp, despite being almost within his reach.

Cool, warm–it burns!

John gasps awake, feeling a particular area of his torso burning.

There are muffled voices around him. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, but it dims again.

The next time John wakes up, he is startled by a jerk. Through his limited vision, he can make out two people struggling on the floor. Grunting, he sits up, despite his arms shaking and his vision unclear, but his eyes manage to focus every now and then. 

—--

You know you should not be visiting Lord John’s chamber at this unholy hour. But the royal healer had given you a vial of essential medicine that you forgot to administer. That is the excuse you have managed to come up with as you near his chamber with a water-filled vial. 

Why would you do that?

You should be leaving for the capital by now.

But the Earl and Duke requested that you stay for the feast, which has most of the residents distracted at the moment. Your steps slow down when you do not see a single guard outside his chamber. 

Something does not feel right.

You rush inside his chamber just in time to find a maid holding a dagger. Before you know it, you pounce on her. She gasps, caught off guard and the weapon drops while the world around you tilts as you crash on the floor with her. 

“Who sent you?” You ask, breathlessly trying to pin her, but she elbows you on your side, making you wheeze.

Perhaps fate truly is yours this night. By pure chance, you manage to hold her ankle as she tries to flee, it earns you a haphazard kick on your chin that could have been a lot worse had you not been holding her ankle. But it makes your teeth sink into your lower lip. You do not even register the metallic tang on your tongue as you pull her down with all the strength you can gather. 

“You are going to be found out and beheaded anyway but—bitch!”

Your attempt to negotiate is met with another hard shove. It makes you cry out and lose your hold on her before she scrambles towards the dagger and raises back on her feet. You follow after her, but she already has the dagger in her hold. She is now attacking a sat-up John, who groans, trying to keep the blade away.

It happens so fast. You are not thinking of the consequences, but you get hold of the first heavy item that you find and swing across her face. It turns out to be an elaborate candle stand—heavy, intricate, now marred with the girl’s blood who has fallen, bleeding on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” You rush to a groaning John whose blood tricks through his palm. The struggle has opened his wound.

“Guards! GUARDS!!”

—-----

There is stillness in the chamber, except for the hushed whispers. The ‘maid’ is dead, and while you recover from the shock of having killed somebody, your mind is flooded with questions.

“This is a grave misstep in our honoured man’s safety and it shall be investigated.” the Earl tries to assure.

“Until then…”

“Until then me and Borachio shall be in this chamber with John,” Conrade speaks up.

“He’s right, we cannot give the snakes another opportunity,” Borachio adds.

“Lord Juan must rest. He has already done so much, gone through—”

“I am well, my Lord. Sleeping had almost cost me my life.” 

Whether it is the herbs mixed with pain or an ambush of emotions, it feels as if his voice has gained a layer of gruffness as he cuts off the Duke

“I would like some peace for now.”

“S-sure, My Lord, the knights shall be guarding your chamber every hour of the day and the night from now on.”

With that, the Earl begins to urge everyone to exit the chamber, leaving behind only his two most trusted friends. You follow them out as well.

“My Lady…”

Your steps cease and for the first time in the night after what has transpired, you look into Don John’s eyes. You are yet to come to terms with the fact that you have indeed killed someone. But his eyes seem to have the most alluring shade of brown, especially under the candlelight. The rest of the people have left, leaving only four of you in the chamber.

“I cannot thank you enough…You have risked your life to save mine. I have no clue how to return this priceless favour.”

You did not save his life for a favour. You were expecting nothing at all, you still are not.

“I expect nothing in return, My Lord. I acted on reflexes and by God’s grace, you are unharmed.

“Seems like I have cheated death too many times now.” His lips curve up in a cynical but faint smile before he nods “You have been exceptionally kind and generous to me. I shall never forget it.”

You try searching for anything other than the pure gratitude and admiration you see in his eyes. You can find nothing else.

“You are our honoured guest, I was doing my duty.” 

He saved me once, I am simply returning the favour

You manage to give an appropriate response despite your mind’s state and with a nod, you greet him good night and exit the chamber. Once outside, you feel like you can finally breathe.

—---

The rest of the two days pass in peace—two days. That is how long Lord John can wait before he insists on riding his horse again, against the royal physician's advice. By now, a letter from the capital has arrived, revealing that the Emperor of Spain has officially extended his support to the Kingdom. George has been captured and taken to the capital, and you deem the King of France no fool.

Peace reigns for now.

The journey back is slower, but at least there is no hovering threat of war. Back in the palace, the wedding preparations have taken full swing. 

“You had me on the edge for whole four days, five days, if we count all.” Maddie is by your side as soon as you enter the palace, while a grand welcome is prepared for the commander, and Lord Juan who volunteered and risked his life in the battle.

“I am well, as you can see. Lord John though…By now you must have heard what has transpired.” 

Maddie nods and squeezes your shoulder “Everybody here speaks of your bravery.”

“I didn’t want—” Your throat closes in as you vacantly stare at the crowd cheering for the men entering the palace gates or horses “ I didn’t want to…”

“Hush, I know, I know. Everybody knows you have the Queen’s support.”

You understand that nothing is permanent here.

“But, I don’t understand, what were you doing there in his chamber at that time? There was a feast, right?”

 Your friend’s question makes your thoughts still for a moment and by pure coincidence, Lord John rides through the gates, the cheerful uproar heightens but his eyes rise to meet yours as you stand along with your friend, waiting from above.

“He’s looking at us,” Maddie whispers.

You dare to think that there’s something akin to a smile in his eyes.

“I know.” 

You reply before dropping your gaze and greeting him with a curtsy, subtle enough not to garner attention, but obvious in your movements for him.

—---

Ever since the battle, every waking moment, the image flashes behind John’s eyes—the man, wearing the Kingdom’s armour attacking him. His blade was crimson, and the helmet protected his identity. He was so close, and yet, due to the brutality of warfare and general chaos, John could not quite catch any sign of identification.

But, does he need to?

“I do not understand, you have been quiet since the attack, don’t you want to find out?” Borachio whispers into his ears as they sit to bear witness to the beheadings—a punishment for treason.

The name of the next rebel baron is announced as soon as the fourth head rolls down to the ground.

“Do not appear distracted, Borachio. This is a very important event.” John’s tone gives away nothing, surprising his friend.

“John—”

“We shall not speak of it now.” His jaw clenches with his words and Borachio is wise enough not to poke further.

Throughout his life, John has been playing a delicate dance with death. First, as a boy, when fortune has been on his side and perhaps death, slightly merciful—why else would he survive then?

But as he grew into a man, he learnt that death always followed him, especially as long as he was in the palace—a glaring threat to the Crown Prince’s claim to the throne. He never released how much the weight of the title of ‘bastard’ held until his first brush with death, the first time his steps faltered and he almost fell into the waiting abyss. 

There have been times when he was ready to embrace death—for so long, John the Bastard deliberately danced on the risky side of death, waiting, just waiting to fall finally and be free. But once he understood the potential he had and the power his sword and mind wielded—the freedom that came with being a bastard—his steps slowed and turned more graceful. He wished to live. Ever since, he has not been dancing with death with open arms, he has been cheating death, bidding his time. 

But Don Juan, the recognised bastard knows that death shall take him when it decides it must. He will live. He will live to rise.

He has always been ambitious, but never truly eyed the throne. It was too much. He hated the court, after all. And yet he is a threat. Every breath he takes is poison to his own so-called family. They fear him and paint him as a villain. John knows he is no noble-hearted hero. But he is not a villain either, not yet at least.

He has been a fool, though. He thought that once the Crown was secured, they would let him be. His mentor has never been wrong, the old man told him. But he should have known better. He had enough.

John’s steely gaze remains fixed on the ongoing beheadings. 

Oh how fragile the human life is, one forceful swing and everything turns into a ‘has been’. No sky cries, no leaf flutters and the world moves as it always has. Great deaths make no difference. Great lives do. 

John’s eyes turn to the Crown Prince, sitting with his brothers.

They feared that a child would bring chaos to their empire, and marked him as an enemy ever since his first breath into this world, while all John has ever done is to avoid conflict. As a boy, he stood no chance against them anyway, and he respected his mother and her choices. But the world he is a part of is not run by kindness. She did not believe in revenge, she did not like brutality. But she is gone now. 

He thought choosing tact, winning the Emperor’s favour could earn him what he deserved, a noble title—he could then retire far away from the court, maybe take a wife—he never wanted the throne, he wanted a regal title, he wished to have many dreamed of, rising from nothing, they could keep the crown. And yet they stabbed him from the back— even when he fought for the Empire’s favour. 

But this will be the last time he allows it. He has had enough.

They always feared that the Empire’s bastard son, the true firstborn would be the cause of their downfall. 

So be it.

John turns his eyes back on the executioner as he swings the weapon, cutting off another head—clean and precise, with crimson all over.

He shall turn all their fears into reality.

John vows to himself, watching the head roll down.

Picking up the previously untouched cup, he gestures to a servant to fill it with wine. 

He shall give them a reason to fear him. They have watered the poison tree for too long, now it bears the fruits, and they must consume it. Must face the consequences of their deeds. 

—------

You do not understand its necessity. Why does your presence matter here? You stand behind the Queen and the King, tense and barely keeping your tears from showing. Every death reminds you of the night.

There was blood on the candlestand. It was heavy, carved with gold, maybe—you don’t remember.  But you remember how you hit the girl with all your strength, bringing it down to the side of her head. There was so much blood—-on the floor, on the side of her disfigured face, from the gash on her head. Her hair was matted with blood, her eyes were cold and open and—

A hand on your elbow makes you flinch. 

“The Queen,” Maddie whispers, nudging you.

You look at the Queen waiting with her cup of wine.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” With quick, precise movements, you refill her cup. She looks away but gestures for you to bend and come close. You oblige immediately.

“It is important to stay, George has not been beheaded yet. So chin up and watch. Get used to it if you wish to stay in the court and rise.” 

You stiffen and gulp but nod anyway

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The world is no kind place, you know this much and you have witnessed enough to know how brutal the court can be.

Straightening up, you square your shoulders and steel your heart as you watch George being brought for execution. He is given no privilege of any speech before his death. He has not even confessed to his sin, he does not need to. With his baleful eyes, he glares at the Queen and the King. His lips move as he keeps his eyes lacking any fear or remorse until the executioner swings the axe and his head rolls down, joining the rest on the ground.

You let out a slow quivering breath. This is the first time you have witnessed so many executions together. The Queen ordered that you must be present, so here you are, watching headless bodies fall. 

But you know deep down, that if you cannot stand to witness brutality, you will never be able to rise, have a place in the court. Is it not what you want? What have you always wanted?

Your gaze flickers towards Lord John, sitting at a distance, drinking wine while he watches with the nonchalance that you know only comes with a certain proximity to death and bloodshed. Perhaps he has witnessed many.

 Perhaps that is why he is where he is, at the edge of Dukedom. You conclude, looking away. You want power, so you must play safe now. Lord John seems like a dangerous temptation in flesh and bones.

—------

You feel ashamed, but not half as much as you should. Is it not a sin? Touching yourself at the thought of another man? Regardless of the fact that you have no husband or lover, yet. You lay in your bed, finally able to relax. There is nothing to worry about other than the upcoming feast in celebration of victory, a masque shall be hosted as well. As the Lady-in-Waiting, you have the privilege to choose from some of the finest materials to be sewn together. But none shall be finer than the royal family, of course.

Should you not be wondering about the dress? You need to oversee the food arrangements along with the Earl of Casterwood and, of course, make sure that there is plenty of wine incoming.

You do worry about it, you have been, but you as if seamlessly, your thoughts have shifted to the enigmatic Bastard Prince— Lord John. You admit that throughout your years in the court, you have shielded yourself with the Queen’s shadow, being close to her, resisting temptation. Any fool would think you are religious, but you are not, none of them are. But you know that it is impossible without marriage if you have to climb the ranks. You are a woman, after all.

You admit that apart from a brief, fiery affair with a squire around your age, that sizzled down as quickly as it had burst in flames, no man has made your head turn. He was too eager to bury himself between your legs and you could not have done that to yourself. You never intended to marry him anyway. You never allowed him to go beyond your breasts, and he was sloppy even then. A boy. Yes, you were no more than fourteen, but even then you knew you did not want him, you wanted more.

But Lord John has managed to turn your head and keep your gaze. You are afraid to admit that he is, indeed an attractive man and not just objectively—there are so many of them in the court already. But you find him handsome in every way you know attraction works for you. He is the only man you are afraid can disarm and seduce you before you know it and it has kept you on edge, you want to keep your distance. 

In the darkness of the night though, you cannot help but remember him as you saw him at Katherine's. The body tanned to a beautiful bronze—almost golden, and the way his sheen of sweat made him glow under filtering sun rays. His raven hair is always brushed to perfection, but that day, it was tousled so perfectly, strands falling on his forehead, as if fueling the fire that simmers just below the surface of his deep, dark eyes—the perfect brown, under the sun, it was dipped in gold. His nose almost matches his eyes in sharpness, the straight defined line that shapes his handsome face to allure even the most indifferent eyes. But despite the sharpness and subdued fire in his eyes, there is the subtlety of something—maybe the worldly experience, but it almost seems…soft.

Yet, he possesses a body that seems crafted by some divine force. But you know, it is crafted by skill, war and scars. You saw him that day, half-naked, the pants so loose it almost exposed him to your eyes. Something about the deep, straight scar on his stomach makes him twice more attractive. 

You remember the glimpse of his back against the supple, thighs, the way he bent as his hips rocked in rhythm, it was just a glimpse but that was enough to know. Your hand finds comfort between your legs and you grasp your inner thigh, imagining it to be his hand. They are big, you have noticed that too, but even with the fleeting, formal touches, they have been gentle with you. Tonight, you allow yourself the delusion of a fairytale, imagining him to be a loyal, gentle lover, even though you know that it is far from the truth, none of the men from any royal court can be loyal. You can bet from the stories and whispers you have heard, rarely a man is gentle or cares about anything beyond his own pleasure. You envision the loosely hung pants around his lower waist, the strings in his hold as you rub yourself, slow and firm at first, imagining his thumb on your pearl.

 That day, you heard his laughter—honeyed, deep and echoing in that chamber, and his moans that rang with Kathrine’s. There was an elegant sweetness to the raw masculine sounds. You gasp, feeling the pleasure building, remembering the way his body glowed, the way he sauntered towards you, the mirth in his eyes along with the dying heat of pleasure. You imagine his lips on your breasts, his hips along with yours, moving in rhythm as you gasp, biting your lips to suppress the sounds of pleasure as you come undone, your slick covering your fingertips. 

Warmth flushes in your cheeks and the rest of your body when you open your eyes, floating down from the pleasure with laboured breaths, you sigh and stare vacantly at the ceiling, feeling cold and ashamed of touching yourself to the thought of a man whose intentions are still veiled.

For now, Lord John is an enigma you are strangely drawn to, but you have enough confidence in yourself to not make any life-altering mistakes. Folks like you do not get second chances.

—-----

A few days before the great feast when the engagement and the Spanish alliance are to be declared, the King decides to host a grand game to amuse himself and his guests. The Empire’s fleet shall touch the Kingdom’s coasts in a few more nights—until then, the festivities keep on their swing.

“Does it taste better than the last?”

Maddie and you have chosen a table that offers an unrestricted view of the ground only a few feet below.

“I like the tarts more.” You disagree, taking another tart onto your plate.

“Look at that, how the energy has shifted now. People are cheering for the Princess, the king, the Queen. These days have been so tensed, I couldn’t sleep, worrying about you.”

You smile and hold Madeline’s hand across the table. “It’s done now. The Pretender is dead, France would not dare to take a head-on conflict with Spain by our side, and all we need to worry is about our role in a wedding that shall go down in history.”

“By God’s grace, may this be true.” She squeezes your hand and you return the gesture keenly.

She glances at the ongoing sports when something catches her eye. “Look at that stallion. Isn’t it magnificent?”

You follow her gaze to find Lord John riding his infamous stallion, Igor. You have heard whispers about Igor’s speed, power, and rebellious nature. His hooves will kick anyone but Lord John. Under the autumn sun, Lord John rides his beloved jet-black stallion, its mane dancing with the wind. The simple, white and beige attire suits him. He appears regal with a rugged edge, the kind of man they would write and sing ballads about.

You return your gaze to your plate as soon as you realise that you have been staring longer than you should. You have a world before you. A simple mistake can dismantle everything—all you have earned and built. Besides, the Queen is cautious about him, and so are you.

“What? Don’t you find him handsome? The dashing half-brother of the Crown Prince who led a battle against a looming threat and won?”

You let out a chuckle and meet your friend’s gaze “Write a ballad about him.”

Madeline shrugs “I might, you know me. But there has to be a lady love for that. He wins every battle just to return to her. Someone he burns for.”

“How romantic.” You roll your eyes and drink from your cup “Shall we find him a bride then?”

Maddie tilts her head and scoffs “I think he already has a name in mind.”

You scoff and shake your head when she continues to stare at you, “Oh come on, why on earth would you think that?”

“Mhm.” She smirks and takes a sip from her cup as well “It is subtle but keen eyes can never miss,”

“You’re thinking too far Maddie. He is pleasant for the sight and certainly knows how to treat a lady but…there’s nothing more.” 

You clarify, smoothening the non-existent lines on your dress while you try not to focus on your heating cheeks and think about his piercing gaze. You watch as his sword cuts through hanging targets. You never bothered to investigate what they are, but they seem heavy and are constantly moving due to being hanged from the high branches and clean cuts are impressive. Most men there struggle while he makes it seem as easy as cutting butter. 

You scoff and look away. Men and their silly games. The court is the real game. You pretend not to hear how the young girls and women swoon over him, but they try not to be obvious. After all, he is the Bastard Prince, his fortunes are uncertain.

“How much do you think he knows of the court?” You put the question out of whim.

“Looking at where he is, he must be good,” Madeline replies.

“Hm, a man who knows the battlefield and the court…” you trail off, leaning closer before continuing “You think he desires the throne, Maddie?”

Madeline sighs and leans away, resting her back ��Who doesn’t?”

There, your answer. The one reason you were looking for is to ground yourself. Don John is not the man you should harbour any feelings for. This response is the water you need to kill the simmering fire.

—----

You find yourself in the chapel on your knees. You have been visiting regularly these days, paying attention, searching for a word, some explanation, assurance.

You did not want to kill that girl, it was a desperate move in the heat of the moment. You know it, God knows this is true but she haunts you, that night haunts you in your dreams. The silence in the chapel is soothing to you, a little place you can hide away from side-eyes, whispers and scoffs.

Your fingers intertwine in a praying position as you wait for an answer—a thought, an explanation, an epiphany? Anything. You are faltering, you know you are. Are your ambitions impossible? Is it a sign that you stop? You have not even begun.

“Show me a sign, Father. Lead me out of this darkness.”

“May the light shine upon us all.” 

You flinch and turn around, only to find Lord John sitting on one of the benches, head slightly bowed, eyes closed and fingers crossed in prayer. But they open in no time and the hypnotic gaze meets yours.

“My Lord?” You raise and greet him.

“Please.” He smiles, and it makes your heart flutter in all the ways you would not want it to. “John will be fine, I don’t mind.” He shifts, making space for you to sit. “Do me the honour, my Lady.”

You want to say that in the traditional sense, you are no lady either. You are safe as long as the Queen has power, or you have her favour. Instead, you smile, slightly confused but walk towards him anyway to sit beside him.

“Forgive me,” He begins after a moment of pause.

“Forgive you? You rode all the way to the battlefield, fought a battle that was not even yours, risked everything—-”

“But you saved my life. And I feel I have not thanked you enough.” He finishes.

The setting sun casts perfect rays over the glass windows, which are painted with intricacies, and some of the light falls on the side of his face. He almost seems…harmless and sweet. But you would not fall for that. You are not one of those sheltered, privileged court maidens, trying to find fairytales in real life like beautiful fools. 

Maybe it’s not their fault. Deep down, you know you do resent them. You are not the most enchanting rosy-cheeked maiden, nor do you have an aristocratic surname to make up for it. You have nothing but your wit and knowledge, and you hold on to them like the lifelines they are. 

“I was doing my duty, My Lord.” 

His smile conveys more than simple politeness, but he turns to look ahead before you can read him.

“Good, because I thought you were repaying the favour. I saved your face that day at Katherine’s and so you saved my life.”

Remembering that day, you had slightly shrugged off the garbs of courtly mannerisms. You had been as direct as you could to him, and perhaps, he had been honest to you.

“You said you want ‘everything’ that day.”

He smiles but keeps his eyes on the alter ahead “I still do.”

“And what does ‘everything’ mean? Don’t you have everything you could possibly ask for?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of you?” You scoff, though deep down, there might be a seedling of truth to it “No, My Lord.”

“Good, fear hinders growth in this world. So does guilt, and plain kindness. You have come so far, I understand how it must feel, to receive disapproving stares, thinly veiled threats and reminders that you do not belong here. I would know.”

You have been staring at the altar as well, the candles’ steady glow has something hypnotic about it. But his words make you turn to him. You can only imagine the amount of pain he had been put through being a bastard, living right under the same roof as his half-brothers and their mother, a reminder of the Emperor’s infidelity.

“I can only imagine the conflict and pain you might have faced growing up.” You mean it, you cannot possibly fathom his pain.

“There, and the snakes will have you…” He clicks his fingers and turns to you. “...just like that.”

You frown, confused.

“You wish to rise, don’t you? People like us know that we are meant for greater things but we don’t have an easy path.”

You cannot deny that, but choose to respond with silence.

“Whatever happened that night, you did to save my life. I know you feel guilty. But allow me to give you this piece of advice. This will not be the last time your hands have someone else’s blood on them if you make up your mind to rise in court. How do you think Empires are made?”

“I do not wish to rule.”

John raises an eyebrow “Everybody wants to rule the world. It’s only a matter of chance and time.” He turns to meet your gaze

“So your ‘everything’ encompasses a lot.”

His smile is cryptic this time “I have everything I could possibly ask for, you said it yourself, My lady.” There’s a sharpness in his gaze, the simmering fire you had first seen, just below the surface.

“Then I am happy for you.”

“And you, My Lady. Do you have everything you could possibly want? Would you dare to eyes a higher seat? Something more than the court here could offer you?”

You frown, unable to read him this time “I…I don’t think I understand what you suggest my Lord.”

He turns to the alter again “I think you would do excellent in the Spanish court.” 

“As the Princess’ Lady-in-Waiting?”

He is silent for a moment before he makes his intention clear “As my partner. We can empathise with each other and are familiar with the conflicts we face. Besides, you could evade the sorry fate of marrying a fat old man and have all your potential wasted being a nurse.”

“Are you…Are you offering me to be your mistress?”

What else can it be? John is an ambitious man and he would choose a worthy ally through marriage. Despite your best efforts, it stings you as you gulp a lump down your throat. 

“I find you fitting and your company quite pleasing. You have ambition and potential for court politics, while the heart to never judge someone by their birth.”

“You ask me to be your mistress, right at the chapel and try to make it sound like you are taking vows.” You can barely keep your voice from cracking as you raise, struggling to keep your tears from showing. 

Why must it hurt you far deeper than it has to? More than it is supposed to?

“If your sharp and knowing eyes could read even an ounce of me, My Lord, “ you grit out “Then you you would know, I am no whore.”

With that, you give him a courteous bow and march out of the place, no longer trusting your voice or your eyes.

—-----

You manage to hold back till you are back in your room, but as soon as you shut the door, the tears flow. You are not sobbing—-that can be counted as slightly dramatic for your standards. You simply are hurt. 

What were you even thinking?

John is an ambitious man, standing on the edge of everything he has built from the ground, at the very doorstep of the life he probably had envisioned. Dukedom is a surety after his heroic victory at the battle. Of course, he will seek a strong alliance with a powerful family through marriage. 

Why would he choose you? A nobody. Someone with nothing to offer.

He has, royal blood running in his veins after all. Perhaps he considers that he is doing you the honour by offering the position of his mistress.

The thought fills you with anger. Surely, he has never led you on. Whatever silly attraction you have developed for the half-prince is purely your doing, your fault.

But no more of it. You wanted answers, God gave you one. You have something to keep yourself grounded. You must not falter now.

****

[whatev-i-guess]

Soap: What if we grow old together?

Ghost: I don't think we will live this long, Johnny.

Soap chuckling: Come on, don't be a downer. We can still dream, right?

Ghost staring at Johnny's urn: There is nothing left to dream about... All I have are nightmares.

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[hoernypie]

tags: pregnancy

husband!Suguru will compliment you the whole time - telling you how he loves your changing body.

husband!Suguru makes sure to kiss your belly every day, proudly looking at it knowing he's the only one that was worthy and blessed by you to do that.

husband!Suguru picks clothes for you - weirdly almost every dress or shirt is stretching on your belly but he claims that it's just a pure accident (it's not that he loves showing off your bump!).

husband!Suguru is amazed by you and how you're growing a tiny human inside. He thinks that the moment you get pregnant you're the most fragile person in the whole world that can't even make tea by yourself.

husband!Suguru makes sure that you get all the vitamins your and the baby need. He won't let you skip any meal - he even sometimes gets Satoru to get his mission just to be sure.

husband!Suguru will bring you meals to bed on days when you feel unwell. He's just worried and doesn't want you to feel even worse while moving around.

husband!Suguru will pick you up and carry you every time there are stairs - even seeing two steps he carries you, being afraid of you tripping.

husband!Suguru is on his toes - making sure to give you anything you want. He'd rush to the convenience store even in the middle of the night to get you the ice cream that you've been craving to the point of waking him up.

husband!Suguru gets super anxious when you're in pain or unable to sleep. He'd instantly call Shoko to ask her what to do.

husband!Suguru will moan softly as you ride him, his eyes half open from the pleasure as his hands press against your baby bump - he just needs to feel your tummy and the baby you are carrying. He will not move, being afraid that his wheels will be off the cart and he doesn't want to hurt you - so as torturous as your slow tempo is he'll lay under you - feeling overwhelmed with the primal need to make you cry from the pleasure.

husband!Suguru who can't take it anymore and finally moves his hips a couple of times up, cumming into you and filling your pussy while his hands press into your bump, feeling the baby kick before apologizing to the baby for making you bounce - after you get off him, he leaves soft kisses on your belly, talking to the baby for the next couple of minutes how sorry he is for making it shake and how hot you looked during it.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

only you, always

words: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, cheating, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex

you would never admit it out loud to anyone, but a twisted part of you likes when rafe cheats on you. its a dark truth, one you wrestle with every time it happens.

it's always when he's blackout drunk or high at a party, usually a combination of both. it's often when you're fighting or on a “break”. like last week, when your blowout argument ended with rafe slamming the door behind him and stomping out into the night. you were quick to hear that he made out with some girl at kelce's party. the pain lasted until the next day when he showed up back home, disheveled and tear-streaked, clutching a bouquet of flowers.

“i fucked up.” he croaked. 

you just stared at him until he fell to his knees, blue eyes rimmed with red as he pressed his forehead against your stomach. “please don’t leave me. i can’t lose you.”

the cheating hurts you every time, but rafe coming back crawling and crying, begging your forgiveness and worshiping you for the next few weeks always makes up for it.

“hi beautiful.” rafe kisses at your cheeks, a week having passed from your fight and his infidelity, the tension replaced with the warmth of his lips against your skin. 

“hey.” you smile, running your fingers over his face, stubble gracing his cheeks as he hasn't shaved for the last couple days, preferring to spend every waking moment with you instead as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

“i love you so much.” rafe leans in and kisses the tip of your nose this time, then your forehead, before dropping down to your lips.

“i don't deserve you.” rafe whispers before kissing you again.

“you probably don't.” you giggle, rolling on the bed so you're fully on top, pinning him beneath you. 

“i said i was sorry.” rafe pouts.

“and i forgave you.” you shake your head, your voice gentle but firm, realizing you probably shouldn't make fun of the situation, but humor feels safer than vulnerability.

“it won't happen again.” rafe says. it always does, yet he always promises it won't. maybe as you both grow older and more mature, both stop drinking and fighting so much, it will really be over, breaking the cycle. at least this time it was just kissing some random girl instead of sleeping with her.

you knew what you were getting into when you began dating rafe. he came with a wild reputation and an even wilder past. practically everyone in your friend group had a one night stand with rafe, but you didn't mind, because he chose to come back to you, not anyone else.

“what are you thinking about baby?” rafe asks, watching the emotions flicker over your face.

“just how good of a boyfriend you can be.” you answer with a small smile. 

“yeah?” rafe smirks, his head tilting to the side as a mischievous look flashes over his eyes. “do you want me to show you just how good of a boyfriend or do you want breakfast first?”

“you first.” you say quickly. “and then bacon and eggs.”

“scrambled or sunny side up?”

“scrambled of course.”

rafe grin grows, hands moving against your bare skin. “just like im about to scramble your-”

“allllright.” you cut him off before he can finish his joke, laughing as you roll off of him.

“no come back.” he pouts, pulling you back against his body, molding his chest to your back as he spoons you.

“you're so ridiculous.” you chuff, though your voice betrays the affection simmering beneath the surface.

“ridiculously in love with you.” rafe counters, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. he just had you last night, but he's already craving you again, missing the feeling of your bodies pressed together in the most intimate way.

“you're extra corny this morning.” you hum out.

“sorry.” rafe chuckles. you love that he's only like this around you, and only when he's just cheated. he turns into a dopey lovesick puppy until the need for your forgiveness and guilt wears off and he's back to his normal self.

rafe places his hand on your stomach, circling around your soft skin, each movement sweeping lower every time, deliberate and teasing.

“rafe.” you whine, eyes shutting as he begins to dip into your underwear with every gesture. 

“mhm.” rafe hums. as much as he likes to tease you, he wants to pleasure you more. his hand dips all the way into your underwear, fingertips coming to your clit.

he knows your body so well, exactly what to do to drive you crazy, every touch sending electricity through your body. his strokes over your clit are gentle, occasionally purposely missing to rub lower towards your entrance, like he's teasing where he's going to be later. it’s a dance you’ve done a hundred times before, but it never gets old.

“that feels so good.” you moan out, not even realizing that your eyes had fallen closed. rafe moves his other hand so it's under your body, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as he sculpts himself around you, other hand cupping your chest.

“mmm.” you hum, feeling rafes hardness pressing against your bum as his fingers stop teasing your clit, rubbing intensely now with the purpose of getting you wet and open.

“oh, baby.” rafe moans as you reach behind your back, hand cupping over his underwear, squeezing at his length through the fabric.

“fuck me. please.” you begin to move your hips, grinding yourself against his hand.

“be patient.” he tsks, fingers pinching at your nipple before going back to cupping your breast.

“unfair.” you pout, but decide two can play at that game, bringing your hand underneath his waistband to stroke up and down his cock.

you can't see rafes face, but you're sure his expression just shifted to one of pleasure.

his hand delves further between your legs, finger circling around your entrance only once before pushing into your cunt, making you moan loudly.

“fuck yes.” you rock your hips again, this time back against rafes crotch, your hand still moving up and down his cock.

“god, i can barely wait.” rafe groans, finger moving faster inside of you, building you up as quickly as he can.

“stop waiting then.” you move your hand, turning onto your back, rafes hand maneuvering to still fuck into you. “come on, rafey.”

you know once he sees your pout he can't resist, not when he's still making things up to you.

“god, that face kills me.” he presses a quick kiss against your lips before moving, pulling your underwear down and flinging them off the bed before disrobing himself.

you grin as rafe doesn't even bother to ask how you want him, instantly lying himself over top of you and lining up his cock with your entrance.

“i love you.” you press a kiss against rafes cheek as your arms loop around his shoulders.

“i love you.” rafe echos back, connecting your lips that quickly develop into moans as he pushes inside of you, engulfing his cock in your heat.

rafe knows he doesn’t need to give you time, already used to his cock being sheathed inside of you. he begins to swing his hips in an even rhythm.

your fingertips dig into his shoulders, pressing into his tanned skin.

“nobody even gets close to you.” rafe groans as you tighten your cunt around him every time he pulls out to thrust back in.

“its only you.” rafe continues as he drops one hand between your bodies, placing his thumb against your clit as he rubs to the rhythm of his thrusts. “only you.”

you can't help that smile that stretches across your face. you don't give a shit if it's only you, as long as he continues to fuck you like this and treat you like a queen.

“faster, rafe.” you pull his chest tighter against yours, your nipples pressing against his skin, stimulating them with his every movement as he speeds up.

“c-close.” you whine.

“me too.” rafe grunts in agreement. “gonna cum in you, yeah?”

“yes.” you nod rapidly. “yes, please, please, please, rafe.”

your head is swirling with the overwhelming pleasure as rafes thumb presses against your clit just as his cock is thrust deep inside of you. it's enough to throw you over the edge, back arching up into rafe as you moan loudly, legs shaking as you feel him lose it to, his moans loud in your ear as he pumps into you.

“fuck, b-baby, y/n.” rafe groans as he finishes, making sure you get every last drop inside of you.

rafe drops himself to the side of you, the mattress bouncing as you both become slack against the sheets, hearts beating fast and chest rising and falling rapidly.

“i really do love you baby.” rafe says, his voice soft and slightly hoarse. “im sorry i always fuck things up.”

“you don't, though.” you move so you're resting against rafes chest, snuggled against his side. “you make mistakes but you always come back and make it right, that's all i ask for.”

you hear rafe sniffle and you know he's holding back tears, always extra emotional after a reconciliation, as if hes purging himself from the guilt.

“ill go make you some breakfast now if you wanna get dressed.” rafe slides quickly off the bed, keeping his back to you as he pulls his underwear back on.

“why would i get dressed if i want you to fuck me again after breakfast?” you tease, your lip quirking up.

you see rafes hand raise to his face, and you know he's wiping at his cheeks, but you give him time to collect himself, secretly happy only you can make him act like this.

“alright.” rafe turns around, his eyes still glossy but filled with adoration as he bends down to press a kiss to your forehead. “bacon and scrambled eggs and then ill fuck you on the table, then in the shower, then ill take you shopping and fuck you in the dressing room.”

“perfect.” you grin.

[lilacgaby]

title: family matters

pairing(s): husband!toji x reader, son!megumi x reader

summary: megumi wakes up with a nightmare, toji doesn't want to move, so he solves his own problem.

your face was smushed up against toji's chest as you slept deeply. your arm slung around his waist and your legs tangled in his as you breathed him in.

he was awake though, playing with your hair as he let the sounds of your muffled sighs against his chest and the white noise of the fan slowly drift him to sleep...

until the sound of the door creaking made him jump slightly, quickly moving to soothe you in case he startled you.

megumi shuffled in, rubbing his eyes as he walked to the corner of the bed. "dad?"

toji sighed as he layed his head over to look at him, you usually handled this kind of stuff since he felt awkward. "what is it kid?"

"i'm scared." megumi admitted, his voice sounding choked like he'd already been crying.

"y' all right. we're right here 'gumi, so there's nothing to worry about." toji comforted, having his full attention on megumi. he reached his hand out to hold his shoulder and shook it.

"nothing will happen to you or your mom as long as im here. got it?"

megumi sniffled and shook his head in a nod. "'kay.. but can you come tuck me in?" he asked, grabbing toji's arm in a pulling motion.

"no way kid. your mom is sleeping right on top of me, and 'm not moving 'til she wakes."

"dadd." he whined, tugging his arm with all his might to try and get him to move. "you have to, it's what mom does!"

he knew it well, how you'd immediately get out of bed any night he came to lay in his and soothe him to sleep, most nights he'd wake up alone and find you holding megumi as you slept in his bed.

"well i'm not your mother. you're a big kid already, you can do it yourself."

"but i want you to do ittt." he started to shake his arm, which was jostling you in return.

"hey stop it kid, ya wanna wake your mom up?"

"nooo. hurry up!" he said, finally letting go and stomping his feet.

"i'm not moving kid, so tough luck."

megumi pouted and decided to..

flip him over. as he started shoving toji over with all his might, you obviously fell under him first. with toji's weight completely on you, you woke up disoriented and confused.

megumi, now with a bunch of room for himself, jumped in and held your arm to his chest, smiling victoriously.

"what-- what's going on?"

"this brat is so stubborn, he's just like you. go back to sleep."

"huh..?" you were being lifted up by toji and so was megumi. he settled you in the middle with him and megumi at your sides.

"good night. don't say i don't love you brat."

you fell asleep confused but comfortable, and megumi only stuck his tongue out at toji before going back to sleep with you.

toji was now playing with your hair while watching over the two of you, the sight of your chests rising and falling with every breath you took comforting him.

he hung his arm around you, holding your hand. laying his head on yours, he placed a hand on megumi's hair, ruffling it slightly.

his heart felt warm as he fell asleep, dreaming of you. oh and his son was there too.

he woke up to the sounds of rustling as megumi woke up, early as possible. he started to tap on your shoulder until toji moved his hand away from you groggily.

"what?"

"i'm hungry."

"for crying out loud kid, no!"

...

he got up to make pancakes for you three, extra whipped cream for megumi as he handed them out.

megumi was sat in your lap happily munching away as you paired yours with a cup of coffee, still half asleep.

toji ruffled megumi's hair, making him let out a small "hey!" as he moved over to kiss you, making megumi scrunch up his face.

toji moved to sit beside you at the counter, his hand supporting his head as he looked over at you two.

"you're a headache y'know that?"

"don't be mean to mom." megumi said, his mouth full.

"i wasn't talking about her, kid!

[parfaitblogs]

daylight ❀ s. reid x reader

in which communicating with your boyfriend is scary, and spencer reid can't stand to see you cry.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort/fluff! tags: reader avoids her issues... for a little bit. that's kind of it. it's just fluffy and simple! word count: 1.5k a/n: something short & sweet because i thought it was cute and i write the most when i'm procrastinating assignments... um… inspired by a conversation sam willow and i were having a few nights ago🫂 reminder that pretty girls cry when they’re confronting somebody!!

Spencer Reid was not oblivious to all things in the world. In fact, he was rather perceptive compared to most people. Psychology degree and human behaviour-based job aside, he noticed things. 

A lot of it was good. He knew exactly how to wake you up on mornings he started earlier than you. How to keep you half-asleep enough to allow you your return to sleep, but also awake enough to ensure you'd remember him kissing you goodbye (there had been an argument a few months ago about it — you thought he had left without a word). He knew your go-to Thai order from the restaurant down the street, and he knew which pair of wooden chopsticks your favourite were to pull out of his kitchen drawers. 

He was also observant enough to know something was wrong. 

He was back from a case. A long one, that had worn him down enough that he felt like a pile of creaking bones when he re-entered his apartment earlier that afternoon. You had returned from your own job an hour after that, and despite the initial excitement that came from your boyfriend being back in the state again, you were a bundle of nerves. 

And he knew that.

You were on his couch, legs across his lap and back up against the arm, his hands resting comfortable in the dip between your two knees. There was a quiet episode of New Girl playing on the television (you had convinced him to watch it after he had sat you through every Star Trek movie), but your thoughts were anywhere but the sitcom you had been using to entertain yourself as of recent. 

"You've been awfully quiet," Spencer said, piercing the less than comfortable air settled around you two. 

"Sorry," you answered, tearing your gaze from the screen to look at him, meeting a worried expression you had somewhat expected. 

Hands ran up and down your legs, erupting goosebumps along the skin. "Is something wrong?" 

"No," you immediately shook your head and forced a smile onto your face. "Nothing's wrong."

He furrowed his eyebrows, lips parting in that confused look he always had on his face when he was thinking, and he stared at you for a few seconds longer, before, "Yes there is."

Profilers. "Seriously, Spence. There isn't. I'm just kind of tired tonight."

"I am as well," he said, hands stilling on your legs rather abruptly. "I was in Idaho for a week. I'm also exhausted. And usually my girlfriend is a little touchier and more talkative than this when I come home. So I'm assuming something's wrong."

"You're assuming incorrectly, then," your shoulders shrugged.

He said your name chidingly, and it was at that tone of voice that you retracted your legs from his lap, instead tucking your feet beneath yourself, gaze dropping to the couch cushion. 

"I just missed you," you told him, a slight stretch of the truth. 

"I missed you too," he said, and your shoulders softened. "But that's not all it is."

You blinked, before you fell silent, shaking your head instead. 

"Talk to me. What's happened?" his voice was achingly soft, your heart shattering in your chest to the point you wanted to take back every thought you'd had over the past week and burn them to ashes. They didn't mean much now in front of him. Not when he was reminding you of how kind he was. 

"You barely talked to me," you said, hands dropping to your lap, and you fidgeted with them under his gaze. "I never knew what was going on. You didn't call once, except for when you landed."

"I was really busy, honey," he answered, and you could hear the frown in his voice. "If I had time to do anything other than the case and sleep, you know I'd have talked to you more." 

"I know," your voice shook, and you could feel your emotions overriding your brain. As usual. So, you kept your head down. "But I would've liked you to tell me that, at least."

You heard him sigh, and curiosity got the best of you as you lifted your gaze, inspecting to see if he was sighing out of irritation or not. He wasn't — just exhaustion — and that made you feel a little better.

"I know for next time then," he said, and he met your eyes, which had watered since the last time he looked at you. Which wasn't very long ago, and so he was drawing his eyebrows together, again, confusedly. "What's that? What's wrong?"

On instinct he leaned forwards, and you let him shift his body closer to yours, hands coming up on either side of your neck. You sniffled, trying to suck the tears threatening to fall back into your eye sockets. 

"I can't communicate," you mumbled, quietly, a tear escaping and dripping down to the lower half of your cheek. 

"You communicated pretty well just then, angel," he said, voice soft as he caught the remainder of the tear and swiped it away with his thumb. 

"Yeah but—but now I'm crying," you moaned, pathetically, more tears slipping down your face. His lips twitched — though not in humour, you noted — as he adjusted his hands to your jaw, thumbs continuing to wipe falling tears. 

"Yeah. That's okay," he answered. "You've got a flood of hormones going through you right now, and so your body reacts to it in the best way it sees fit. In your case, it's tears."

"I hate it," you mumbled, and this time he did laugh a little, nodding his head. 

"I know," he said. "Are you feeling embarrassed about communicating with me?"

"I guess," you replied. "I don't know. I think I just..." you trailed off as your voice disappeared, breath beginning to hyperventilate acutely. "I—I just feel kind of sil—silly."

You cursed each sob that broke up your speech, and yet his gaze and focus on you never once wavered. In fact, his touch seemingly had grown softer, and the concern in his eyes had only grown. 

"You aren't silly," he said, once he was sure you weren't going to continue speaking. "If me not talking to you for a week upset you, I'd say that's pretty reasonable."

"I don't know..."

"Want a secret?" he asked, fingers poking into your cheeks enough for you to crack a small smile. You only nodded your head in response, chest still jolting with each sharp intake of breath. "I have to physically restrain myself from calling you every hour on a normal day."

"You're lying," you mumbled, and his smile only widened, a bashful laugh leaving his lips. 

"No, honestly. I have so much I want to talk to you about during the day, and I need to remind myself that you're busy and at work too."

A few uncontrollable tears dripped down your face, and your gaze dropped to the top of his shirt, though the smile never left your face. "I don't believe you."

"I wish you would, but that's okay," he said, evidently seeing right through your defying statement — you believed him a little.

His forefinger and thumb caught your chin, and he tilted your head back up so his eyes could meet your glassy ones. 

"I'm sorry," you murmured, before he could get a word in.

"For what?"

"Crying."

"Do you take in anything I say to you?" he chastised, though the smile on his face eliminated any fear of him being genuinely irritated, and so your shoulders simply shrugged. 

"Sometimes," you said, and his eyebrows shot up. 

"Sometimes?" he repeated back to you, and you had to bite your lip to keep the amused expression off your face. He was smiling back at you, before his face settled into something more serious, as he continued, "I don't mind you crying, angel. It breaks my heart to see it, but I'm not sitting here and judging you for it. You know that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good," he finalised with a short nod, and you sniffled with a nod of your own. 

"I mean, technically, crying is good," you said, tongue poking between your teeth as you forced back a smile. 

"Yeah? Why's that?" 

"Releases endorphins and oxytocin."

He huffed a single laugh through his nose, nodding his head. "Yes. It does."

"I know things," you grinned. 

"You do," he agreed with a nod. "My smart girl."

"Yeah. Don't ever forget it."

"I could never," he replied, and a comfortable silence enveloped your two bodies, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

"Can you tell me about Idaho?" you finally asked him.

"You really want to know?" 

You nodded your head, and he sighed, but complied regardless. And you eventually found your head in his lap, staring up at him as one hand danced gently over the skin of your slightly exposed stomach, the other entangled in your hair, brushing through it. 

And he told you about the case he had been away on — it became glaringly obvious behind why he hadn't called or messaged you at all — and consequently eased any other remaining worries behind it.

And it dried your tears up.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[sena-seastar]

Bad Sleeping Habits

Dad!Aemond x Wife!Reader

Summary: Aemond has trouble being firm with your daughter.

A/N: This is just a little drabble I wrote. No beta, so I apologize for any spelling and grammar mistakes!

Aemond had always been a light sleeper, even more so after the birth of your daughter. He had always been the first to wake up and rush to her side anytime she made the slightest noise. So when he heard her shuffling out of bed in the middle of the night, he woke up immediately. He didn’t get up, instead choosing to wait and see what she was up to.

The two of you had been trying to get Daenys into the habit of sleeping in her own bed. To say it was a struggle would be an understatement. The two of you had let her sleep between you a few times, and apparently, she took that to mean she had to sleep in your bed every night.

Aemond didn’t honestly mind it. He loved every minute of it. He knows that once she gets older, he won’t get those moments when he can hold her close and have her sleep in his arms anymore. So he wants to hold on to her as long as he can. 

Aemond kept perfectly still as he felt the blanket at the bottom of the bed being tugged down. He used one of his hands to hold onto it so that it would not completely slip off the bed, as Daenys used it as a ladder to climb onto the bed. He pretends to be asleep, though he cracks his eye open just enough to watch his little girl, in case she slips.

She let out a little grunt as she successfully reached the top. Aemond doesn’t move as she climbs over him, most likely trying to take her usual place between the two of you.

He does his best not to cry out when her knee accidentally digs into the flesh of his thigh. He doesn’t want to frighten his little girl or, even worse, wake you up. So, he does his best to bear the pain.

He waits until she reaches the top of the bed before rolling over to face her. She freezes, her eyes wide open, knowing she’s been caught. Though her shock quickly turns to amusement. Daenys gives him a cheeky smile.

“Why are you out of bed?” He whispers. “Go back to sleep,” he scolds her playfully.

“Nuh-uh,” she shakes her head, making her little silver curls shake side to side.

 Daenys sits back on her heels—a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Aemond lifts his hands, trying to brace himself. He makes it just in time before she throws herself on top of him. Her little arms wrap around his shoulders, squeezing him tightly as she buries her face into his neck. Messy, silver curls tickle his nose. Aemond shakes his head, trying to push her hair away.

“Fine, you can stay,” he sighs, “but your mother won’t be pleased with us in the morning.”

He grabbed the blanket, pulling it over the both of them.

She yawned, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. “Night, night, kepa.” 

“Goodnight, my little dragon.” He hummed, gently running his hand over her back.

Aemond stared up at the canopy, and once again, he found himself wondering how he had gotten here. What had he done to deserve such happiness? The man had always known he would marry and eventually have children someday. He was a Targaryen prince, after all. Yet he had never imagined it would make him feel so... content. 

“You spoil her too much,” you mumble drowsily.

Aemond turned his head, finding you with your head still buried in your pillow.

“She’s a princess. It's practically in the job description.” He smirked. “Besides, you don't seem to mind when I spoil you.”

“Fine,” you sigh. “But she’s sleeping in her own bed tomorrow.”

Aemond reached over and grabbed your hand. He lifted it, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Goodnight, my love.”

[supercutszns]

a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

[leeny-leens]

"Please, don't leave"

But it's Theodore Nott horrified at his own anger, the one he's gotten from his father. The anger that has him growing horns and fangs that bury deep into the flesh, claws that rip everything apart.

It's Theodore Nott scared that even the most marginal bit of anger will turn him into a monster like his father was and begging you to please see past it, see him as you always have because if you of all people stop seeing him, was he ever capable of being anything more than a rotten clump of evil and dark?

And so against his better judgment, he sinks to his knees and holds onto you for dear life, begging and babbling through his tears asking you to please not leave him, he doesn't know what to do if the only person who's made him feel remotely human were to leave.

And you can't help but cry at the sight of the boy who thinks his anger makes him a monster, the boy who thinks any sort of reaction or emotion means he's like his father, damned to hurt anyone he loves.

Therefore you just pull him up and take his hand, hugging him tightly as you comfort him, reminding him that while his anger might be scary to him, he isn't scary, he isn't monstrous and he isn't bad. He asks you if you'll leave, and you reply asking him if he wants some space. He can only shake his head in silence, his hands tightening around you like you're his anchor in the raging storm. His voice is hoarse when he asks you to stay the night, stay by his side because he can't bear waking up to see you gone like everyone else.

And that night, you don't leave. Not even when night turns into morning, or when evening comes around. You stay by his side, steady and calm and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he isn't a monster after all.

[lxdymoon0357]

Hello 👋 can I pls request relationship and suggestive headcanons for Claude (wmmap) Regis (FIDWYM) and Lante Agriche with a female reader? Thank you ❤️

(some days, I'm gonna be better and consistent...:[ | Warnings: mentions of dying at childbirth, blood, murder, NSFW content, diana-claude poly mentions? idk..Anyways, NSFW content. )

© Writing belongs to me, Lxdymoon0357. Do not plagiarize, but reblogging, liking and commenting is deeply appreciated.

Claude De Alger Obelia, Legis Floyen and Lante Agriche SFW/NSFW HCs

Claude De Alger Obelia

♕ Definitely loves to spoil you! He loves to spoil you when he can, bringing jewellery, making your favourite food, spending extra time with you, buying you clothes, flowers, gifts, anything you want! He is always happy to spoil you, Athy gets a bit worried, but she also loves you and makes handmade gifts for you which you definitely appreciate!

♕ Constantly worried for your health and safety, has a maid and a guard follow you everywhere, he would let them follow you to the bathroom if it wasn't unethical, but yeah..Constantly worried something is gonna happen to you..

♕ Also, constantly making sure you're in top health, always consults doctors about anything he finds unusual on you, if you two were to have kids, he's have a long talk with doctors if you can have kids and there won't be any complications and if anything were to happen, if he'd be able to save you over the kid...

♕ Definitely not loosing you to childbirth like he lost Diana, you both are the biggest jewels in his eyes and he doesn't want to lose you like he lost Diana. Definitely thinks how you both would be with each other if you met, would you both like each other more than him? Would you be open to be with both of them or would he simply be with Diana and you'd go off with someone else??

♕ You, him and Athy spend a lot of time together, eating, tea parties, talking about trends, gossiping or anything in between about Athy's love interests or something. Sometimes even Jeanette joins you both, she's so happy to be included, but after Anastacius left with her, she was happy to learn things from far away, you gave her your blessings, she'll miss all of you but tries to find time to visit when she can..

♕ You and Claude would dance together late at night for fun, it's so quiet and so intimate and so romantic, cue you both forgetting the dance and end up making out against a wall with him leaving hickeys! speaking of them, he leaves TOO many damn hickeys, it's his love language at one point...

♕ He is a busy man, being an emperor and all, but he still finds time for you, you're the most important thing to him after Athy and he tries to find time for both of you, together and individually like during meals, before he goes to sleep, after he wakes up, free time, he loves to spend it with you or alone doing something he enjoys..

♕ He is romantic while sex, but also very rough, be careful, don't piss him off, you won't be able to sit with a bruised ass or the aching cunt or walk due to the shaking and sore legs. He knows how to make brats behave, loves you but don't piss him off.

♕ Hates it when other people stare, will go to a nearby room or maybe the balcony if he's extra mad and simply fuck you till you're screaming your throat raw with leaving hickeys and making sure everyone and especially the person is hearing and seeing the whole thing...Likes the eyes on him sometimes, don't know why but he does, maybe it gives him thrill maybe it gives him the chance to prove himself in some way maybe he gets gratification, no way. But likes the way when you're bent over and crying your eyes out.

♕ Cages your hand above your head with a single one of his own and simply fingers you before pulling away and edging you till you're asking him to properly fuck you dumb, even if he's feeling soft, he likes to do it cause you're crying face and whines and moans sound cut to him and he can never get enough of it

♕ Leaves a lot of bitemarks, hickeys, bruises, it's concerning if you don't know it's out of love and how much he can't control his strength at times..When he's about to cum, he bites your neck to muffle his own moans and whines when you're clenching down on him..One hand constantly working on your clit.

♕ Let's say they have some medicine which works as Plan B, cause keep in mind, he will be breeding you, it's one of his biggest kinks, he would love to see you pregnant with his baby who is your and his mix, Athy needs a sibling after all! Will be pounding in you even after you've gone enough, he cant help himself sometimes!

Legis Adri Floyen

◈ Now Legis would be a bit closed off, but still after a while be extremely sweet and romantic, constantly being a gentleman, holding your hand when you're walking down the stairs, gets you gifts, when you got tired, he carried you where you want, feeds you, kisses you and looks at you like you're gold.

◈ You and Jubelian have to sometimes remind him to take breaks, you and Jubelian and literally bestest of friends yet being the cutest mother-daughter duo in Legis's eyes, two of his favourite girls being together and happy and getting alone and all the cute stuff?! Oh man, he feels like he's in heaven!

◈ Loves to spend time with you and Juve when he can, bringing you both gifts and you both in return make tiny gifts for him, like bouquets or like maybe you stitched something for him on a napkin and he carried it everywhere, or maybe you and Juve went out together to choose and mix-match jewellery for Legis and then you both gift it to him, she is always so happy to spend time with her parents!

◈ He and you would spend time kissing and then Juve would be grossed out but finds it cute or maybe you and Legis would spend time sparring or sword-fighting cause women back then used to do a lot of sports including archery, sword-fighting, hiking, so maybe he would love for you to join him in sparring sometime or maybe hand-to-hand combat where you are always winning because he refuses to put in effort, he gets too mesmerised by you anyway.

◈ He would love to take you on trips to anywhere you want, get dresses custom made so no-one else can have them, have portraits painted of you, he's such a sweetheart!! He would love to have a family portrait with you and Juve beside him!!

◈ Another thing is, matching clothes!! You wear something matching in your outfits at ALL times, be it a brooch, be it the colour of the clothing, be it the way the pattern of the dress, he loves to match with you, he even has dresses which are carbon copies of some of Juve's! You both look gorgeous in them!!

◈ Kind of needs your reassurance that he is doing the correct thing, if there is something you don't like, please say cause when you do things passive and aggressively, it makes him overthink things....And if he overthinks, he cries and I'm sure you don't want your husband to cry? Yeah, that's what I thought, communicate!

◈ Okay, first he finds you cute and adorable and hot and so squishable and he folds you like a chair fucking you in matching press with your thighs pressed against your chest while he toys with your cunt and clit so sweetly, it's almost innocent in a way!

◈ PRAISE!! Of-course, the biggest praise kink is in him, his eyes start to water from overwhelming love when he is praised during sex, so just to ground him, hold his hand tightly in yours in anyway you can to remind him you're both there..He gets carried away, poor baby..

◈ Loves to see you ride him, cause it's so cute in his eyes when you're trying your best to take him cause first of he's VERY BIG, secondly you try your best to take him, struggle with it, crying for him to do something to make something out of your fruitless ventures, of-course he teases you until you beg a lot, but because he likes your cries and tears and face

◈ Speaking of crying, he won't stop eating your cunt until tears are streaming down he's pulled a good few orgasms, your cunt is almost raw but i's still drooling...and he can't get enough, you're just sound so cute and taste so amazing, but okay, he'll take pity and fuck you properly, if you don't tell him to, he'll cum from just eating you out, grinding against whatever he can.

◈ Suck him off under his desk after he's overworked, probably one of the only dilfs who moans and whimpers and can't hide them, he sounds cute, as you gag on his cock, he sounds adorable!! Not your fault it's a good way to relax him from overworking and to just tease him!

◈ He sometimes gets so lot in making you cum, he does it for a good while until he simply pulls dry orgasms, until legs are shaking, you're both covered in bodily fluids, drools, sweat, clit is engorged a bit and it hurts but feels too good for him to pull out now as you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him close..

Lante Agriche

☠ Now for this request, I will say he's like a yandere-type in love with you and he's a bit sane and okay in head. Lante would always follow you around, carrying you when he can, holding you on his lap during those special dinners with his top three favourite kids as he fed you food with his hands, does your hair, albeit a bit haphazardly.

☠ He desperately needs you be locked down with him, he would kill anyone you pay too much attention to, that includes his kids, well your kids are his favourite kids, so he doesn't want you to be sad, but threatening them is the way to go!!

☠ likes to bring you the severed head of his victims as gifts with a deranged smile, expecting praise. I hope you give some to him for the sake of your neck joint...I mean, he'd also bring bloodied flowers, a skull, some sword, some jewel, etc, whatever he finds interesting all covered in blood cause he thinks you look hot in blood and everything looks better covered in blood.

☠ Leaves hickeys on your necks, for everyone and leaves more if you try to cover them. He has no shame, not like anyone would dare to say anything, but if they did, you'd have another severed head to your collection. So enjoy!!

☠ DESPISES people staring at you for a second too late, hates it, cannot stand it, will not stand for it, will kill someone for it. I mean, he's a man known for crimes, of-course he's gonna murder someone for looking at you too long! He's such a munchy weirdo..

☠ Would have your ring on your hand AT ALL TIMES, ain't no one snatching up his weirdo, hell naw! Anyways, he gets new rings made for you whenever you need one and it's all decorated well and stuff and so now you have a ring collection and it's very gorgeous and probably cost more than the whole manor and humans who die inside regularly!

☠ He slow dances with you over the dead bodies of people, enjoying the way their bones crunch under you both as you both softly danced while you both are in each other's embrace and are softly being intimate in silence..

☠ Oh now, don't think that if he got jealous and mad at some public event he is also one to not care if he fucks you on a balcony when everyone can hear you both while you scream and wail like it's no one's business in the balcony and later on everyone's too shy to make eye contact with you, including the kids and other wives...

☠ Bending you over on his desk to fuck you all while there are people in the next room or simply eat you out until you cry, but eating you out is a unusual occurrence...He doesn't just give you pleasure without getting anything in return, no.

☠ Edging you constantly, not letting you cum until you beg hard enough or until he possibly can't take it anymore or until you do it yourself earning a punishment by him where either he overstimulates you till you physically pass out and only have dry orgasms, so there are a few options of him to choose from, maybe play the safe submissive and subservient role for a while unless you're confident in your skills as a dom to top him..

☠ knife kink, I said it. Knife kink, holds a knife to your neck while he makes you ride him, and presses it down sometimes to nick your body parts for fun and for the sadistic tendencies...

[chxrryhansen]

write something guy wrenchingly sad about how rafe’s dad treats him and he calls you in the middle of the night to comfort him. he ends up coming to your house or you go over to tanneyhill to be with him :)

this is so s1 rafe coded🥺my poor deprived baby😔

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

its 2am when your phone buzzes, waking you up from a deep sleep. rafes name flashes across your phone, sending you into alarm. worry courses through your veins making you sit upright in shock, quickly pressing answer.

his ragged breaths are the first thing you hear as you pick up, his sobs echoing down the phone. “hey-hey baby, rafe, whats going on? are you okay?” you ask, hurriedly.

he sniffles “m-my dad.. we g-got into a huge fight and i-i don’t know wh-what to do.” you can sense his tension through the phone. rafe was never good and expressing his emotions, he preferred showing himself through actions rather than words. so him calling you at this hour and actually telling you what was wrong, you knew it had to be serious.

“oh my sweet boy, why don’t you come over? or i can come and pick you up? just stay calm for me baby, can you do that for me?” you soothe. which appears to calm him slightly as his breaths begin to slow.

“uh, yeah, yeah i-i can do that. i’ll drive, don’t w-want you leaving the house alone this late at night.” running his fingers through his greasy locks, shaking his head at how stupid he feels, crying. especially in-front of you, to you. and even though he’s in no state to drive, you know better than to argue with him on this, his innate need to protect you still shining through even in his most vulnerable moments.

“okay rafe…i’ll see you soon, drive safe for me baby.”

within 10 minutes you hear a knock at your door, you race downstairs unlocking the door in a hurry, the sight is anything but pleasant.

rafes nose is bust, dry blood caked around his mouth, a clear indication that the fight with his dad was anything but civilised. and this wasn’t the first time either. his tears staining his cheeks and his face flustered, a light shade of pink, his hair sticking to his forehead and his arms shaking as he looks down at you in embarrassment.

“oh, sweetheart.” you whisper gently, pulling him inside and into a hug, slowly he wraps his arms around your waist as his sobs begin to deepen, his heart rate increasing rapidly as his body racks with his cries. he leans down, burrying his face into your neck, sniffling so he doesn’t end up leaving snot all in your hair- not that you care, him being your main priority.

“you wanna’ talk about it?” you coax, your voice soft. he shakes his head, his grip on your waist tightening. you lift your hand, intertwining your fingers in his locks, stroking his head gently, soothing his desperate cries.

“that’s okay, your okay. let it all out…my sweet baby, i’m here for you. and i always will be, you know that right? i’m never leaving you, no matter what. we always stick together, you hear me, baby boy? always.”

[chrispleasure]

CANT SLEEP, c.s

summary!: chris cant sleep without apologising to his girlfriend, afraid it might be her last night.

not proof read!

the air became heated, you didnt want to shower with chris, which caused him to yell at you. “what! are you afraid of seeing a dick or something?!” he yells, stepping out of the bathroom.

he didnt want to argue, but he felt hurt that you wanted to be alone and not with him. “its not that— im not afraid. i just want some peace.” you stood by the doorway, watching as he undressed himself.

chris took a few blankets and one of his pillows and left the room, carrying the argument further. you decided now was the best time to have your shower, knowing he wont bother you.

as the water become heated, you undressed and stepped under the square shower head. soft hums escaped your lips, “hmm..” you mumbled, leaning back.

the bathroom lights werent on either, which spiked your mood to feel more flirty and sexy. your hand traveled near your wet pussy, hesitant to touch yourself.

you decided against and brought your hand back to your chest, crossing your arms and letting the water take over.

downstairs, chris lies down on the couch cuddled up in his blankets and pillow. silently hoping you would come down stairs and apologize.

it was stupid, you werent the one who needed to apologise. he did. but he was too immature to be the bigger person.

small tears escaped his eyes and went onto the white pillow, he sunk deep intonthe couch. chris wanted a hug, a gesture of love.

he didnt mean to act out like this, part of him was still angry for yelling at you like he did. little did he know he was the last thing on your mind.

you were near the end of your playlist on spotify, the song ending. which meant it was time to get out of the shower and apologise.

which you dreaded, not wanting to see his pretty face. the tears which were most likely streaming down his cheeks.

as you stumble out of the shower, you slip and hit your head on the counter. “fuck!” you wince, letting out a small sob as you sit up.

you instinctively cover the corner of your head with your hand, causing blood to drip down onto it. “mmph- shit, shit..” you sob, rocking back and forth.

you wanted chris’s comfort instantly, but he wouldnt give it too you, you did definitely say some hurtful things too and about him.

after a few minutes of crying, you pull yourself off the ground, getting used to the feeling of your head feeling as if it’s about to fall off.

you scurry and put on the pajamas you left on the counter, stumbling to the bedroom. you didnt even bother going downstairs to say goodnight.

immediately, without a thought, you get under the blankets. moving your body to adjust to the feeling of the sheets.

it feels like heaven, closing your eyes and relaxing. part of you wanted chris cuddling into you, speaking reasurring words into your ear, touching around your breasts to calm you down. but he was all the way downstairs, probably pissed off.

as your thoughts drifted to random things, you fell asleep quickly. your body relaxing in a comfortable position.

but chris on the other hand, couldnt shut an eye. he stayed on the same couch for hours, hungry for cuddles or even a kiss.

he tried, tried and tried, but nothing. just black, no dream, nothing. he couldnt sleep angry with you, or you angry at him.

he sat up, grabbing his pillow. he walked upstairs, tears wet on his face. he was shaking and sobbing quietly.

a few quiet knocks were heard. when he got no response, he decided to walk in. after all, it was also his room.

he walks in, walking to his side of his bed. “baby? you ‘wake?” he asks, his side of the bed sinking a little as he layed down.

you slept peacefully, not hearing anything he was saying or asking. he shook you, moving closer for comfort. “ma, wake up..” he sniffles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

without question, you woke up, thinking their was an earthquake. you looked to your left, seeing chris’s figure shaking you.

once he saw you were awake, he stopped. looking at you with a frown. “what do you want, chris?” you asked tiredly, resting your head on the pillow.

“im sorry for getting angry.. i just wanted a shower with you, i feel a need to always be close to you at all times.” he apologised, cuddling close to you.

a soft smile played on your lips, feeling happy he apologised. “i also jus’ couldnt sleep without saying sorry. you couldve died in your sleep.” he says in a worried tone.

you chuckled, turning to face him fully. “hey, hey.. im okay. im healthy enough that i wont die for a while.” you rub his cheek, met with the now dried tears that stayed there.

“you cried?” you asked, frowning a little. he nods, putting his hand on your wrist. “can we just cuddle and sleep? i need comfort.” he whines, moving closer.

your body pressed against his, pressing a kiss against his neck a few times before drifting off. “i love you.” you say.

the end!!

[moonstruckme]

Hii! I love your fics so much and I was wonder if you could do a emt marauders fix where the reader gets a concussion? I just got another one and it’s really taken a toll on me. (Again, I love your work SO MUCH!! It’s so comforting!!)

Hi my sweetheart! I'm so sorry, I swear I highlighted emt marauders when I was writing this request but somehow along the way I seemed to forget that it was supposed to be the au, I hope this is still alright (I'm very down to do another for emt specifically if you would like)! And I really hope you're doing okay!! Concussions are so rough, I hope your recovery is going well <3

cw: concussion

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius wakes to shushing sounds from down the hall. Bright sunlight has snuck in through the cracks in the blinds, laying itself down in slats across the bed. He’s laying nearly sideways with no one else to shove him away, one of his feet dangling off the side of the mattress and his head on the opposite pillow. 

He gets up though his body doesn’t want to, following the sound into the living room. The curtains are drawn closed here, too, though it’s light enough for Sirius to make you both out clearly, you sitting on the couch and Remus with your hands in his, speaking to you in a hushed voice while slow tears dribble off your chin. 

“Hey.” Sirius’ voice betrays his lethargy, but you don’t seem to notice. You look up with shiny eyes as he steps into the room. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

The answer takes time to come to you. Sirius isn’t sure if you’re searching for the words or if your thoughts are just evading you as they have been since you got hurt, but his heart twinges when your brows bunch in concentration. 

Remus only looks at you steadily. He’s been the most patient with you; Sirius and James both have the urge to guess at the ends to your sentences when you get stuck, but Remus only waits, letting you parse it out in your own time. 

“I’m sad. Frustrated,” you decide, though you look more glum than angry. You sniff. “I want to be better already.” 

Sirius nods in both understanding and sympathy, going to sit behind you on the couch. He knows Remus isn’t the most tactile, but it kills him to see you with your shoulders shaking and no arms wrapped around them. He’s quick to remedy this.

“We were playing cards,” Remus explains in his quiet way (a way Sirius has been trying to mimic to accommodate your sound sensitivity, though it doesn’t come easily to him), “and she just got a bit upset when she didn’t remember whether aces were high or low.” 

Sirius tsks, nosing at your cheek. “That’s common enough, darling. It can go either way.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus tells him. His thumbs carve twin paths up the sides of your palms. “It hardly matters, I’m happy to play with them high or low.” 

“I just wish I knew like usual,” you say, though you already seem to be calming. Your voice has taken on that distant quality again. It still sounds like you, just a tad dazed, like when you first wake up in the mornings. 

Sirius rubs up and down your shoulder, pressing his lips to the side of your chin. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable, feeling so unlike yourself. Worse to know it’s not changing soon. You hit your head a few days ago, and it’ll probably be some time until you feel completely normal again. 

Sirius has been told he can be dramatic, but when you’d fallen he honestly thought for a second that you were dead, you were so still. In the pandemonium of sirens and doctors and waiting rooms that had followed, James and Remus each took a bit of time to process things, get their emotions in order, but Sirius has never been able to cry in public. When they finally got to take you home, he’d gotten in the shower and cried so hard he thought he’d throw up. He’s honestly not sure if he’s ever been so terrified in his life. After you got into bed that night he’d hugged you so hard you’d called him James, and your boyfriends had all laughed before they realized you weren’t joking. 

He and Remus hold you in silence for some time. None of you seem to mind. Sirius is still too sleepy to get bored, you’re presumably too concussed, and Remus is still Remus. He can look at the two of you all day and never need a diversion. 

The room seems to come alive when James gets home, not only because of his sparkling personality but also because he lets in a bunch of sunlight and a cacophony of street noise with him. 

“Hello, my loves,” he says, adjusting his volume halfway through the sentence. He shuts the door behind him with care, dropping his rugby bag onto the floor with far less. “How are we doing?” 

“I’m doing horrible,” Sirius says, though it’s obvious he was really only asking about you. “I haven’t had anything to eat yet today.” 

“You have just woken up,” Remus points out with a droll look, but James indulges him. 

He sets a big hand on Sirius’ head and kisses between his own fingers. He smells like dirt and sweat, gross on anyone else but hot when it’s him. James gives you the same treatment next, palm stroking down the back of your head protectively. 

“You alright, lovie?” he murmurs. 

You hum. “Why?” 

“Nothing.” His eyes slide to Sirius, a question in them. “You look as though you might’ve had a cry, that’s all.” 

“Water under the bridge,” Sirius assures him, giving you a firm squeeze. “We’re all good now, just very hungry and in need of someone to make sandwiches for lunch. Right, baby?” 

You nod amenably, but Remus fixes you with a curious look. 

“Are you hungry, dove?” he asks. 

You take some time to mull this over. Sirius bites the inside of his lip to restrain himself, and he can see James doing the same to his cheek. It’s a good thing that you’re taking such a thorough inventory of yourself, he supposes, but it’s agonizing to watch how much effort it takes you. After a while, you say, “I think so.” 

Remus nods. “Alright. We had a snack a bit ago, but if you’re hungry you should eat. I can make sandwiches,” he shoots Sirius a teasing look as he starts to stand, “since I’m not in the habit of taking advantage of those who’ve just got home from training.” 

“No, sit.” James urges Remus back down with a hand on his shoulder, squeezing fondly. “I’ve got it, I’m on an adrenaline roll right now anyway. Egg and cress all around?” 

“Yes, please,” Remus says. You echo a moment later. 

Sirius can’t seem to detach himself from you, which isn’t unusual but has been worse since your injury. He dots kisses along the edge of your jaw to amuse himself. 

“Are you feeling tired?” Remus asks you. “You haven’t had a nap yet today.” 

Sirius waits for the inevitable joke about your nursing home schedule, but it doesn’t come. You must not be feeling up to it. 

You shrug, mumbling, “I’m okay.” 

“Have a nap with me after lunch,” Sirius says. “I’m knackered, and I could use a cuddle buddy.” 

You make a confused humming sound. “Were you just asleep?” 

“I was,” he admits readily. “And it’ll be even better the second time around, with you there.” 

[briseroyawritingsblog]

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒃𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒚𝒂

• 𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒎𝒂𝒏!𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

[ theme: friends to lovers | +18 minors do not interact. ]

divider by @anitalenia 🎀

• Oldman Logan who seemingly and most likely melts whenever you smile at him. You’re so young and fresh like a ray of warm sunshine in his life.

• Oldman Logan who loves reading whatever you write for him, he sits in his limo taking a break, drinking some whiskey with his pair of specs reading your messages but he never really replies to you. You already know that he is busy so you don’t mind at least he reads them.

• Oldman Logan who knows your age gap is insane and he thinks he’s sick deep down to even spend time with you, but you like sitting next to him and draw tiny pictures in his notepad. You sitting crossed leg on his passenger seat, doodling and colouring to unwind after long days at work. You force him to drive you the nearest fast food place and you storm out his limo to go and buy food and he chuckles watching you. He leans against the hood of his limo lighting a cigar. Do you force him eating ice cream fudge cake? Yes. And it’s all over his beard as you feed him and you giggle like a little girl. He grunts and that grumpy face of his makes you laugh- he’s melting deep within.

• Oldman Logan who buys you new pencils and notepads and keeps them in his car, even though you speak way too much and you’re a very happy person he could listen to you all day. Just the little ups and downs at your work, he sits there driving and you just keep talking soothing his very soul.

• Oldman Logan who allows himself a little break and drive you home from work almost everyday. You never leave without saying a goodbye kissing his cheek and drawing hearts on his fogged windows. It’s so adorable that he almost never wipes them away until rain does.

• Oldman Logan who suddenly doesn’t show up for few days and you are heartbroken over it. Your phone never buzzes with his simple ‘hi’ ‘yes I’m on my way’ you are concerned, but god you miss him so much that you have tremors of pain in your chest and you cry.

• Oldman Logan who wakes in the middle of the night with horrible nightmares but when he thinks of you and your beautiful smile his heartbeat soothes and he’s lying there awake thinking of you.

• Oldman Logan who has to go to Charles and take care of him for a little bit but misses you every moment. He gives him a full month of meds supply, sleeps through one night and drives back to the city where he works.

• Oldman Logan who parks his limo nearby your house, watches you get in your home. And he just looks out for you, slowly drinking away his feelings for you because he shouldn’t even have any he is a grumpy old man. You would never settle for someone like him at all and he is not allowed to care about you so much you would only get hurt.

• Oldman Logan who smokes his cigar, and pretends like he doesn’t stay in his limo all night long just looking at your house. You approach the window and see him there, your heart shakes in happiness and you start crying putting on your slippers and run over to him. He steps out and you’re jumping in his arms nearly sending him on the gravel pavement and he hugs you tightly.

• Oldman Logan who allows him to melt into the tight hug and he holds you and you’re like a spider monkey clinging to the man who can visibly be your grandfather but you don’t care you love him so much it hurts. Soon you’re expressing your happiness and gratitude by kissing him all over his scarred face and he closed his eyes loving every moment of it. And your mouths brush against each other and you moan kissing him. Logan responds kissing you feverishly taking your breath away.

• Oldman Logan who lets you straddle his lap on the backseats of his limo, you whisper how much you miss him and that you want to be the closest to him. He tells you that he’s an Oldman and that he’s nothing good for you but you refuse his words telling him you love every part of him and that he’s just the right one for you. He’s hesitant letting you in but god— you melt all over insecurities away. Trembling hands skim all over your front touching your breasts, the swell of them. His eyes are soft and pleading and needing all of you.

• Oldman Logan who gasps softly when he sees your core engulfing his length all the way, your whimpers and moans ring in his ears. His big hands guide you back and forth on it and you mewl as you find yourself cumming moments later. The size of him just makes you cum so hard because it touched and nestles against your sweet spots and you’re a whiny mess. He’s not even done with you, his praises and soft groans egg you on to ride him and the quicker you both do so the better it feels and the euphoria is touching your soul.

• Oldman Logan who calls you his princess, his little girl when he lets you cuddle up to him while he smokes his cigars. His hands soothe your back holding you close.

• Oldman Logan who makes you feel you’re the only one in the world, who protects you and makes you feel so safe you reach heaven.

• Oldman Logan who is ♾️/ 10 a boyfriend, daddy material. ;))

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru wakes up, with a jolt, to the sound of a thud and a meek little yelp.

his eyes blink open, like the shutter of an old camera, raven lashes fluttering along — met only with the dim darkness of your bedroom. not quite pitch black, the light of something soon to resemble dawn bleeding in through the closed blinds, a blue kind of hue that doesn’t do much for him. everything is still dark.

but he can make out shapes, see the ceiling above him, and when he turns his head to the right he can see the contours of shoko’s face; fast asleep, snores building up in her throat and spilling from her lips.

(ridiculously cute.)

sadly, suguru doesn’t have time to savour the sight. because it takes him no less than a moment to notice that his other sleepy baby isn’t there at all — he barely even has to look, just feeling the mattress below him, knowing something is missing. he can’t feel at ease unless you’re weighing it down.

”baby…?” he rasps, deep and groggy, body moving on its own. elbows digging into the mattress, lifting himself up — a tug of alarm stirring his heartstrings.

the thud, your absence, the unmistakable yelp.

his muddled mind puts three and three together — and he sluggishly, steadily pulls himself up, almost desperate to locate you, but careful not to wake shoko. he moves elegantly, like a panther, slipping out of bed, bare feet meeting the cold floorboards as he stands up to his full height. hair a mess, a raven’s nest, sweatpants close to slipping off one side of his hips. absently wiping at his bleary eyes.

as soon as he regains his vision, stands up straight — he sees you. lying on the floor, like an abandoned plushie, while the adorable culprit is sprawled out peacefully on the mattress above you. you’re trying to get up, all disoriented and sleepy, and suguru thinks his heart might just melt down to the marrow.

this is exactly why he makes sure to sleep on the edge of the bed, most nights. exactly to prevent this — prevent his lovers from rolling over, tumbling right off. he doesn’t mind sleeping in the middle on days you want one arm each to latch onto, of course not; nothing warms his heart more than having both his babies on either side of him. but it feels good, to be the shield between you and the hardwood floor — making sure neither of you could ever fall off. it feels good, to watch you both nuzzle together like a pair of sleepy kittens. left side, middle, he’s fine with either.

just as long as he can prevent this. having to watch your small, sleepy form paw at the floorboards in search of stability. it breaks his heart in two.

”oh, baby,” he croons, deep and dripping with honey, crouching down beside you. effortless, as he scoops you up into his arms, one of his palms curling around your back — running down your spine.

and your eyes flutter open. hazy eyes, blinking at him, gaze almost absent, like you’re not quite sure what you’re looking at; but you’re already leaning into his touch, muscles softening, as if your very essence knows you’re safe. in his arms, in his lap.

it makes him want to cry.

(it makes him want to give you everything.)

he wastes no time in securing you, arms under your legs and behind your back as he stands up again. cradling you close, letting out a quiet coo, as if shushing a disgruntled child. the fall must have woken you up, poor thing. he wishes he could be angry with shoko, but she looks too sweet, when she’s so deeply asleep; drooling a little, groaning out something that sounds like a name. he only shakes his head, still rubbing gentle circles into your back.

”what a little bully, huh…?” 

no response. you’re already starting to nod off, again, and so he gets back into bed — guiding you to rest against the wall, safe and secure, where no sleepy girlfriends can get to you. tucking you in under his chin, making sure you’re comfortable against him.

(your shield, always. that’s all he wants to be.)

his lips find their way onto your forehead, pressing a gentle kiss between your brows. soft and chaste, holding you snugly, so eager to dote on you. his heart is still bleeding with tenderness, he can’t keep it in, it’s leaking all over the mattress and urging him to hold you tighter against his ribs. he thinks of how confused you must have been, waking up on the floor, wonders if you hurt your head on the way down — pressing another kiss there, for good measure. 

sweetly, sleepily, your lips curl up into a smile. 

a yawn slips past your lips, as you nuzzle into him, cheek all squished against his cushiony chest. looking so pleased that he almost wonders if this was your plan all along, a way to get all his attention.

suddenly, a weight drapes itself against his spine.

while he’s busy coaxing you back to sleep, he feels it; a sleepy murmur, muffled right against his bare skin, as a pair of lanky arms wrap around his waist. her voice is so raspy he just barely picks up on it, but his ears are attuned to every sound she makes.

shoko stirs behind him, fingers digging into his hips.

”… give ’em back…”

… his brows furrow.

”thief,” she yawns, again, all groggy and gruff. so, so silly. ”give them back… you’re so greedy…”

a raise of his brow, as he breathes out a scoff. ”you kicked them off the bed, you know…”

shoko only breathes out another groggy grumble, in response; her lanky arms tugging at his shoulders, using them as leverage to drag herself over his body and closest to the wall. he only lets out an amused huff, letting her manhandle him a bit — letting her snuggle up to you, warming your back. suguru feels himself smiling. watching you squirm, when her short, auburn strands tickle your sensitive collarbone, when she sighs into your neck. right in the middle of the two, right where you should be.

right where you belong.

he leans forward, brushes the curtain of your bangs away from your face, plants his lips against your forehead; smears a kiss against shoko’s cheek. he can’t help himself but to fall into you, breathe in the scent of your moisturizer, fading citrus drops and coconut oil. can’t help himself but to love you.

(his angels, he thinks, the word stuck on his tongue. his reason to be.)

suguru hugs you both close, now separating you fully from the edge of the bed, the chilly mahogany floor just waiting for impact. like the steady wall he always yearns to be, your ever-eager guard dog, even in your sleep. he’d like to jump into your dreams, make sure they treat you kindly — but he can’t. 

so this will have to do.

with a sigh, his lashes flutter shut. eyes drooping, every muscle in his body beginning to relax, sink into the mattress below. you’re safe, and shoko’s safe. that’s enough to put his heart deliriously at ease.

with the dark blue shade of the almost-morning sky bleeding in through the window’s glass, the city fast asleep beyond it — suguru closes his eyes. he whispers, breathes a silent prayer into the top of your head. he hopes you can still hear it, that it can bring you both solace, that his wish will come true.

”sweet dreams, my angels.”

(that’s all he could ask for.)