#not tagging black batter hes barely there

[mothscotch]

i hate learning anatomy sobs so have these not-learning-anatomy doodles :3

[jaeyunluvbot]

goodnight n go

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 vernon x fem!reader, kind of secret romance, college au

word count 𝟅𝟈 7.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The campus library hums with quiet activity: the scratch of pens, the faint tapping of keyboards, and whispers barely above a murmur. You’re in your usual corner, earbuds in and pretending you’re too absorbed in your screen to notice the commotion around you.

But you do notice. How could you not?

A burst of laughter draws your attention to the table just a few feet away. Of course, he’s there. Vernon Chwe.

He leans back in his chair, all lazy confidence, a backwards cap perched on his head like it’s an extension of his body. His hoodie looks soft, worn, perfectly slouchy, and it’s infuriating how good he looks without even trying. You force yourself to stare at your screen, typing nonsense just to look busy. He’s not even your enemy—not directly. But Vernon is part of Mingyu’s crowd, and that’s enough to keep him firmly on your ignore at all costs list.

You still remember how Jennie looked after her breakup with Mingyu—eyes puffy, voice breaking on every other word. She hasn’t explicitly told you to steer clear of Vernon, but loyalty doesn’t need to be spoken. Besides, you have no interest in frat boys who probably spend more time planning parties than studying.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You freeze. His voice cuts through the library like it has no regard for social norms—or the very clear quiet zone sign on the wall.

You don’t look up. Maybe if you pretend you didn’t hear him—

“Y/N,” he says again, louder this time. A few heads turn in mild irritation. You want to sink into the floor.

Reluctantly, you pull out an earbud and glare at him. “What?” you hiss.

He holds up a battered blue binder. Your binder. Your name is scrawled across the front in black Sharpie, unmistakable.

“I think you forgot this after class,” he says, his tone casual, almost playful.

You stomp over and snatch it from his hands. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he replies, grinning like you just made his day. “Oh, and nice presentation today in Dr. Kim’s class. You really knew your stuff.”

Your chest tightens, and not in the way you’d like to admit. Compliments shouldn’t feel like this—not from him, anyway. You shrug, keeping your voice neutral. “Thanks.”

You turn to leave, eager to put as much distance between yourself and his stupidly charming face as possible.

“You know,” he calls after you, his voice light, teasing, “I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

You stop mid-step. Slowly, you glance back at him. “What are you talking about?”

He leans back in his chair, his grin widening. “I mean, you don’t have to avoid me so much. I’m not the one who broke Jennie’s heart.”

Heat floods your cheeks—half embarrassment, half fury. “I’m not avoiding you,” you snap, even though the words feel like a lie.

“Sure you’re not,” he says, his tone maddeningly smug. “See you around, Y/N.”

You hate the way his voice lingers in your head long after you’ve stomped back to your seat.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The house is packed, music thumping so loud you can feel it in your chest. You’re clutching a red solo cup—not because you’re particularly in the mood to drink, but because it gives you something to do with your hands. Jennie’s off somewhere, probably gossiping with Irene and Seulgi, leaving you to hover near the snacks, pretending you’re not awkwardly alone in the middle of a frat house.

You don’t even know why you came.

Actually, that’s a lie—you know exactly why. Jennie had heard NCT was throwing the party, and you didn’t want to spend another Friday night alone in your dorm. But now, as you watch the endless crowd of people, you’re questioning your life choices.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t have to look up to know who it is.

Vernon Chwe.

His voice is casual, but when you glance at him, he’s smiling, almost like he’s been waiting for this moment. He’s ditched the usual hoodie for a plain black t-shirt and jeans, his hair falling messily over his forehead. It’s ridiculous how effortlessly good he looks.

“Didn’t think I’d see you either,” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Why’s that?”

“I didn’t think frat parties were your thing.”

“Really? I live here.”

Your face heats up at your own stupidity. He just laughs, shaking his head. “Relax, I’m kidding. I don’t live here, but I might as well with how often I’m around. The brothers in NCT are friends of my frat”

You roll your eyes. “Of course they are.”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to feel awkward. You glance at the door, contemplating an escape, but before you can bolt, Vernon leans a little closer.

“You look like you’re having a terrible time,” he says, his voice low enough that it feels like a secret between the two of you.

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“Come on,” he insists. “I saw you glaring at the chips like they personally offended you.”

You almost laugh despite yourself. “Maybe they did.”

He grins, taking a sip from his own cup. “Tell you what—let’s make it less terrible. There’s a quieter spot upstairs. Wanna come?”

Every sensible part of you screams no. This is exactly what you’ve been trying to avoid. But something about the way he’s looking at you, his smile soft and unassuming, makes you hesitate. Against your better judgment, you nod.

Vernon leads you to a room at the end of the hall, far enough from the party that the music feels like background noise. There’s an old couch in the corner, and he flops down, patting the seat next to him.

You hesitate, but sit down anyway, keeping a safe distance.

“See? Much better,” he says, leaning back and stretching his arms across the top of the couch.

“You didn’t bring me here to murder me, did you?” you joke, crossing your arms.

He snorts. “If I wanted to murder you, I wouldn’t have picked a frat party. Too many witnesses.”

“Good point.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s not the awkward silence you expected. It’s…comfortable.

“So,” he says, breaking the quiet, “why do you hate me?”

Your head snaps toward him. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “I get it. Jennie’s your friend, and Mingyu’s my friend. Guilty by association.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“I just think it’s kind of unfair,” he adds, his voice quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his tone catches you off guard—he sounds almost…vulnerable.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

You glance at him, and for the first time, you let yourself really look. He’s not grinning or teasing. He’s just sitting there, waiting for you to say something.

“I guess…I never gave you a chance,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should.

He smiles, but it’s small and almost shy. “Well, I’m glad we’re fixing that now.”

You’re not sure why your chest feels so tight, or why your heart is beating so fast. All you know is that Vernon Chwe might be a problem—a very, very big problem.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve never been one to lose track of time, especially not at a party. But as you sit on the worn couch in that quiet upstairs room, hours pass like minutes.

Vernon has a way of talking that catches you off guard. He’s not loud or overbearing like you imagined a frat boy would be. Instead, his words are thoughtful, his voice calm, like he’s actually listening and not just waiting for his turn to speak.

Somehow, the conversation flows from harmless small talk—classes, shared professors, and how the campus coffee shop is ridiculously overpriced—to deeper things.

“You know, when I found out you were friends with Jennie I was surprised,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees.

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, leaning back into the couch.

“Yeah. You don’t have that… sorority vibe, you know?”

“And what vibe do I have, exactly?”

He grins, his eyes flickering to yours for a moment before he looks away. “You seem like you’ve got it all together, but there’s a lot more going on under the surface. Like, you’re the type of person who stays up all night overthinking things.”

Your stomach flips at how accurate that is. You cover it with a laugh. “What, did you take a psychology class or something?”

“Nah,” he says, still smiling. “I’m just good at reading people.”

“Then why didn’t you read that I don’t like you?”

It’s meant to be a jab, but it comes out softer than you intended.

He shrugs. “Because I don’t think that’s true.”

You scoff, but he doesn’t back down. His gaze lingers on you, not in an intimidating way, but like he’s trying to figure out how you work.

“Okay, fine,” you say, breaking the tension. “Maybe I didn’t like you before.”

“But now?” he asks, his tone teasing but his eyes serious.

You roll your eyes. “You’re…less annoying than I thought you’d be.”

“Wow, high praise,” he says, grinning.

You can’t help but smile back.

At some point, the conversation shifts to childhood memories. You tell him about the time you broke your mom’s favorite vase and tried to blame it on your cousin, only for your little brother to rat you out. He laughs, and it’s this deep, genuine sound that makes your chest feel warm.

In return, he tells you about the time he got his head stuck between the bars of a park fence and how Mingyu had to call their RA to get him out.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you say, laughing, “the fact that you got stuck or the fact that you had to call for help.”

“Hey, I was, like, eight,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Cut me some slack.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye.

Before you realize it, the music from downstairs starts to fade, the party winding down. You check your phone—it’s past midnight.

“I should probably get going,” you say, though you don’t really want to.

“Yeah,” he says, standing up and stretching. “Me too.”

As you head downstairs together, the air between you feels different. Lighter. For the first time, you don’t feel the need to keep your guard up around him.

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, he turns to you, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “This was…nice.”

You nod. “Yeah, it was.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to say something else, but instead, he just smiles. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Vernon.”

As you walk home, your thoughts race. You still don’t know what to make of him, but one thing’s for sure—he’s not at all what you expected.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning, you stumble out of bed and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen, still in your pajamas. Your mind is hazy, last night’s events with Vernon replaying on a constant loop. You’re still trying to piece together how you ended up talking to him for hours, completely forgetting you were supposed to dislike him.

As you enter the kitchen, the lively chatter of your sorority sisters fills the air. Jennie, Irene, Seulgi, and Chaeyoung are crowded around the table, coffee mugs and half-eaten bagels scattered in front of them.

“Finally! Sleeping Beauty decided to join us,” Jennie teases, raising her mug in your direction.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug for yourself and pouring some coffee.

“So, where did you disappear to last night?” Chaeyoung asks, looking at you curiously.

You nearly drop the coffee pot. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Irene says, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “One minute you were with us, the next you vanished into thin air.”

“Yeah,” Jennie chimes in, narrowing her eyes at you. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Your brain scrambles for an excuse. “I, uh… I left early. I had a headache.” You force a casual shrug, praying they won’t press further.

“Really?” Jennie asks, her voice skeptical.

“Yup. Didn’t want to ruin the vibe for anyone, so I just went home,” you say quickly, pouring yourself some coffee and taking a long sip to avoid their gazes.

Thankfully, Seulgi changes the subject. “Honestly, I don’t blame you. Those frat boys were so obnoxious.”

“Right?” Irene says, rolling her eyes. “Especially Mingyu’s friends. They’re the worst.”

You freeze, your stomach twisting.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Jennie groans. “Mingyu’s bad enough on his own, but all of them together? They’re insufferable.”

You stare down at your mug of coffee.

“Who even invited them anyway?” Chaeyoung adds.

“Probably Jaehyun,” Jennie mutters. “I think he’s like, friends with Mingyu or something.”

You sit in silence, staring into your mug as their voices swirl around you. They have no idea what you were doing last night—who you were talking to—and guilt settles heavily in your chest.

But why should you feel guilty? It’s not like you did anything wrong.

Still, you can’t help but think about Vernon’s laugh, his surprisingly thoughtful responses, and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his favorite movies. He didn’t seem like the person they’re describing.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice pulls you back to reality.

“What?”

“Are you coming with us to brunch later?”

“Oh. Uh, maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling,” you say, your voice distant.

Jennie nods, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t push. As the conversation shifts, you force yourself to focus on anything other than Vernon.

But no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about him, a fact that has guilt eating you alive from the inside.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days pass, and despite your best efforts to keep Vernon out of your head, he somehow keeps finding ways to slip back in. It doesn’t help that he texts you memes or random thoughts like, "Do you think penguins get cold?" throughout the day, making you smile when you shouldn’t.

You try to bury the guilt. You really do. But when Vernon suggests sneaking into your sorority house for a movie night—because his frat is too loud, and “your room probably smells better than mine”—you can’t seem to say no.

“Fine,” you whisper-yell into the phone. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“I can live with that,” he replies with a laugh.

A couple of hours later, Vernon is sprawled on the rug in your room, munching on chips he insisted on bringing while you sit cross-legged on your bed, watching Shrek 2. You hate how easy it is to be around him, how natural it feels to laugh with him like this.

“You know,” he says, turning to look at you, “for someone who supposedly hates me, you’re pretty bad at showing it.”

You roll your eyes, throwing a pillow at him. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

But just as he’s about to throw a chip back at you, there’s a knock at the door.

“Y/N?” Jennie’s voice cuts through the playful atmosphere like a knife.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You practically leap off the bed, gesturing frantically for Vernon to hide. He scrambles behind your bed just as you crack the door open, trying to look as casual as possible.

“Hey, Jen,” you say, forcing a smile.

“Are you coming to dinner with us?” she asks, peering into your room suspiciously.

“Oh, uh… maybe later,” you stammer. “I’m just… talking to my mom.”

Jennie raises an eyebrow. “Your mom?”

“Yeah, she called, and we’ve just been catching up,” you say quickly, holding up your phone for emphasis.

“Okay,” Jennie says slowly, clearly unconvinced. She glances behind you, as if she can sense something is off. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Yep, totally fine!” you say, practically shoving the door closed. “Have fun at dinner!”

You shut the door and lean against it, your heart pounding.

From behind the desk, Vernon’s muffled laughter bubbles up. “Your mom, seriously?”

“Shut up!” you hiss, glaring at him.

He emerges from his hiding spot, grinning like an idiot. “That was smooth. Really convincing.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe this,” you mutter, flopping onto your bed. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault?” he says, sitting cross-legged on the rug again. “You’re the one who let me in.”

You throw another pillow at him, which he easily catches.

“Just admit you like me,” he teases, leaning back on his hands with that stupid, cocky grin.

You grab another pillow, ready to hurl it, but his words hit a little too close to home. Your grip loosens, and the pillow falls to your lap as your cheeks flush.

“See? You can’t even deny it,” he says, his voice softer now, his teasing tone giving way to something more genuine.

You hate that he’s right. But admitting it? That’s a whole other thing.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a whirlwind of late-night sneaking, secret hangouts, and way too much Vernon. Not that you’d admit you enjoy it.

Vernon has gotten way too comfortable invading your life. He texts you constantly, calls when you’re least expecting it, and—when he’s feeling particularly bold—throws in a casual, “Miss me yet?” with a winky face. You hate that the answer is always yes.

To make matters worse, Jennie has been clinging to you like never before. She’s always suggesting lunch dates or study sessions, and you can’t say no without feeling like the worst friend in the world.

Balancing both is exhausting. It feels like you’re living two lives: one where you’re Jennie’s loyal best friend, and one where you’re Vernon’s… whatever you are.

One afternoon, when the stress feels like it’s going to eat you alive, you knock on Chaeyoung’s door, desperate for advice. She’s lounging on her bed with a sketchpad when you walk in, looking up with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s with the dramatic entrance?” she asks.

“I need help,” you say, collapsing into her beanbag chair.

“Uh-oh. Is this about Jennie or Vernon?”

Your head snaps up. “How did you—?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “It’s obvious. You’ve been weirdly busy lately, but you look way too happy for it to just be school. Plus, Vernon keeps staring at you in class.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Okay, spill,” Chaeyoung says, setting her sketchpad aside.

You tell her everything—how Vernon wormed his way into your life, how he’s not the annoying frat boy you thought he’d be, how you actually like spending time with him.

“But Jennie,” you say, throwing your hands up. “She’d kill me if she found out. And I don’t even know what this is with Vernon. It’s not like we’re dating, but…”

“But you want to,” Chaeyoung finishes for you.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Chaeyoung leans back, thoughtful. “Well, Vernon didn’t do anything to Jennie. That was all Mingyu.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates Vernon by association. If she knew I was hanging out with him…”

“She’d be pissed,” Chaeyoung finishes with a sigh.

“Exactly,” you mutter, slumping further into the beanbag.

Chaeyoung looks at you sympathetically. “Okay, but hear me out. Do you really think this is sustainable? Sneaking around, lying to Jennie, sneaking Vernon into the house… You’re gonna crack eventually.”

You don’t want to admit she’s right, but you know she is. The thought of coming clean terrifies you, though. What if Jennie takes it the wrong way? What if she gets mad and it ruins your friendship?

“I just… I don’t know how to tell her,” you admit quietly.

“Well,” Chaeyoung says, smirking a little, “if Vernon is as crazy about you as he seems, maybe it’s worth taking the risk.”

Her words stick with you longer than you’d like. But are you brave enough to actually act on them?

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

This time, your sorority is the one hosting a party, the kind of event where you can already feel your exhaustion just from the noise and the amount of people packed into your sorority house. It’s loud and flashy, with your sisters dancing and laughing, and—against all expectations—Jennie has begrudgingly invited the Seventeen frat. You know why she did it. Drinks, snacks, and the usual frat chaos that she’s come to rely on for a good time.

But you? You’re stuck. You’ve spent most of the night glued to Jennie’s side, unable to sneak away, unable to make any excuse to disappear into the crowd where you could catch a glimpse of Vernon. The tension in the air is thick, and you can’t avoid the prickle of guilt as you glance across the room and catch sight of him. His eyes meet yours for a second, and you can almost feel the way his smile falters. He tries to move closer, but Jennie’s hand tugs you away, her chatter drowning out everything else.

“Come on, let’s dance,” Jennie says, pulling you into the middle of the room, and you can’t help but notice how she deliberately blocks Vernon from your line of sight.

You nod and force a smile. You hate this. You hate the way you’re pretending, the way you’re avoiding him, as though everything that’s been between you suddenly doesn’t matter. But Jennie doesn’t know, and you can’t risk it. Not when she’s this protective of you. You’d never hear the end of it.

Vernon, on the other hand, doesn’t let it slide. As the night stretches on, you can see him trying to talk to you. A quick chat, maybe a dance, a little smile. Each time, you have to turn away, pretending you don’t feel the pull in your chest. He’s not buying it.

Finally, he steps back, his lips curling into a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Okay, cool,” he mutters, the hurt clear in his tone. “I see how it is.” He turns away, disappearing into the crowd.

Jennie notices. “Haha, that’s weird. Why is he only talking to you?” she asks, a tinge of knowing in her voice.

You force a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as fake as it feels. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t know why he was talking to me either.”

The words burn in your mouth, and you want to kick yourself. It’s all a lie. A lie you’ve been feeding to Jennie, to yourself, to everyone. But the guilt is too much, and you just need to get through tonight.

When the party dies down, and you finally find an excuse to leave, you head upstairs, your heart heavy with a mix of guilt and regret. You barely get your door closed before you pull out your phone and start typing to Vernon.

Hey… I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to be weird. I just didn’t know what to do.

You wait, staring at the screen, hoping for the buzz of a reply. But it never comes. A few minutes pass, then thirty, then an hour. Your thumb hovers over the screen, ready to type again, but no new message comes in.

Finally, you give up, tossing your phone aside and heading into the bathroom. You turn the shower on, trying to wash away the anxiety that’s coiling in your stomach. It doesn’t work.

You curl into bed, the sheets cold against your skin, but nothing can stop your thoughts from swirling. You feel horrible for betraying Jennie, for lying to her. But then there’s Vernon, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve betrayed him too. What’s worse is you can’t even tell Jennie the truth because it would hurt her, and you can’t risk that. You feel like you’re suffocating under the weight of it all.

The knock on your door comes hours later, and when you open it, Jennie is standing there, still in her outfit from the party, her expression soft.

“Hey,” she says, her voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

You nod silently, stepping aside to let her in.

“I know something’s up,” she says, sitting on your bed. “You’ve been acting weird all night. You can tell me, you know. I’m your friend.”

You stand there for a moment, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill. You want to tell her. You want to be honest. But the truth feels impossible to say.

“I can’t,” you say, shaking your head. “I just… I feel awful. I don’t know what to do.”

Jennie sighs, looking at you with a mixture of sympathy and understanding. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone. But it sounds like you need some time to figure things out. Just know I’m here if you need me, okay?”

You give a shaky nod.

Jennie stands and pats your shoulder gently. “If you need to talk, I’m here. But take your time. Just don’t keep it all in too long, okay?”

You whisper, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” she says softly, offering you a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll figure it out.”

As she walks out, you close the door behind her, burying your face in your hands. The guilt is suffocating, but you also know that Jennie is right. You have a lot to figure out—and soon.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Everyone is packing up, signaling the end of another lecture. You grab your things quickly, your thoughts racing. This is it. You can’t keep avoiding him, and you can’t let things stay awkward between you and Vernon any longer. You know he’s been hurt, and you can’t just let it fester.

As you walk out of class, you spot him talking to a few of his friends, his back turned to you. You hesitate for a second, wondering if you should just leave it for another day, but then you square your shoulders and head toward him.

“Vernon,” you call, and his shoulders stiffen before he turns around to face you. The moment his eyes meet yours, you see the flicker of wariness in them, the same hesitation that you’ve been feeling.

“Hey,” he greets you, his voice neutral but with a hint of something else. He’s not mad, but it’s clear he’s still hurt.

You bite your lip, knowing this is going to be a bit of a confrontation. “Can we talk?”

His gaze flickers to his friends, who are still hanging around, laughing and joking. He looks back at you, eyes narrowed slightly. “What about?”

You take a deep breath. “I just… I want to apologize for what happened at the party. I shouldn’t have ignored you like that.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You’re serious?” He laughs dryly, a little incredulity in his tone. “After everything, now you want to apologize?”

You can tell he’s holding back, trying not to sound too hurt or too bitter, but you know him well enough by now to catch it. You step closer, lowering your voice so only he can hear. “Yeah, I’m serious. I messed up, okay? But can we talk about it, like, without everyone else around?”

Vernon hesitates, glancing at his friends again, who are still chatting, not paying much attention to either of you. He seems reluctant to leave them, but then he sighs and looks back at you. “I’m not sure what we’re gonna talk about that’s so urgent, but fine. Let’s go.”

You lead the way to the small café off-campus, the one where you both have shared stolen moments before. It’s always been a place for you to get away from everything and everyone. Just the two of you. You can’t help but hope this conversation will get you back to where you were before everything got so messy.

When you get there, Vernon still seems distant. He orders a coffee and takes a seat at one of the far booths, clearly not thrilled about being there, but you don’t let it stop you. You sit across from him, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down between you.

“So?” Vernon asks after a beat, his voice softer, more vulnerable than before.

You swallow hard, the guilt rushing back in full force. “I didn’t know how to handle it. I thought if I just ignored everything, it would be easier. I didn’t want to hurt Jennie, and I didn’t want you to think I was picking sides or something.”

Vernon leans back in the booth, clearly not convinced, but willing to listen. “And now? Now you’re ready to make it right?”

You nod, your eyes meeting his. “I don’t want to keep avoiding you. I never should have ignored you, Vernon. I care about you. I’m just… trying to figure things out.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge whether or not you mean it. Finally, he lets out a breath and looks away, taking a sip of his coffee. “You know, I didn’t expect it to be like this. I didn’t expect you to pretend I didn’t exist, Y/N.”

The words sting, but you know he’s right. You were too afraid of what it could mean to let yourself be real with him. You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling the weight of everything you’ve been holding back. “I know. And I’m sorry for that. But I’m here now. I’m not running away anymore.”

Vernon doesn’t answer right away. He just stares at you, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, he gives you a small nod. “Okay. I’ll take that.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thank you.”

He looks at you, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But you still owe me something.”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. “What do you mean?”

His grin widens, the playfulness in his tone returning. “A little honesty. You can’t just tell me that you’re not running away and expect me to believe that everything’s all good now. I want to know why you were so damn scared of me.”

Your cheeks heat up, and you look away, embarrassed. “Vernon, stop.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying teasing you. “Come on. Just admit it. You like me.”

You groan and shake your head, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. “Just admit it, Y/N. I know you like me, at least a little.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no denying the flutter in your stomach. “Fine, I like you a tiny bit. Happy now?”

Vernon’s grin softens, and he sits back in his seat, clearly satisfied. “Much better.”

There’s a shift in the air between you two, something lighter, more comfortable. You both know things aren’t perfect yet, but you’ve crossed a bridge, and it feels like a good step forward.

For the first time in a while, you’re not dreading what’s to come. You’re just here with him. And, for now, that’s enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The cold of winter had been relentless lately, and you’ve been spending most of your time bundled up in layers of blankets, trying to stay warm while surviving the stress of exam season. Between your studies, your sorority obligations, and the pressure of keeping everything balanced, you’ve barely had time for anything else.

But tonight, when you were in the middle of reviewing your notes, your phone buzzed with a message from Vernon.

Vernon: Yo, I’m locked out of the frat house. Can I crash at yours?

You bite your lip, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one is around. Technically, you’re not allowed to have overnight guests, but you can’t help but feel for him. The cold night air must be unbearable, and you know Vernon well enough to know he won’t ask for help unless he really needs it.

You: I’m not supposed to have anyone here, but I’ll make an exception for you this time.

Vernon: Thanks. I swear I’ll be out of your hair by morning. Promise.

A few minutes later, Vernon’s at your door, his face a little red from the cold, looking as casual as ever in his hoodie and jeans. You step aside to let him in.

“You’re lucky I’m a softie for you,” you tease, but the warmth you’re offering him is genuine as he steps inside.

“I know. I owe you one,” Vernon replies, smiling that crooked smile of his that always manages to make your heart skip.

You show him to your room, where you pull out the air mattress you keep tucked away in the corner for emergencies like this. “I’ve got this, but it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world. You’re welcome to it.” You hand him a pillow and a blanket.

He frowns slightly, eyeing the air mattress. “It’ll do.” He flops down on it with a huff, and you return to your side of the room, trying to focus on your notes again.

But the chill in the room isn’t just from the weather. The heating’s been out in the house for the past few days, and no amount of blankets seems to be helping. After a few minutes of shivering under your own covers, you turn to Vernon on the floor.

“You’re probably freezing down there,” you say, already feeling guilty.

He shrugs, but you can tell from his expression that he’s cold.

“I don’t want you getting sick,” you continue. “You can join me in the bed, if you want. It’ll be warmer with both of us.”

Vernon looks at you for a beat, hesitating, but ultimately nods. “Ok. But no funny business.”

“Of course,” you say, trying to hide your grin, but your heart is already racing a little.

He slides into the bed next to you, and you both lie there, staring up at the ceiling, neither of you speaking for a long while. The silence is oddly comfortable, but it’s also loaded—with so many unsaid things.

The two of you just lay there, listening to the sounds of the night, the quiet of your room feeling oddly intimate with him so close.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence with a sigh, his voice just above a whisper. “You know… we’d be great together.”

You snap your head toward him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

His eyes are already on you, his expression serious. “I’m tired of always having to say goodnight and go. I like you, and I want to be with you.”

Your heart does a flip in your chest. You stare at him, your mind scrambling to make sense of his words, unsure of how to respond.

“What?” you repeat, because you can’t think of anything else to say. Your voice is shaky, a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name.

Vernon sighs, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “You heard me.”

He shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours under the covers. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze that makes you feel like your heart might just fall out of your chest.

“I’m tired of pretending,” he adds quietly. “I can’t keep doing this—acting like I don’t want more than just late-night talks and goodbyes.”

You feel your chest tighten, a swirl of emotions crashing into you all at once. You want to say something, but words feel inadequate, too small for the way you’re feeling right now.

Instead, you just stare at him, your breath catching in your throat. He’s close now, so close that you can feel the heat from his body, and his eyes are filled with an intensity that you didn’t know he could have.

You open your mouth, but the words get stuck. What is there to say when everything between you feels so... complicated? So dangerous? You can’t let this happen. Not now.

But before you can respond, Vernon speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything. I just—” He pauses, shaking his head slightly, like he’s unsure of how to finish his thought. “I just needed you to know.”

Your heart is racing. You want to pull away, but something about the way he’s looking at you keeps you rooted to the spot. There’s no denying it anymore—there’s something between you and Vernon. Something real.

But the reality of your situation sinks in like a stone in your stomach. You can’t let it happen. Not now, not like this.

“I—Vernon…” You trail off, unable to finish. It’s like your brain is in a fog, fighting against your heart’s instincts.

Vernon’s hand brushes against yours again, his fingers almost touching yours. “I’m not asking for anything right now. I just want to be close to you. And I want you to know how I feel.”

For a moment, all you can do is lie there, lost in the weight of his words. You don’t know what to say, but you know that the longer you stay in this moment, the harder it’s going to be to walk away from whatever this is between you.

All you can do is look at him, and in the silence of the room, let his confession hang in the air.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The weight of the secret has been hanging over you for so long, and you've finally had enough of pretending. You’ve been running from this, trying to keep your two lives separate, but the pressure is starting to get unbearable. You know you can’t hide it anymore, not from Jennie—especially not now.

You find her in the living room of your sorority house, sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. The warmth of the fire crackling in the background is a sharp contrast to the cold you’ve been carrying in your chest for weeks. You take a deep breath and sit next to her, your heart racing with anticipation.

“Hey, Jen?”

She looks up, a soft smile forming on her lips. “What’s up?”

“I—I need to tell you something,” you start, your words tripping over each other. “About... Vernon. And me.”

Jennie quirks an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Finally,” she says with a knowing look.

You blink, completely caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

Jennie laughs softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I was wondering when you’d come clean.”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. “You knew?”

Her laugh grows louder as she shakes her head. “You’re really not the best liar, you know. I could tell something was up, and you weren’t exactly subtle about it.”

“I—" You cut yourself off, unable to form a coherent thought as the realization hits you. “So, that whole time you—?”

Jennie shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I kept bringing up how much I hated his friend group because I wanted to see how long it would take you to crack. Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Your mouth drops open in shock, but then, something inside you relaxes. You laugh, feeling the tension inside of you dissolve for the first time in ages. “I can’t believe you knew this whole time and didn’t say anything!”

Jennie smirks, her eyes softening. “You needed to figure it out on your own. And hey, you did. So I’m happy for you.”

You feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. All the guilt, the secrets, the tension—all gone in an instant. Jennie is happy for you, and you didn’t have to hide anymore.

With a deep breath, you pull out your phone and send Vernon a quick text:

You: Come over. We need to talk.

The moment your finger leaves the send button, you can’t help but feel a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. Jennie notices your expression and gives you a soft, knowing smile.

“You’re doing the right thing,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Go after what you want.”

The doorbell rings a short while later, and you almost jump out of your skin. Jennie watches you go with a teasing smile, and you roll your eyes before heading to the door.

When you open it, Vernon’s standing there, a little unsure, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His eyes search yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something.

You pull him up the stairs once again, except this time, you don’t have to hide or worry about someone finding out. It’s strangely freeing.

“Hey,” you say softly, stepping aside so he can come in. “I, uh… I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and about everything.”

He steps inside your room, looking at you with a mixture of curiosity and hope in his eyes. And for a moment, you just stand there, the space between you two thick with unspoken words.

You take a deep breath, your nerves getting the best of you for just a second. “Vernon, I—I didn’t want to keep lying to myself anymore. Or to you. I told Jennie about us.”

Vernon’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been hiding how I feel for so long,” you continue, stepping closer to him, “and it’s stupid. I don’t want to keep pretending. I like you. I really like you.”

A smile starts to tug at the corners of Vernon’s lips, and without thinking, you rush to add, “I’m not expecting anything, but I just—”

Before you can finish, Vernon cuts you off, closing the gap between you and pulling you into a kiss that feels like the weight of everything falling away. All the confusion, the guilt, the fear—it all melts as his lips find yours, soft and warm.

When he pulls back, his eyes are shining. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”

You smile, your heart beating wildly. This is it. This is what you’ve been wanting, and now you’re finally getting it.

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, and you can feel everything shifting between you two—like the world is finally falling into place.

The kiss is everything you’ve been wanting and more, full of tenderness and passion, but also full of understanding. You’ve both been waiting for this moment for a long time, and now it’s finally here.

When you break away, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you smiling like you’ve just found something precious.

“I think this is the start of something good,” Vernon murmurs, his voice full of certainty.

You nod, your heart full. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And for the first time in a long while, you feel truly happy, knowing that you’ve let go of your fears and embraced what you really want.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

author's note 𝟅𝟈 i love vernon and i love this song

masterlist.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

happy happy birthday i hope you're having a great day 🍾🥳💐

If it's ok i would like to ask for "How can you still trust me after everything I've done?" with 🔥 and a female reader please? Maybe just a little nsfw-ish?

Thank you so much, Anon, for the lovely birthday wishes! I'm sorry this took a while, I hope you still enjoy it! Even though it's much more angsty than actualy NSFW... hope you don't mind that! Thank you!

Source for Pic and Pic

Fighter

Word Count: 4176

Tags: Fem!Reader; Dark!Ace; Angst; Hurt; Sorrow; Ambiguous/Open-ending; Mention of sex; Physical and emotional torture;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Ace was overtaken by some sort of Darkness and he's very intent on breaking you. You are a fighter, but how long can you last in such an unfair fight?

Notes: This fic was heavily inspired by the song The Fighter by In This Moment. I love this song so much! Please give it a listen, it fits right in.

|Masterlist|

Has it been weeks? Days? Surely not. It can't have been more than one day. A few hours, perhaps? Time seems to stand still. There's no window, no sun, no breeze, and definitely no air! It's suffocating, oppressing, and so full of despair.

The only light comes from a few torches scattered here and there, barely enough to discern if the wet patches on the damp earth below your feet are water or your own blood. 

No, that's not right. 

There's another source of light. A dark flame, so black one would think it came straight from the pits of hell. Where once burned a bright orange, almost golden-like flame, filled with love and laughter, now stands a void of hopelessness and desperation. 

Ace. 

Your Ace. 

No, that's not right again. This is not your Ace. In front of you stands a twisted, cruel version of the man you love. 

“Ready to break, love? Are you well rested?” His voice has the same timbre, but he never wielded it with so much cruelty. The way he uses your nickname rings familiar, but it is nowhere near the same. 

And he's terrifying. 

This Darkness that once was your lover approaches your broken form again, and you wince in preparation. Your arms are numb, and there's blood dripping from where the chains cut into your skin, from your dangled wrists. The bruises on your body paint a yellowish and purple complexion on your soft skin. There are welts and blisters forming as well from the burns he's inflicting on you. 

But what's truly devastating isn't the physical pain this thing is bringing upon you. It's an emotional one. Because the same calloused hands that held you tight with love are now holding you tight with pain, branding you with dark flames, consuming you in all the wrong ways. 

You want to beg for him to stop. 

But you can't stop fighting. 

I will always fall and rise again Your venomous heroine 'Cause I am a survivor Yeah, I am a fighter

“Ace.” You plead again, your words more broken than last time but filled with the same hope. “I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Come back to me, love. Come back.”

For the briefest of moments, his dark eyes seem to flicker with some sort of light. Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your lungs. 

Then it's gone. 

The Darkness laughs. An inhuman laugh devoid of all the warmth that Ace possesses, devoid of all his light, all his love. It hurts more than a million burns. His hands clutch your neck, squeezing tight until little black dots start to fill your vision, his digits marking new bruises on your battered skin as his lips dangle close to your own, twisted into an animalistic snarl that resembles nothing of your lover. 

“Ace can't hear you, love. He's far gone. I'm all that's left, and I will break you.”

He releases you a moment before you're about to pass out, and your chest heaves, inhaling gulps of damp, stagnant air as your head feels light and empty. 

Then, pain strikes again. 

His dark flames create new burns, his fists bruising and battering. You’re not even sure of what's broken anymore. But nothing too important. No, he doesn't want to kill you.

Not yet, at least. 

I will fall and rise above And in your hate I find love 'Cause I'm a survivor Yeah, I am a fighter

You pass out. Who knows for how long? Your only hope is that Ace is still somewhere inside, and that he's still listening to you. 

He needs to come back. 

Ache settles into your bones and your sore muscles. Your lips are dry and cracked, and thirst holds your tonsils ransom, trapped against your throat. You’re at least glad that you have nothing inside your belly, because the stench of your burning flesh is enough to revolt the strongest stomachs. 

“Oh, here you are again, love. I thought I might have gone a bit too far this time.” His manic chuckle is a far cry from Ace’s giddy laughter. “Oops!” Your lover was never taunting, never cruel, never hurtful. You barely know how to cope with this reality.

One minute he was Ace, and the next he wasn’t. How did it happen? You can’t even remember if it was an enemy Devil Fruit or something else entirely. Whatever it was, it took your Ace away and replaced him with something ugly and dark. 

“Come back, Ace, please.” You keep pleading. Ever since this thing brought you to this damp cave and started torturing you. But Ace doesn’t hear you. Is he still there?

He has to be. It’s far too painful to think he’s gone. 

“You keep pleading for the wrong thing, love. Plead for your life. That’s all.” There’s a gleam in his eyes, but it’s the wrong spark. Where there used to be a boyish amusement, there’s nothing but twisted delight. He’s relishing the fact that he’s slowly breaking you.

And you won’t give him - it - this satisfaction. 

“Remember us, Ace… please.” Maybe if you appeal to his heart, to the shared memories of happy days, he can come back to you. He was always a fighter, never a quitter. It doesn’t have to be different now.

You ignore the twisted and spent part of yourself that assures you that if he could come back, he would’ve already. The Ace you love would never have laid a single finger on you to hurt you. 

This dark Ace takes a step back, his eyes widen, and he stutters. “Remember us?” Maybe it’s working. 

You pull on the chains a bit more, but all that does is make you wince and writhe in pain. They’re too tight, and they’ve been biting at your skin, leaving it tender and bruised since he captured you.

“Yes. I remember us.” His lips pull back into a distorted smile that resembles nothing of the man you love, nor does the freakish sound that follows, an eerie, dark laugh. “I remember this.”

The Darkness steps closer, his hand caressing your cheek while his thumb presses against your lower lip. The other hand traces gentle patterns over your neck and collarbone, a familiarity in the gesture that brings tears to your eyes. It’s a lover's caress, but instead of warmth, all you feel is revulsion. 

This will break you much faster than any other kind of torture. 

I will not hide my face I will not fall from grace I'll walk into the fire, baby

“Do you know what Ace’s first memory of you is?” The Darkness’s tongue peeks out from his mouth as he licks his lips, his dark gaze never leaving yours while tears pool at the corners of your eyes. “Your smile. The way his heart raced when you smiled at him. Such a silly boy with silly dreams. So vulnerable, so in love.”

“Stop. Please stop…” The words are mere whispers as tears finally run freely over your scarred cheeks. These are precious memories, and he’s desecrating them all, turning them into weapons meant to hurt. “Ace… come back.”

“Keep pleading, love. It won’t do you any good, but it will feel so much better when you finally break.” His hand hovers over your breasts and dips lower, settling against your hip as he brushes his thumb against your hip bone. The gesture is intimate, akin to Ace’s touch, but so wrong, so perverse. 

“Do you remember the first time he kissed you?” A cruel laugh echoes in your ears, his deep voice a corrupt mimicry of Ace’s soft tone. “Mighty Portgas D. Ace, a fearsome commander of the Whitebeard Pirates… nervous. A trembling mess of a man, too afraid to get it wrong, scared shitless you would leave him because he didn’t deserve you. He agonised over it for days. Foolish sap.”

You close your eyes as a painful sob claws its way through your chest and up your throat. You try to block the beautiful memory from reaching the surface, but the damage is done. You remember it as clearly as day.

Ace’s flushed, freckled cheeks. A nervous laugh escaping his trembling lips. The way he kept swaying on the tips of his toes, his hand either reaching for you or retreating to his pockets. 

His deep breath before cupping your cheeks with shuddering, too-hot hands, just before his lips collided with yours. The kiss was too tense at first, too clumsy. 

Until you relaxed in his hold and melted into his touch. When you sighed into his lips, he easily took your tongue with his and thoroughly scrambled your brain.

“Stop. Please stop.”

“Why should I? When it produces these sweet, sweet tears.” Clutching your face, he leans in, tongue reaching out and licking a long stripe from your jaw to your temple, collecting all your tears with a cruel sound of delight. 

His hands bruise your neck again, holding tightly, revelling in the way your pulse races against his calloused fingers. 

“Does it hurt, love? To know he once kissed you with such devotion, such tenderness, and now… now all you have is me.” His lips ghost yours and you bite your cheeks hard to keep from sobbing uncontrollably. 

Unsatisfied with your lack of response, he releases your neck, and you gasp for air, but he’s relentless in this cruel game. His hands drop to your waist, pulling you closer. The chains holding you groan and rattle in protest, and you let out a pained whimper. 

“I know exactly how he touched you.” The pressure is the same, his hand feels the same, he smells and looks the same. Your heart aches and weeps, and you grieve because, even though he looks the same, he couldn’t be farther from the man you’re devoted to. 

His fingers trace upwards, brushing your bruised ribs, and you hate how your body reacts to his familiar touch. You can’t control the longing you feel for him any more than you can control the tears streaming down your face. 

“I remember how he vowed to protect you from all harm. How he would much rather die than see you hurt.” The way he drags Ace’s laugh into a twisted, cruel version of it carves a deep abyss of pain within your chest. You know he’s speaking the truth. Ace was always your protector. It would kill him to know what he’s done to you now.

Still…

You’d much rather have him with you, feeling terrible for hurting you, than not having him at all. 

All my life I was afraid to die And now I come alive inside these flames

“Shut up. Stop. Please.” You barely have the strength to plead anymore. This is so much worse than when he was only hurting your body. You can endure physical pain, but not this merciless torture.

“I know exactly how he loved you.” The grip on your waist tightens until it bruises again. “How he watched you sleep in his arms, memorising each freckle, each dimple, each dip and crease of your skin. How he committed your scent to memory to keep himself grounded when he was away from you. How his fingers knew the curves of your body by heart, and how you sounded when you unravelled for him.”

An anguished wail leaves your parted lips as each word he delivers taunts you, breaks you, tears another piece of your heart apart, and tosses it aside, broken and used up. You’ve fought so hard until now, you can’t give up. Not even when all of his words are meant to shatter your resolve, to destroy your soul. 

You need to stay strong and fight for Ace.

“Ace…”

“He loved you so much.” The chains creak and groan as he keeps pulling you, bruising your skin with brutal touches. “And me? Well, I can use that love to completely destroy you.” He collects a tear with an extended finger, his eyes gleaming with malice as you crumble further. “I will change and twist your memories so much that you’ll wish you’d never loved him. Or plead for me to kill you.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Whichever comes first.”

Each word, each gesture is a reminder of him, of what he used to be. Of what he is, hidden beneath all those layers of malevolence. 

“Remember how he used to touch you like this…” His words trail and linger near your ear as he runs his fingers down your spine in an all-too-familiar gesture. Your body betrays you once more, his touch so akin to home that you arch towards him, a broken whimper leaving your lips as another tear trails down your scorched cheek. 

The Darkness revels in your reaction, drinking every sob, every sound, every twitch like it’s fuel keeping him alive.

“Oh… yes, he loved that sound. All the little noises you made for him, it always drove him half-mad, knowing he was the one responsible for provoking them, for making you come undone beneath his fingers.” 

Another sob claws its way up your throat as a new wave of beautiful memories fills your mind.

“More, Ace, more.”

“Yes, love. You have all of me.” His languid thrusts drove you crazy. Each stroke of his hips hit places that made you see white. He drew pleasure from you as naturally as he drew flames from within himself. 

Moans and whimpers, prayers and pleas. They left your parted lips in an unintelligible litany of muffled, half-drowned words. 

“That’s it, love. Those noises right there, keep ’em coming for me. All for me.”

And then he would kiss you breathless, swallowing everything you had to give him. Taking it all in so he could breathe life back into you again. 

And you loved every second of it.

Now, all those precious memories are tainted. Tainted by his cruel words, tainted by his brutal touch, tainted by his wicked ways. 

And you’re so drained that you don’t know how much more of this you can actually take. 

“And you… do you remember what you whispered to him?” His lips brush against the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and you swallow a gasp, the chains biting harder into your skin, but you’re already numb to that pain. “How you’d tell him you were his, how you would never want to let go of him, you promised him forever.”

Your lower lip trembles helplessly as the Darkness’s voice drags, malice dripping like venom and sticking to your skin, sticky and disgusting. 

“And when he made love to you…” No… no… no… “When he touched you in all the right places…” His hands grasp your sides and climb up slowly, thumbs brushing your nipples as you fight a torrent of tears. “You’d scream his name, crying out for him like he was your whole world.”

This time, the broken sob leaving your lips is soul-crushing, and you feel the weight of it deep in your chest. 

“That’s it, love. Let it all out.” He brushes his lips against yours in a mockery of intimacy. Another familiar gesture, but a malicious travesty of the reality you were used to. “Mourn for him, for the man who is no more. For the one who promised to keep you safe. Grieve for the loss of his soul. Let me hear you break apart.”

It’s too much. It’s all so devastating.

“Stop… please.” Strength is leaving you. The Darkness hurt you before, bleeding you dry, breaking your bones and scarring your flesh. But this violation of your most sacred memories is what finally breaks you. 

You feel yourself slowly slipping away. You will not last much longer. 

Closing your eyes, you let your face fall forward, a silent sign of defeat. “Do you want him back?” He asks, his cold hands cradling your face so you can look him in the eyes. The viciousness that gazes back at you is unfamiliar, cold, and disheartening. 

It’s not your Ace.

“Beg for him, love. Call his name like you used to. It won’t do any good, but it will make victory taste so much better.” His thumbs brush away another batch of tears, and you can’t take it anymore.

“Ace…”

He doesn’t falter. There’s not even a hint of recognition in his dark eyes. He’s gone. 

“He’s gone, love. But he remembers you. How your laugh was able to pull him away from the darkness within himself. How lucky he felt when you kissed him and how worthy you made him feel. Like he was much more than a name, more than the son of a cursed pirate, more than a legacy of a man he hated.”

He presses his forehead against yours, and the intimacy of it is so vivid that, for a moment, you think your Ace is back. 

“Do you know how many sleepless nights he spent with you in his arms? Just listening to your breathing, completely terrified of losing you one day? How he wished he could protect you from everything that would seek to cause you harm? How his fingers traced every inch of you, afraid he’d forget.”

The dread in your chest expands, taking away your breath. The hurt travels down your legs and up your numb arms. Your head feels lighter, and your throat constricts with agony. You need to let go.

“Please… please… stop. Just stop…”

But the Darkness doesn’t relent. “You made him dream of a future he never thought he’d want… of children he vowed never to have. You were his anchor, grounding him in this life, making him feel like he was deserving of happiness.”

His lips hover over yours, hands clutching your face, the pressure building, yet you feel no pain anymore. You can barely think.

“Do you know what the cruellest part is, love?” He pulls back long enough to look into your eyes, a ghost of Ace’s smile painting his lips. “He never got to say goodbye.”

“Make it stop… I’m done…” The whisper that leaves your lips carries more than defeat. It carries a desperate tragedy. How can something so beautiful as the love you shared with Ace be torn into pieces? How can it be dissected with such malice?

“Finally!” He chants in victory as his hands clasp your cheeks again and he presses his lips hard against yours. 

The kiss is bruising, cruel, a mimicry of Ace’s, but yet, still too familiar. It brings with it another litany of relentless sobs that you just can’t keep at bay. His hands slither over your body in a mockery of a caress and they tuck your neck, pressing gently at first, his lips still glued to yours, claiming both your soul and your body to darkness. 

Then his thumbs press hard against the dip of your throat and all the air is cut off from you. You’re suffocating, thrashing silently against both his hold and the icy grip of the chains and you know your time has come.

It’s as tragic as it is poetic that the man who brought love into your life should also bring death; that the one who so easily breathed life into you, can also take your last breath away. 

Whimpers and gasps leave your constricted throat as your feet kick and thrash, but he doesn’t relent. You feel wetness against your cheeks and taste salt in your dried tongue, though the source of those tears is unknown to you. Are they yours, or the Darkness?

Just as you’re slipping away, the hold on your throat falters and the lips pressed against you lose their harshness, they become soft and pliant, warmer for a moment. Then, with a harsh gasp and a step back, Ace cries in agony, his hands clutching his dark locks as his eyes shut firmly.

Air fills your lungs again and you cough, tasting blood with each convulsion. He might not have killed you yet, but he came pretty close. 

“Ace… Ace…” You try, each gasp more breathless than the last, but each new gulp filled with newfound hope. He’s fighting.

Your Ace is fighting.

With another agonised scream, Ace pants, breathlessly. Globs of saliva spew from his gritted teeth as he struggles to open his eyes. Then his gaze lands on you, your name spilling from his lips in raw pain as he assesses your wounds, the wounds he inflicted upon you himself.

“Love… Oh, God, no. What have I done?” With a wobbly step, Ace draws near your body, hands stretched and trembling as he cups your cheeks lovingly. A lone sob breaks through your pursed lips. 

It’s your Ace. It’s his touch. It's unmistakable. 

“Please, please, love. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Each word comes drenched in grief, saturated with misery. Each touch filled with caution and care.

“It’s you… it’s really you.” Your words are mere murmurs and each of them is a fresh new wound on Ace’s heart. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mumbles another supplication.

His arms wrap themselves around your wounded body and you shiver against his familiar touch. The warmth of his breath against your hair and neck comforts you as he holds you close, as if trying to shield you from a damage that’s already been done, from something he caused and can’t take back. “Please, please…”

But you shouldn’t have rejoiced too soon. Ace’s body convulses twice against your own, his touch harsher, his strength doubling and you feel a fresh wave of nausea hitting your senses, disorienting you.

“Ace?”

“No!” Ace growls, burying his face against the curve of your neck. “No!” He cries out again while his scream is muffled against your skin. A sharp, stabbing pain travels up your arm as his teeth sink with a sickening crunch of flesh being broken. 

Ace’s hands, which cradled you lovingly mere moments before, are now harsh and brutal against your frail body. His touch feels too unkind, too hot.

“You can’t have her!” The Darkness roars, pulling Ace’s head back violently, though his grip never falters. “You think she’ll forgive you after all you’ve done?”

You can’t speak, you can’t think, you can’t breathe. Ace’s flames dance in front of you, surrounding him like a sickening halo. They turn from orange to black and to an in between that disorients you. His touch aches, burns and scars. 

“Ace… fight!” You try to plead but your voice is too weak, too feeble and powerless to reach him in a battlefield you're not privy to. This is his fight to win, and you are a mere spectator. 

“You can’t…” He begins, a growl and a roar leave his lips as his arms erupt into a blazing inferno, searing your skin and making you cry out in pain and agony. “You can’t take her from me!” With a final clamor, Ace breaks free from the Darkness and his release is so literal that you can actually hear a loud clatter, like glass being broken while invisible shards fly everywhere. A final flame licks your body with ruthlessness and your broken lament dies with it.

“Love?” Ace’s broken voice barely reaches your ears. He, somehow, removes the harsh chains and the cruel bite is no more, though you can scarcely feel it as he cradles you against his body. “Love, come on, you can’t do this to me…” The tears that fall from his eyes almost hiss as they kiss your scorching skin. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry… How…?” A broken sob shakes his shoulders as buries his face in your hair. “How can you still trust me after everything I’ve done?”

Ace’s world crumbles as you flutter away from him. Ragged, uneven breaths leaving your lips while your eyelids tremble in a defeated effort to open.

He’s losing you. 

And it’s all his fault. 

“Please don’t leave me. Fight… please. I’ll never let anything hurt you again…” The sorrow in his words weighs heavily in your heart, yet your body doesn’t respond to your will and you can’t seem to reassure him; you can’t tell him you don’t resent him, that it wasn’t his fault, that he doesn’t need to blame himself.

Because if there’s someone who doesn’t need to carry more guilt, it’s Ace. 

And yet, there’s no strength left to let him know that. Your chest heaves one last time and, suddenly, the fight is lost, and there is no clear winner.

Because if there’s someone who deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s Ace. 

“Please, come back. I love you…”

But all the love in the world couldn’t save you. 

All the love in the world couldn’t save him.

A frail wail leaves Ace’s lips as he shuts his eyes in agony, and he almost misses the flicker of hope that makes your chest tremble again while a soft sigh escapes your lips.

I don’t need you to save me ‘Cause I’m a survivor, yeah I am a fighter

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training

[eupheme]

— cabin down below

dieter bravo x actress!f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

tags: cabining, co-stars-with-benefits, mentions of alcohol, references to sex and horror films, implied paparazzi trying to catch them together, oral sex

ahh nervous to post this (first time writing for him!) but excited about this gorgeous moodboard I recieved for Summer Lovin’ 24! 🏕️💖 thanks so much for hosting @pedgito, @amanitacowboy, and @chaotic-mystery!

Dieter really can talk you into anything.

The official table read is on Monday, scenes due to start shooting soon after. You really shouldn’t be thirty miles out of town right now - leaving the comforts of your apartment and the air conditioning of the limo, to hike another mile into the forest.

But you’ll trade the luxury for a chance to spend time with him. An old spot, he said. His dad’s cousin’s place, bought it off him when they needed the money. Been in the family for years.

“You gotta immerse yourself,” Dieter had told you, his arms spreading wide, “What better place to practice lines than here?”

It’s your first time in a movie with him. You’re not sure if he’s really a method actor. Equally not sure that it’s needed for a movie called Campground Carnage II - or if the city just seemed a little too loud, a little too busy.

Deep down, you hope it might just be an excuse to get you alone.

You'd be pretty alright with that.

It’s been hard to sneak around Los Angeles. There’s cameras everywhere. An obsession with one Dieter Bravo - the current hottest, most eccentric star.

You’d met before his last big break. Reading lines for Covert Affairs, but they had passed over the mutual chemistry for an actress with a little more weight to her name.

He had gotten the part, and you had gotten his number. Two desperate hookups when you both ended up in Vegas at the same time.

Only to come back together a year later.

“Long Island,” He had smiled, when he saw you, “Good to see you again.”

You had been surprised he remembered you, much less the drink he had bought. Enough alcohol in both your systems that you would’ve forgiven him if he had.

Not that you would have, though. Not with that mouth of his.

Something that you’re thinking about now, as the trees clear. The cabin tucked between them - a peeking sliver of a river cutting through the terrain behind it.

A cozy little thing, not much bigger than the apartment you’re missing. Built with thick wooden logs, two tidy windows out front, the checkered curtain pulled shut.

The key ring twirls on his finger, as Dieter moves ahead to unlock the door.

You can’t help appreciating the view, as he does. This ‘camping’ look suits him. It’s almost enough to make you a little jealous of his ability to look good in anything and everything he throws on.

A tight black tee, the hat that’s pulled down over his messy curls. Featuring an embroidered trout, with “fish want me, women fear me” scripted above and below that he found at a garage sale. Patterned crocs with matching shorts that only reach mid-thigh.

And you're at least 45-percent sure the fanny pack around his waist is filled with condoms and KitKats.

It’s been hard to keep your mind off him, on the drive over. Battering his wandering hands away, with the driver only a few feet from you. Still shy, both enthralled and not used to his open affection.

Trying to concentrate on the script. Preparing to run lines, just in case his suggestion for this weekend wasn’t some kind of euphemism.

But you kept going back to a particular scene. The two counselors - that’s you and him - sneaking off to one of the cabins in the campground.

A steamy encounter involving both the top and bottom of a bunk bed, and a lot of Bravo on his knees. Anything to showcase his physique, you’re already picturing how they’ll stage it with the female gaze in mind.

Bare back, you’re guessing. A hint of ass, but still tasteful.

The scene a fake-out - featuring a jump scare, with the shadow of a person passing by the windows behind you. Tapping into that classic trope - first to fuck, first to die.

Which might be true - if it was his first movie.

He doesn’t actually make it to the end, though. Dieter’s demise coming from a staged accident in the fishing lake, just as the movie lulls into a sense of safely. One final blow before the big reveal.

You know people will be pissed about that. As a fan of the series, even you are a little.

But the thought of having a scene with him - there is a flicker of excitement, that dulled heat in your belly - even though you know that logically, it will all be purely professional.

It’s still fun to imagine.

The door cracks open, but there’s something else with the sound. You frown, your head whipping towards the woods behind you. Searching for the source of the noise, one that sounded a little too familiar.

“Did I just hear a camera click?”

“Nah,” Dieter shrugs, “There’s no way they know about this place.”

"Yeah,” You hum, giving another glance. There’s nothing but the rustle of trees, the rush of the water. A self-conscious laugh, as you head inside, “Maybe I’m immersing myself too much.”

“No hauntings or serial killers here, sweetheart.” He smiles, “But if you’re scared I have a few ideas to get your mind off things…”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Your eyebrow arches, “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Dieter pretends to think, as he advances on you. Hands reaching out to trace up your sides, pulling you flush against him.

“Can think of a scene I’d like to start with,” He husks, eyes darkening, “There’s no bunk bed here, but I think we can make do.

Hunger flares in you, now that you're alone. Your eyes dip to the curl of his mouth, no more than a breath before you’re pressing your lips to his. A rough moan as his hands slide up your back, his tongue already brushing across your lower lip.

Tasting sweet when they part for him, your own moan swallowed as you lose your grip on your bag, letting it tumble to the floor.

It’s always so easy to get lost in him. If you’re not careful, you might just get swept away.

“You don’t want to see what the directors have in mind?” You tease, when you pull back for a breath, “Hold off on that scene until later?”

“No can do.” Dieter groans, as he pulls you back to him, “Not with you looking like this.”

You can’t help the smile, as you start the stumbling journey through the main room, wandering hands and the press of mouths.

His hand grasping your ass as your fingers slip under his shirt - the other reaching for the door he has you backed up against. A creaking swing, as it opens.

Dieter’s hands are at your hips, as soon as the back of your knees hit the bed.

“Let me taste you, baby.” It’s mumbled against your lips. His fingers dipping beneath your waistband. A nail tracing the edge of your underwear, raising goosebumps, “Been thinking about it all day.”

You remember this from before. How focused he gets. Willing to beg, shameless, if there’s something he wants.

And you’re always willing to give.

The bed is soft - covered in worn buffalo-checkered sheets - as you let yourself be lowered onto it. His hands catch your ankles, tugging you down until your legs drape off the edge.

Spread wide, so he can fit between them as he kneels. Batting your hand away as you go to push down your shorts.

“I wanna do it.” He hums. His own shorts already pulled tight, a hand coming to palm himself in anticipation.

Your hips lift for him. Nails bite into skin, grasping fabric and pulling down both layers. Easing them around the bulk of your gym shoes so his palms can press into your thighs, spreading them even wider.

A rough noise, when he sees you.

“You been thinking about this too, babe?” He coos, a thumb pressing against your slit. Rolling against the wet gleam of your center, as it betrays your desire.

You huff, the muscles in your legs flexing. Breath held as your eyes flit up to his, waiting. Watching, as he sucks your slick from his skin with a groan.

“Bet you were. Saw you eye-fucking me in the limo, all while telling me to keep my hands to myself.”

"I-I," You try to answer. To protest - to say you weren't - but his palms are smoothing up your skins. Distracting, as he slowly moves.

Those eyes focused on yours as his head tips. An open-mouthed kiss to your knee, then thigh. Moving up, as your heart races.

Inner thigh, now.

"Dee," There's a buck of your hips, with your whine, “Don’t tease.”

It’s futile, you’re certain. Unable to take what you dish out. But perhaps he’s been pushed too far as well.

“Tell me you need it.” His pupils are blown-wide, drunken already.

It’s easy to answer.

“Please. I need you.”

The next kiss is right against your slit. Messy, as his mouth covers you. Your fingers twisting in the blanket, as your knees press against his shoulders.

He’s too good. Teasing with the wet brush of his tongue. The slow creep of his fingers, the tip of one pressing against your entrance - only to withdraw just as you clench down.

Again, and then again. Slowly sinking into you, one knuckle at a time. Working you open, until you’re stretched wide around three of them - too full to form words.

“Don’t need direction for this,” His eyes flip to yours, a dimpled smile as his fingers sink deep and then curl, “Do I, baby?”

He does it again, as your answer pitches high. Your hips bucking into his touch as his tongue licks at you again. Timing it so that the point of his tongue teases your clit, each time his fingers rub against the spongey spot inside you.

He’s going to make you come. You’re too wound up, too needy for him.

“Fuck, Dieter.” You keen - your leg hooking over his shoulder, “Oh fuck, keep doing that-“

“That’s it baby,” He grins, “Improvise for me.”

It makes you laugh, which has him groaning as you tighten around his fingers. His left hand dropping to push down the waistband of his shorts. Fingers pulling from you only long enough to smear your arousal on his cock, to pump his fist until he’s covered.

It’s then that you think you hear it again. Just as his tongue slips inside you. Another mechanical sound from outside, just barely audible through the wooden walls.

“Dee,” You moan, fingers twisting in his hair. Either to pull him closer or push him away, you’re not sure, “I d-definitely heard-”

“Can’t see in here.” It’s mumbled out, gasped between your thighs.

He’s seen to that, at least. The blinds thick, the bedroom tucked away.

A grin, as his tongue flattens - licking from hole to clit, “Wasn’t planning on leaving, anyways.”

You trust him, knowing he wouldn't leave you vulnerable. The sound in your throat is muffled as your teeth clench, “But they-, what if they hear us?”

It’s only now that his head lifts, those dark eyes blown wide. Paired with a lazy smile, his lips shining as they stretch wide.

A soft croon.

“Then I guess you’d better be quiet.”

Your laugh turns into a soft groan, at the flick of his tongue. Self-conscious perhaps, but not wholly and entirely deterred by the thought of an audience.

Not when you’re with him.

“Keep that up,” You manage - as something molten floods through your belly, “And you might have to help a girl out.”

His weight presses into you as he moves up - heated, bare skin as he settles between your thighs. Dieter’s nose skimming your throat, as his hand slips between your thighs.

Just before his mouth presses to yours, swallowing you moan.

“That, baby… I can do.”

just wanted to try something fun 🏕️ thank you so much for reading! and thanks again for this awesome event!

[radiance1]

Linked to this post about Billy, Danny, and Vlad meeting in a dream. Tagging @puppetmaster13u because I think they'd like this!

The world was being invaded, taking the chance that some of the core members of the Justice League were away off-world to take the world when it was down on its defenses.

Billy is fighting and saving as many people as he could along with the rest of the heroes presents, they just had to hold out for reinforcements, which is the last few members of the League off world to rejoin their ranks. Billy may have the magic of gods on his side, but he is severely outnumbered and, being one of the powerhouses, has been targeted consistently over and over and barely given any time to actually rest.

So, there he is, battered, bruised, and overall exhausted but still putting up a decent fight. He tries to lead them away from basically everyone else, attacking as he flew away to a secluded enough area but there's just too many to actually do any notable damage.

So, he pulls out one, final, Shazam.

It works. But it also doesn't.

Whatever damage that lightning did, more just flowed in to replace them and Billy knew that even if he fired off another one, the result would be the same.

This is where he will die.

And he accepted that.

He didn't, but what else was he supposed to do?

So, he screwed his eyes shut and hoped that being ripped apart wouldn't be too painful.

Only, nothing happened for a moment. Then another. And another. Until he finally opened his eyes to see the enemies stopped still in their tracks and, for some reason, everything seemed darker somehow.

They looked up in fear and apprehension, so Billy looked up too.

Something had risen from his shadow.

A being of never-ending black that towered over them, its head tilted at an angle that made Billy cringe with eyes that seemed to see through and at them all at once. Then, it lit up with red, and Billy, the closest to it, could suddenly see the stars upon stars inside of its body.

Like a Christmas tree. Billy thought, chuckling at his own joke. If he was going to die anyways, might as well have a bit of fun, right?

One of the invaders tried to make a dash and grab for him.

Then, the overwhelming sound of silence deafened him. Billy didn't even know that was a thing that could happen but as soon it screamed? Roared? Whatever it did, every other sound just... ceased to exist.

A tendril of darkness wrapped around him, and Billy accepted his fate.

Nothing happened.

Instead, the ones who tried to kill him were killed without mercy. Tendrils of darker yet darker lit up with red and containing stars that looked so much like too many eyes crushed, slashed, stabbed, consumed the waves upon waves of enemies that Billy struggled against from pure number alone.

It was swift, it was deadly, it was even brutally efficient but above all.

It was confusing.

This... being. Whatever it was, wasn't doing anything to him, the red glow it gave off just faded, leaving back the true darkness that was its body and shutting off the stars. It slowly, ever so slowly, shrunk itself down from its towering height, as if wary of another attack coming from somewhere.

Not for itself, but for him.

For Billy.

He didn't know how he could tell that, but somehow, he just did?

It was looking at him, curiously? He thinks? And with the adrenaline fading from his system, being replaced by confusion, it finally sets in just how tired he was. With a yawn forcing itself from his lips and his eyes trying to close on their own when his body apparently decided it was safe enough to just rest.

Before his mind jumpstarted itself as he suddenly remembered that they were in the middle of an invasion, and he need to leave. He tried too, at the very least, but another tendril, and another one, wrapped around him as soon as he tried.

He struggled to get himself out, but nothing he tried worked. He barely had the strength for another Shazam, but he was prepared to try-

A tendril wrapped itself around his mouth.

Well.

That was unfortunate.

Then, the world turned dark.

---

He was dreaming, again. Or at least he thinks he was. Usually, he wasn't aware of it most of the time, but this was also one of those weird dreams he's been having for a while.

There was no ground, there was no sky. There was only the vibrant colors of space with the 'ground' being rolling clouds of all sorts of colors that twinkled with stars and the 'sky' was just an endless expanse filled with constellations.

"Billy." A voice echoed his name, and Billy turned around to face a familiar sight he's always seen inside of his dreams. A large, large merman with scales and flowing hair akin to that of a galaxy that glimmered with stars and a large golden mask floating above his head stared down at him. Eyes filled with both concern and a overwhelming relief. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Um, hey Danny!" Billy greeted, awkwardly waving at the large celestial being that has been occupying his dreams as of late. For some reason, he was a bit embarrassed? He really hopes he didn't see how he was getting jumped actually. "Yea I'm-I'm fine!" He struck a familiar pose that he always did as Shazam and flashed his signature smile as while.

Danny was, unfortunately, not amused.

"Child, you need to rest." Danny said, more like thought because his mouth wasn't moving at all. "You're exhausted, stay here and rest."

"But they need help!" Billy countered, dropping his pose to cross his arms and, well, scowl. He tried to imitate one of Batman's glares, when the celestial above him looked unimpressed he could tell he most likely failed.

"And help they shall receive." Danny inclined his head in a direction, clouds parting to reveal an inky blackness that had something instinctual in Billy's body shy away from it. He glanced down at his feet warily. He didn't even know that was there! "Vlad." Danny called out, and red eyes peered out from the void, before the familiar, towering body of complete and utter darkness rose from the pool of, well, emptiness. It looked at Danny curiously and, yep, Billy was still cringing from the way it angled its neck.

"A piece of him there," Danny said as Vlad shifted around him, wrapping its body around Danny's before resting its head on his shoulder and looking down at Billy too. "Unfortunately, I cannot help you, it is too far for me to make it there myself. But Vlad was able to send a piece of himself to help you and I believe that is more than enough to turn the tides in your favor."

Billy shrunk into himself as Danny's gaze turned into a stern glare, not too dissimilar to the way he's seen parents scolding their children and, what made it even worse, Vlad looked at him and mimicked him! How was he supposed to defend himself against that!?

"So rest." Danny's voice was stern, and he thinks Vlad chimed in as well, if these random feelings basically telling him the same thing were anything to go by. Billy still didn't know how he could tell that. Billy could fight against this; he could say no and try to wake himself up to back out there and help people, but looking at the stern, parental glares he's on the opposite end of he just huffed. "Fine."

---

When Billy woke up, everything seemed okay, thankfully. The sky wasn't filled with fleets anymore, so that was a plus. He was in the aftermath of a battle, corpses strewn about along with rubble and pieces of shattered armor.

Billy blinked.

'Vlad' was wrapped around him, in a protective sort of way he thinks, and Billy let the thought 'Okay, this is actually pretty comfortable' run across his mind. He was still pretty tired, actually, and-

Oh hey, he actually still had his communicator? He thought that fell off or was destroyed the lightning.

Billy turned it. He cringed a bit at the way it flashed with static, before letting out a small sigh of relief when it cleared up. He looked over the messages from -apparently the last few hours (and wasn't that crazy?)- the time he was asleep and slumped against Vlad's form seeing that, yes, nothing bad happened and everyone else was safe.

I'm alive! Was the first message he sent before he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Instantly, messages exploded and caused a series of dings on his communicator, all of which were asking where he was, if he was okay, and if he knew what that creature that suddenly joined their battle was.

A friend! Was what he typed, muting his communicator while shutting it off. Did that answer anything? Nope! Did Billy feel like clearing that up right now? Also no!

That is a future Billy's problem! Present Billy is going to go back to sleep!

[jellybonbons]

Sharing is Caring

ೀ dog hybrid!Leon Kennedy + cat hybrid!Ada Wong

Tags: gn!reader but fem!reader for the nsfw part, 18+ (mdni), pet/owner dynamic, threesome, neck biting, blood, mommy kink, nicknames (mommy, pretty girl/owner, beautiful), cunnilingus, fingering, mentions of sex toys, masturbation (m receiving), sub!reader, dom!Leon, dom!Ada, fluff ending.

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: idk why I wrote this, I've never written a threesome and hybrids so this was a struggle to finish. Huge thanks to @roseglazedlens for proofreading this <33 wouldn’t have done this without you!

You had been feeling lonely lately, and with that, you decided to adopt a hybrid to brighten your days or spice up your life—as per your best friend, since they were the ones who suggested you get one. After saving up for some time, you headed to the pet store, where you met your now-current pet, Ada Wong. Her hair is as smooth as silk, and her ears are adorned with adorable fluffiness that captures your heart in an instant.

cat hybrid!Ada had no problems making herself comfortable at your home since she can adapt to her surroundings easily.

Even though you bought her a bed, she claimed yours as hers, but you’re not complaining if it means that you can cuddle with her every night.

She’s a very independent cat who doesn’t need that much attention.

However, if you’ve been busy the whole day and barely paid her any attention, you can bet you’ll get a scratch or two from her (typical black cat behaviour). It’s also her way of marking you as hers.

She enjoys lounging in the same room as you. If you're working in your office, you’ll find her on the couch nearby, peacefully napping. Just your presence alone brings her a sense of peace and contentment.

If you’re scared of any insects, don’t worry; she’ll kill them for you in a heartbeat.

“Ada! There’s a spider in the bathroom!” “On it.”

She loves getting spoiled by you, whether it be affection, cuddles, or something materialistic. Her favourite gift from you is the red ribbon collar with pearls; she wears it proudly around her neck.

For a while, it had been just you and Ada, sharing your home in quiet companionship. Then, one day, as you returned from work, you stumbled upon dog hybrid!Leon, a forlorn figure, battered and shivering on the streets. You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pity as you came across him, so you decided to bring him home. Getting him to come with you was a challenge, but with the promise of a warm bath and a meal, he eventually agreed.

He was sceptical of your home at first compared to Ada, but as he stepped into your house, the smell of your floral candles and the comforting atmosphere enveloped him. The warm and inviting interior, with cosy lighting and subtle traces of both your and Ada’s personal touches, gradually lowered his guard.

While you were preparing a warm bath for him, Ada finally met Leon. When she caught a foreign scent mingling with yours, she became alert. Upon entering the living room and locking eyes with him, her gaze bore into him with a piercing intensity that felt like she was shooting daggers. Leon couldn’t help but notice her intense glare fixed on him, and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension in the room. Thankfully, you called out for him, and he sprinted to the direction of your voice faster than he ever had before.

dog hybrid!Leon took his time to settle in and get comfortable around you and Ada.

Eventually, he puts his walls down after seeing how you treat Ada with care and gentleness. He’s also lowkey jealous at how you’re spoiling her too much; cue for her to give him a smug smirk.

Surprisingly, he’s very playful and would tug on your shirt every morning for his morning walk or activities in the park, which annoys Ada so much since he’s disturbing her morning cuddles with you.

He's a quiet one who doesn't use words to express his feelings, but his body language says it all. When you praise him, his face is stoic, but you can see his tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Good boy, Leon!” “Hmm.”

Unlike Ada, who marks you with her claws, Leon rubs his scent all over your clothes. He wants the other hybrids to stay away from you every time you leave the house. Dealing with one—Ada—was enough for him.

Other than that, he made sure to hug you tightly and lick your neck before you headed off to work; it’s a daily ritual that you cannot miss.

He’s the definition of scary dog privilege; he’ll give a menacing glare to anyone he considers a threat. He’s all bite, no bark; if he sees someone making you uncomfortable, he’ll quickly step in to protect you.

After a few months of living and tolerating each other, they eventually find common ground in their share desire to cherish and protect you. Now that speaks double trouble. You were peacefully engrossed in a book when suddenly, a commotion erupts from the living room. Annoyed by the disturbance of your precious reading time, you reluctantly set your book aside and make your way to the room to investigate.

“Now, what’s all this commotion about?” You cross your arms tightly over your chest, brows furrow in frustration. You tap your foot impatiently and let out an exasperated sigh as you stare at them. It is a sight to behold, Ada is tugging on Leon’s tail while he playfully pinches her cat ears in a mock battle.

“Are you guys fighting over your toys again? I thought I told both of you to share.” Both share a knowing glance, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange that speaks volumes. “...why are you guys looking at each other like that?”

NSFW:

One thing leads to another, and now you find yourself at the centre of your recently upgraded king-sized bed. Leon and Ada deftly position you between them, her soft and plump breast snugly meeting yours, while his firm and chiselled chest envelops you from behind, radiating warmth and desire. 

“What are you guys doing?” You ask, your voice tinged with scepticism, yet you can’t deny the trace of attraction as well.

“Sharing.” Ada purrs; her tail puffs up in excitement as she licks your face. 

Leon roams his hands over your body in a soft yet possessive manner. “That’s right, we have to show our mommy that we know how to share.” He leans down, sinking his sharp canine teeth into the side of your neck, causing a trickle of blood flow.

“W–wait! But this is wrong!” You moan as you attempt to step away from being sandwiched between them; however, Leon has other plans. Instead of releasing you, he pulls you even closer. His possessive embrace and Ada’s fixed gaze cause your cheeks to flush with embarrassment.

You always find them attractive, but this feels so foreign to you—they are literally your pets!

“Hmm? It’s totally normal for the pet and its owner to engage in this kind of activity, pretty girl.” Ada’s hands trail lower, reaching the waistband of your pants, and she swiftly removes them, leaving you in your underwear—burgundy with black lace. “Oh! And you’re wearing my favourite one.” Ada’s ears raise, and her tongue darts out to moisten her lips as her eyes hungrily fix on the way the fabric hugs your cunt.

As anticipation courses through your veins, your body shivers involuntarily. “Relax, mommy, let us take care of you,” Leon murmurs against your skin. He finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it off you, exposing your breast to the cool air. “No bra? God, you’re such a tease.” Leon growls as he pinches your hardened nipple. 

“Of course, I have to hold back from pouncing her every time she struts around the house like that." Ada leans down, capturing one of your hardened nipples in her mouth, her teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh as she sucks and nibbles on it.

You let out a whine from the sensation, and your head tilts backwards, resting it on Leon’s shoulder. With a swift motion, Ada positions herself between your legs, and her gaze meets yours with lust. “Can I taste you, beautiful?” Your cheeks have a hint of nervousness as you nod your head in agreement.

Without wasting any more time, Ada goes down on you, pulling your underwear to the side, her mouth finds its way to your most sensitive part. She starts to tease, kitten licking, her tongue laying flat between your folds, slurping and sucking on your clit as she savours the taste of your desire, the velvety texture of her tongue heightening your desires.

As your moans grow louder and more desperate, she increases the intensity. Meanwhile, Leon’s rough hands find their way to your breasts again, kneading and pinching them. You can feel his bulge growing behind your ass as he humps against it, his tail wagging behind him excitedly.

The sensation overwhelms you, with pleasure coursing through your veins as both of them continue their assault on you. Your back arches as Ada finds your sweet spot; her claws grip tightly on your thighs, leaving marks on them but not enough to hurt you. 

“Ada! Ada!” You grasp her cat ear tightly with one hand while the other one claws at Leon’s forearm. Your grip on her ear makes her grunt onto your cunt, sending vibrations to it.

“That’s it, mommy; surrender yourself to her.” Leon coos in response, his fingers tucking your hair away from your face and revealing your blissed-out eyes.

With each flick of her tongue and each thrust of her fingers, Ada drives you closer to the edge. Leon senses your impending release, and he brings his middle and index fingers to your lips. “Suck on it.” 

You nod your head and suck on his fingers eagerly. The sensation of your tongue swirling around them and the tantalising, moist sounds emanating from you and Ada causes a bead of saliva to form at the corner of his mouth while his cock strains against his boxers. Lifting you off his lap with one hand, he hastily pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his cock from its confines. 

That momentarily catches Ada off guard, but she continues to pleasure you with her tongue and fingers, determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure. The closer you get to your release, the tighter your hold was on her dark locks. She hisses in pain against your cunt, Leon notices her discomfort and gently loosens your grip on her hair. “Easy, pretty owner, not too much.”

Your apology is muffled by Leon’s fingers, and you extend your hand, offering a gentle caress to her ears as a silent apology. “It’s okay, beautiful." She breathes against your thigh and gives it a light peck, her voice filled with gentleness. “Just give in to it and come for us.” 

You struggle to stifle yet another moan that threatens to escape. Leon withdraws his fingers from your mouth, leaving behind a glistening trail of saliva that connects both your lips and his fingers. “Don’t be shy now, mommy.” He firmly cups your face with his other hand, his fingers exerting a strong grip. “You think we don’t hear you late at night when you play with your toys?” He let out a growl, and his touch suddenly becomes less gentle but rather commanding—clearly jealous of them. 

Fuck.

You are becoming increasingly overstimulated, and his jealousy ignites an intense arousal within you. Ada’s skillful touch and her tongue send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Your back arches in response to the pleasure as you squeeze her head with your thighs, a subtle but unmistakable expression that you are closer to your climax.

His hand, still slick with your saliva, strokes his own cock while the other explores your breast with an insistent touch, evoking a deep, primal moan of pleasure from deep within him. Ada’s tail curls with anticipation as you rock your hips towards her face, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. With an intense release, you climax, your moans echoing in the room. She eagerly laps up your juices and skillfully uses her fingers to prolong your pleasure, ensuring your satisfaction.

“Oh, god,” he gasps as he hears your moan, stealing a glance at Ada’s face, glistening with your arousal. The sight is enough to push him over the edge, and he climaxes right then and there. His cum coats your back, and some stray droplets find their way into your hair. 

As the intense waves of pleasure subside, your heavy breathing begins to slow, and you collapse onto the soft, inviting mattress, your limbs heavy and your eyelids drooping. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Ada meticulously grooming herself with her tongue, savouring your taste, while Leon kicks off his sweatpants from his ankle, ready to cuddle with you. He doesn’t even bother to clean you up, wanting his cum to stick to you.

“So, did I do a great job of sharing?” Ada nuzzles closer to you; her body forms a beautiful crescent, fitting perfectly against your side. “Yeah, you both did,” you chuckle, and you gently stroke her hair. “But did you come?” concern etches itself onto your face.

“You don’t have to worry about me, beautiful. Unlike a certain pup, I take care of my owner’s pleasure before my own.” Ada’s eyes narrow at Leon in disapproval, and her ears flatten against her head.

Leon huffs dismissively, rolling his eyes, and then snuggles closer to you. His tail gently drapes over your stomach, and he snuggles into your neck, seeking comfort and closeness. That just flares up her irritation. Before she can unleash her claws on him, you intervene by encircling your other arm around her, gently pulling her closer. “Okay, less fighting, more cuddling,” you propose with a smile.

Both nod in agreement, and as Ada nestles her head on your arm, a contented purr escapes her while her previous anger slowly dissipates. Whereas Leon, embracing a playful mood, makes an attempt to monopolise your attention. He entwines his legs with yours, draping an arm over your chest and casting a smug smirk in Ada's direction, his tail tapping lightly on your torso—a sweet revenge for all the times she'd stolen your attention from him. Ada's response is swift as she hisses at Leon and extends her claws in a challenge.

You release an exhausted sigh and massage your temples. It looks like it's going to be a long night—have fun having two pets who are fiercely horny loyal and protective of you.

[onebadassunicorn]

His Blue-Eyed Angel

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: depression, talk of torture and captivity, longing, angst

word count: 7.9k

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Story tags: @bravo-delta-eccho @tele86 @tiredsleepyhead @celestialgilb @theflowerswillbloom @fuckingsimp4azriel @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @salvatoresister1 @imperfect0angel @stvrdustalexx @anneas11

Image owned by Velocity Visual Media.

********************

Chapter 19

Azriel POV

The moment lingered in his mind like a cruel echo. The last time Azriel had seen Y/n, was when she stood at the edge of the River House courtyard, her figure framed by the soft glow of dawn. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, her wings tucked tightly against her as if she were trying to shield herself from the world.

But it wasn’t her poised figure or even her battered wings that haunted him most—it was her eyes.

Her blue eyes, so striking and vibrant in happier times, had become something else entirely. They had always been a window to her soul, a reflection of her emotions. Once, they had been a lively mosaic of blues: the sparkling turquoise of shallow waters when she laughed, the endless cerulean of calm seas when she gazed at him with quiet affection. But that morning, as she looked at him, they were none of those things. They were darker, stormier, like the ocean during a tempest.

The sadness in her gaze was raw and unguarded, pulling him into its depths like a riptide. Her eyes held the weight of everything she had endured, every scar she carried, every moment she had been left alone to fight for herself.

Her gaze flickered to his, hesitant but piercing, and he felt the bond between them stretch taut, trembling under the strain of unspoken words. The color of her eyes shifted as her emotions swirled—deep cobalt at the edges, a stormy gray-blue bleeding into the irises, as though her feelings had darkened the very ocean within her.

“Angel,” he had murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to say more, to beg her to stay, to promise he would spend every moment making up for the choices that had brought them to this moment. But the words lodged in his throat, his usual calm and calculated demeanor shattered in her presence.

She stared at him, her lips pressing together as though she were biting back her own words. The softness in her eyes, the vulnerability she tried to hide, cut him deeper than any blade. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might reach for him, that she might let him hold her and ease the ache between them. But then the storm in her gaze deepened, and she turned away.

“Take care of yourself, Azriel,” she had said, her voice steady but tinged with a tremor she couldn’t quite suppress.

Her words felt like a dagger twisting in his chest, but he had forced himself to nod, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “You too,” he had replied, feeling hollow inside.

But he couldn’t stop her. Not when he had been the one to fail her.

As she stepped toward the waiting winnow from Tarquin’s emissary, she glanced back at him one last time. Her wings shifted slightly, a faint, hesitant motion that spoke of uncertainty. And when her eyes met his again, they had darkened further, the blue turning almost black with the depth of her emotions.

Sadness.

Longing.

Hurt.

It was all there, written in the stormy ocean of her gaze.

And then she was gone.

The space where she had stood felt like a void, her absence a tangible weight pressing down on him. Azriel exhaled shakily, his wings drooping as he let his shadows swirl around him, a futile attempt to fill the emptiness she had left behind. Her eyes lingered in his mind, those storm-filled depths that had spoken more than her words ever could.

He knew he would never forget them. Those eyes, full of pain and longing, would haunt him until the day she returned.

If she ever did.

And until that moment, he would carry the memory of her gaze like an anchor.

A reminder of the love he hadn’t been able to protect, the bond he hadn’t been able to mend.

******

Azriel POV

The nights in Velaris were quieter now, the usual hum of the city feeling hollow without her presence. Azriel sat on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the Sidra, the soft wind tugging at his hair and wings. His shadows curled around him, restless and searching, as if they too felt the ache of her absence. The stars above seemed dimmer, the moonlight less comforting.

Everything was muted without her.

She had returned to the Summer Court. Y/n had said it was where she needed to be, where she could heal after everything she had endured during her captivity. Azriel had wanted to fight her decision, to beg her to stay in Velaris, where he could keep her close, protect her. But when she had looked at him, her blue eyes heavy with pain and resolve, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to argue. She had gone, and he had let her.

Now, he was left with the emptiness she had left behind—and the crushing weight of his guilt.

He closed his eyes, the memories of that night haunting him like a specter. He had made his the difficult choice on the battlefield to leave her and save Elain, the image of her, bloodied and outnumbered, would never leave him. The love in her gaze when she had seen him fly away with someone else—leaving her behind—seared into his mind like a brand.

You failed her.

The thought clawed at him, a constant, unrelenting torment. His shadows echoed the sentiment, their movements jagged and erratic as if reflecting the storm within him. He had been too slow. He had made a choice, and it had cost her more than he could ever repay.

The reports of her captivity had been unbearable to hear. The physical wounds, the psychological scars—she had endured so much, and he hadn’t been there to stop it. When he had finally found her, she had been barely conscious, her wings battered, her body broken. But it was the look in her eyes that had gutted him the most hollow, detached, as though some vital part of her had been stolen away.

Even after she had healed enough to speak, she hadn't provided many details about what happened in that cell, her words distant and measured. She didn’t blame him for the time it took to find her and rescue her, but the bond between them, faint and fragile as it was, felt strained.

She had returned to the Summer Court not because she didn’t care for Velaris, but because she needed to heal. He tried to keep telling himself that, but the guilt of not finding her sooner constantly tormented him.

Azriel exhaled shakily, his hands curling into fists. His wings trembled slightly, the tension in his body barely contained. He had spent centuries honing his skills, perfecting his ability to protect those he cared about. And yet, when it had mattered most, he had failed the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

Gods, he missed her.

Every moment of every day, he missed her.

The sound of her laughter, the warmth of her smile, the way her presence had made even his darkest moments feel lighter. She was a part of him, his mate, and the empty space she had left behind felt like a wound that refused to heal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, his voice barely audible over the wind. He didn’t know if she could feel his words through the bond, faint as it was, but he said them anyway. “I’m so sorry, Angel.”

The guilt, the longing, the love he felt for her—it all churned within him, a storm with no end in sight. He didn’t know if she would ever return, if she could ever forgive him, but he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he would spend the rest of his life trying to make it right.

******

Y/n POV 

I stood by the open windows of Tarquin’s seaside palace, the salt-kissed breeze tugging at my dark hair and brushing gently against my battered wings. The ocean stretched endlessly before me, its rhythmic waves offering a soothing backdrop to the turmoil inside me. 

Home.

I hadn’t spoken of my time in captivity since returning to the Summer Court, hadn’t allowed myself to relive the memories that haunted me every waking moment.

But now, as Tarquin approached me with quiet steps, his expression kind but resolute, I knew I couldn’t keep it locked away any longer.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying the warmth of the Summer Court, but laced with concern. “You’ve been silent since you arrived. I won’t push you, but if you’re ready to talk… I’m here.”

I turned to face him, my eyes shadowed with pain, the once-bright color dulled by the weight of my experiences. For a moment, I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. But the steady patience in his gaze, the unwavering presence of someone who had always cared for me, allowed me to take a trembling breath.

“They broke me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the crash of the waves. “Not just my body… but my spirit.”

Tarquin’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing, giving me the space to continue.

“They tore at my wings first,” I said, my voice cracking as I glanced over my shoulder at the still-healing feathers. “They slashed at them, trying to cripple me, to make me feel powerless. They knew what wings mean to an Illyrian—to me—and they wanted to take that from me.”

Tarquin’s hands clenched at his sides, his golden-brown skin taut as he fought to keep his anger in check. He stepped closer, his voice steady but tight with emotion. “You’re not powerless, baby sister. You’re here. You survived.”

My throat tightened, and I shook my head, tears slipping down my cheeks. “It wasn’t just the wings, Tarquin. They… they cut me. My arms, my legs. They wanted to see how much I could take. How much I would endure before I begged for mercy.”

Tarquin’s jaw tensed, and his fists clenched again, but he kept his expression soft as he reached out to gently touch my shoulder. “You never begged, did you?” he asked, his voice quiet but filled with pride.

My lips quivered, and I shook my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. “No. I didn’t give them that satisfaction. But… but I wanted to. By the end, I was praying for it to stop. Praying for death to take me.”

Tarquin stepped closer, his hands settling on my shoulders now, grounding me as I trembled. “But they didn’t. They couldn’t,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “You came back, Y/n. You fought through it. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t hell—it doesn’t erase what they did. But it proves that they didn’t win. You did.”

My tears fell freely now, and I bowed my head, my dark hair shielding my face as my wings trembled behind me. “I don’t feel like I won,” I admitted, my voice breaking. “I feel… hollow. I feel like a piece of me was left behind in that cell.”

Tarquin gently cupped my face, tilting my chin up so I had to meet his gaze. His azure-blue eyes, so similar to mine yet so different, radiated kindness and understanding. “Then we’ll find that piece,” he said softly. “We’ll rebuild it together, piece by piece, no matter how long it takes. You are not alone in this, baby sister. You never have to be alone.”

My hands trembled as I gripped the windowsill, my gaze fixed on the endless horizon of the ocean. The rhythmic crash of waves below did little to calm the storm within me, the memories of my captivity clawing at the edges of my mind. I had never spoken the full truth aloud, had never allowed myself to put the pain into words. But now, standing in the safe haven of the Summer Court with Tarquin’s steady presence beside me, the words began to break free, no longer content to be buried.

“They didn’t just want to break me physically,” I said quietly, my voice brittle but steady. “They wanted to make sure I carried their mark for the rest of my life. They wanted me to remember, to never forget.”

Tarquin stilled beside me, his golden-brown skin paling as my words settled heavily in the air. “What did they do?” he asked softly, though his voice was tight with barely restrained anger.

My breath hitched, and I turned slightly, my eyes meeting his. They were darker now, stormy and filled with the weight of everything I had endured. “They carved into my skin,” I said, my voice cracking as I gestured to my stomach. “They carved it deep enough to scar. And then they used faebane to make sure it would never heal.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as fury swept through him. But he kept his voice calm, his tone soft and encouraging. “Show me,” he said gently, his gaze searching mine for permission.

I hesitated, my throat tightening as shame threatened to drown me. But there was something in Tarquin’s eyes—an unshakable kindness, a promise that he would never see me as anything less than who I was. With a shaky breath, I reached for the hem of my tunic and lifted it just enough to reveal the jagged scar etched across my abdomen.

The scar tissue a harsh white against my skin. It was a permanent reminder of the cruelty I had faced, of the lengths they had gone to in their attempt to strip me of my identity, my dignity.

Tarquin’s breath left him in a shuddering exhale, his golden eyes darkening with a mix of rage and sorrow. “Y/n…” he said, his voice trembling with emotion as he stepped closer. “They’ll pay for this. Every last one of them.”

I shook my head, my arms dropping to my sides as I lowered my tunic. “Azriel already made sure of that,” I said quietly. “Even if they’re gone, it doesn't matter because this—” I gestured to my stomach, my lips trembling. “This will always be here. I’ll carry it forever. Every time I look in the mirror, I’ll see what they did to me.”

Tarquin’s hands rose slowly, hesitating for a moment before settling gently on my shoulders. “It does matter,” he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it. “Because what they did doesn’t define you. This scar, these marks—they don’t take away who you are. They don’t make you any less.”

My throat tightened, tears spilling down my cheeks as I whispered, “But every time I see it, I feel… dirty. Like they succeeded in taking something from me.”

“They didn’t,” Tarquin said fiercely, his hands tightening on my shoulders as he leaned closer, his voice softening. “You’re here, Y/n. You survived. They tried to strip you of your strength, your dignity, but they couldn’t. You’re still standing. That scar doesn’t define you. It’s a mark of your survival, not your defeat.”

My wings trembled slightly, my chest heaving as sobs wracked my body. Tarquin pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as I cried against his chest. His hands moved gently, brushing over my back, my shoulders, careful not to press too hard against my still-healing injuries.

“I’ll help you through this,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Whatever you need, whenever you’re ready. And I promise you, baby sister, you are so much more than what they tried to make you.”

My lip trembled, and I let out a soft sob, leaning into his embrace as he pulled me close. His arms were strong, steady, a quiet reminder of the safety and love I had always found in the Summer Court. I buried my face in his chest, my tears soaking into the soft fabric of his tunic as he held me, his grip unwavering.

“You’re safe now,” Tarquin murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble. “Whatever you need, whenever you’re ready, I’m here. And I’ll make sure no one hurts you again.”

I clung to him, the weight of my pain easing just slightly under his steady presence. The scar on my stomach would never fade, but in Tarquin’s arms, I felt the faintest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to see myself as something more than what they had tried to reduce me to.

As the waves crashed against the shore below, I let herself believe, for the first time in a long time, that healing was possible—even if it came one fragile piece at a time.

******

Elain POV

Elain had suspected something for a while.

She wasn’t blind to the way Azriel’s gaze lingered on Y/n, the way his shadows softened around her, or the quiet warmth in his voice when he spoke her name. But hearing the truth, learning that Y/n was Azriel’s mate, still struck her like a blow to the chest.

The words came to her from Feyre, softly spoken but impossible to misunderstand. “Y/n is Azriel’s mate.” Feyre’s gaze was gentle, searching Elain’s face for a reaction. Elain had nodded quietly, offering a small smile to reassure her sister.

But inside, a storm was brewing.

Elain retreated to the garden after Feyre left, needing the solace of the flowers and the open sky to process her feelings. She knelt by the rosebushes, her hands working the soil mechanically as her mind raced.

At first, there was confusion.

She had known Azriel cared for her once, had seen it in the quiet way he lingered near her, the hesitant touches, the unspoken words between them. But she had also known, deep down, that something had shifted. He had grown distant after Y/n’s arrival, his focus elsewhere, and she hadn’t been able to understand why—until now.

Then came the sting of jealousy, sharp and bitter, like the thorn of a rose she hadn’t seen.

Y/n.

Beautiful, strong, radiant Y/n, who had come into their lives like a storm and captured Azriel’s attention effortlessly. Elain couldn’t deny her own envy, couldn’t pretend she didn’t feel overshadowed by her presence.

But beneath the jealousy, there was something else.

Relief.

Elain let out a shaky breath, brushing the dirt from her hands as she sat back on her heels.

Relief, because she had always felt a quiet pressure when it came to Azriel—a pressure to feel something more, to give him what he wanted, even if her heart had never truly aligned with his.

Relief, because she hadn’t been able to let go of the tether to Lucien, faint as it was, no matter how hard she tried.

Azriel and Y/n made sense. That was what struck her most as she sat there in the garden, the sun warming her skin. They fit. Y/n, with her strength and fire, matched Azriel’s quiet intensity in a way that Elain never could. And for the first time, Elain allowed herself to admit that she didn’t want to.

She didn’t want to be Azriel’s mate. She didn’t want to try to force feelings that weren’t there. And now, with this truth laid bare, she didn’t have to.

Still, a pang of sadness lingered as she thought of Azriel. She had seen the way he had once looked at her, the quiet longing in his hazel eyes, and it hurt to know she had never been able to give him the same in return. But now, knowing he had found his mate, someone who could meet him on every level—someone who belonged to him—it eased that guilt.

A faint rustle of shadows drew her attention, and she turned to see Azriel standing at the edge of the garden, his expression unreadable. His hazel eyes searched hers, cautious and careful, as though he already knew what Feyre had told her.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice low but steady.

Elain nodded, brushing her hands on her skirt as she rose to her feet. “I do.”

He hesitated, his wings shifting slightly. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said quietly. “I never wanted—”

“You didn’t,” she interrupted gently, meeting his gaze. “Azriel, I… I’m happy for you. For both of you.”

Surprise flickered across his face, followed by relief. “You are?” he asked, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Elain smiled softly, though there was a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I am. She’s your mate, Azriel. And she’s… she’s incredible. You two belong together.”

Azriel’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he inclined his head in quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sincere.

Elain nodded, the tension between them easing. As he turned to leave, she called after him, her voice soft but certain. “Azriel?”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“She’s lucky to have you,” Elain said, a small smile curving her lips. “Don’t forget that.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Elain felt free—free to move forward, to explore what her own path might hold.

And as she watched Azriel disappear into the shadows, she silently wished him and Y/n all the happiness they deserved.

******

Y/n POV

At the Summer Court, healing didn’t come all at once for me—it came in fragments, little moments that pieced me back together bit by bit.

The first time I stepped onto the beach, the familiar scent of salt and the soothing sound of waves washing against the shore, I felt the tiniest flicker of something I hadn’t felt in months: peace. Tarquin walked beside me, his presence steady and grounding, as though he understood that the silence was what I needed most.

At first, my days were quiet. I spent hours by the water, letting the gentle ebb and flow of the tide remind me of the rhythms of life. I’d sit on the sand with my knees pulled to my chest, the warm sun kissing my skin as my black feathered wings rested limply behind me. My magic came slowly, tentatively at first. Little streams of water danced between my fingers, shapes forming and dissolving as I tested my strength. It wasn’t much, but it was mine, and it felt like a small victory.

One afternoon, a group of children ran past me on the beach, laughing and chasing one another. I watched them with a wistful smile until one of the braver children approached me, holding out a small shell. “Can you make it swim?” the girl asked, her wide eyes filled with wonder.

I hesitated but took the shell. I cupped it in my palm, and with a quiet breath, I sent a ripple of magic through it. The shell rose into the air, spinning and swirling like a bird in flight before it dipped into the water, leaving a tiny trail behind. The children clapped and cheered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I laughed—a real, unrestrained laugh that lit up my face.

After that, the children sought me out whenever I was near, begging me to create dolphins, sea turtles, or even mermaids from the water. I indulged them, their joy infectious, and it filled a part of me that I hadn’t realized was so empty.

Tarquin noticed the change, a flicker of life returning to my eyes. He began spending more time with me, walking along the cliffs or sitting on the docks as the sun set. We spoke about the past, about the girl I had been before everything had gone so wrong, and he reminded me of the strength I carried even now. “You were always the brightest part of this court,” he told me one evening. “And you still are.”

I began to explore the Summer Court with renewed curiosity, rediscovering the places I had once loved but had felt too broken to return to. The hidden lagoons where I used to practice my magic, the coral gardens beneath the waves, the winding paths through the forest that led to waterfalls shimmering like liquid crystal. I laid on the glittery white sands, my feathered wings soaking up the sun as the waves washed over me. Each step felt like reclaiming a piece of myself.

One night, Tarquin invited me to a gathering by the water’s edge. The stars glittered above, and soft music drifted through the air as courtiers danced and laughed. I stood on the outskirts, hesitant, until Tarquin held out his hand. “Dance with me, baby sister,” he said with a smile.

I took his hand, letting him lead me into the soft glow of lanterns strung between palm trees. My movements were tentative at first, but as the music swelled, I let myself get lost in the moment. He spun me around until I was laughing and giddy from it all. When the song ended, Tarquin kissed my forehead. “That’s the sister I remember.”

The weight I carried didn’t vanish, but it grew lighter with each passing day. I wasn’t the same person I had been before—I would never be—but I was finding my way, piece by piece, back to myself.

And for the first time in a long time, I began to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be whole again.

******

Y/n POV

As I began to rediscover myself in the warm embrace of the Summer Court, the ache I thought I’d buried started to resurface. It crept in during quiet moments, when the laughter of children faded into the rhythm of the waves, or when I found myself alone beneath the vast, star-filled sky.

I hadn’t thought about him at first. I’d been too broken, too consumed by the need to heal, to piece myself together in a place that felt safe. But now, with every day that I grew stronger, with every step I took back toward myself, I found my thoughts drifting to him more often than I cared to admit.

Azriel.

It was in the little things that I missed him. The way his hazel eyes always seemed to see straight through me, as if he knew my every thought before I spoke it. The quiet strength of his presence, the way he never pressed but was always there, a steady force in the chaos of my life. And his voice—low and steady, like the shadows he wielded—I could still hear it, calling me angel.

I would catch myself thinking about his hands, scarred but so gentle when they brushed my tears away after a nightmare, or the way they rested protectively on my lower back when we walked through the House of Wind as I was healing. I remembered the way he’d looked at me after my first laugh following my captivity, as if the sound had been a balm to his own soul.

But the memory that haunted me most was the last time I’d seen him on the battlefield before I was taken. His face, carved with anguish, as he’d whispered, I love you. I hadn’t been able to respond then, just realizing the mating bond to grasp the enormity of his words. And then I’d told him to go, to save Elain, unable to tell him before he flew away and unable to say it after he rescued me, when I didn’t even know who I was.

Now, standing on the beach with the warm sand beneath my feet, I realized how much I missed him. Not just the comfort he brought, but him. His humor, his quiet moments of vulnerability, the way he always put everyone else before himself. I missed the way he saw me—not as broken or incomplete, but as someone strong, someone worthy.

And with that realization came brought a sharper ache.

I left Velaris and never told him.

I hadn’t told him that I loved him too, that I’d known it in my heart for longer than I could admit. I had left without giving him those words, without even giving him the chance to show me that I was still enough.

The bond hummed faintly in my chest, a quiet, persistent reminder of the connection that tethered us. I pressed a hand to my heart, feeling the warmth of it, the pull that I’d tried to ignore. But no matter how far I went, it was still there, unyielding and steady, like him.

Tarquin noticed the change in me as the days passed. “You’re restless,” he said one evening as we sat by the water, the moonlight casting ripples of silver across the waves.

I didn’t deny it. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice soft. “I came here to find myself, but I feel… incomplete.”

He gave me a knowing look, his blue eyes kind. “Maybe that’s because a part of you is still in Velaris.”

My breath caught, and I turned to look at him, searching his face. “Do you think I made a mistake leaving?”

“I think you did what you needed to do,” Tarquin said gently. “But healing doesn’t always mean running from what hurts. Sometimes it means facing it.”

I looked down at my hands, at the faint scars that lingered on my skin. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said. “But if you’re thinking about him this much, maybe it’s time to stop running.”

The words stayed with me long after Tarquin had left. As I sat alone on the beach, the waves lapping at me feet, I let myself feel the bond, let myself imagine what it would be like to see Azriel again.

To tell him that I missed him.

To tell him that I loved him.

And as I let those thoughts linger, I gave the bond a good, hard tug.

******

Azriel POV

Azriel stood on the balcony of the House of Wind, the cool night air brushing against his skin. The Sidra glittered far below, its tranquil waters a stark contrast to the storm raging inside him. He leaned heavily on the railing, his wings drooping slightly behind him, their usual strength absent. The silence around him felt oppressive, broken only by the faint whispers of the wind.

He missed her.

It had been six months.

Six long months since she had left Velaris, since she had left him.

Six months of longing for her.

Every very corner of Velaris seemed to echo with her absence. The training ring felt empty without her determined presence, without the fire in her eyes that lit up when she pushed herself. The dining room was quieter, duller, without her laughter—or her silence, even, when she was lost in thought. Everywhere he went, he felt the void she’d left behind, and it was slowly suffocating him.

Azriel ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily as he closed his eyes.

The bond pulsed faintly in his chest, a quiet, persistent reminder of her. It had been so muted since she’d left, distant like the fading echo of a song he couldn’t quite hear anymore. But tonight, as he stood there staring out over the city, everything changed.

It wasn’t faint anymore.

A strong tug pulled at the bond, sharp and unrelenting, and his breath caught. It felt like her—vivid and unmistakable, like her very essence had reached across the distance and grabbed hold of him. His wings flared slightly, his instincts roaring to life as his heart hammered in his chest.

His Angel.

The bond didn’t just hum—it surged, pulling hard enough that he stumbled forward, gripping the railing to steady himself. He didn’t know if she was aware of it, if she realized what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. It was her, raw and present, and it was enough to break the fragile control he’d been clinging to.

He wanted to go to her. The urge to follow that bond, to winnow straight to her side, was overwhelming. Every muscle in his body screamed to move, to fly, to reach her. But he stayed rooted in place, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the railing tighter.

The tug came again, strong and insistent, like a plea whispered across the space between them. His jaw tightened as he tried to decipher the emotions spilling through the bond. It wasn’t fear or pain—it was something softer, something quieter. A yearning that mirrored his own.

She missed him.

The realization hit him like a blow. He could feel it now, the faint ache laced into the pull, the lingering trace of her thoughts pressing against the bond. She was reaching for him. After six long months, she was reaching for him.

Azriel’s wings sagged slightly, his hazel eyes closing as a thousand emotions surged through him. Relief, guilt, longing, and love tangled together in a knot so tight it felt impossible to unravel. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the bond pulse strongly beneath his palm, as though it were alive.

But what if she didn’t realize what she was doing? What if she wasn’t reaching out consciously, and this was simply a reflex, a moment of weakness? What if… what if she didn’t want him?

That thought stopped him cold, his wings stiffening behind him. He didn’t deserve her, not after what had happened. Not after he’d left her.

But the bond didn’t care about his guilt, didn’t care about the endless nights he’d spent replaying that moment in his mind. It called to him, her presence burning through the distance with a strength that left him breathless.

Azriel leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the railing, his wings folding tightly around him like a shield. He didn’t know how long he stood there, gripping the bond with everything he had as it pulled at him, stronger and stronger with each passing moment. But as the hours stretched on, one thing became painfully clear:

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep pretending the bond didn’t exist, that the love he felt for her wasn’t clawing at him every second of every day.

But what if she still didn’t want him? What if, even now, she was tugging on the bond out of habit, not out of need? What if he showed up at the Summer Court only to find that she had moved on?

Azriel shook his head, exhaling sharply. He didn’t have the answers. All he had was the unrelenting pull of her, the bond tying them together no matter how far apart they were. And tonight, that bond was stronger than it had been in months.

As he turned away from the balcony and walked back into the house, his heart pounding and his mind racing, one thought echoed louder than all the rest:

She was reaching for him.

And he wasn’t sure he could stay away much longer.

******

Tarquin POV

The air in Velaris was cool, the soft light of the setting sun casting golden hues over the Sidra as Tarquin arrived at the townhouse. The High Lord of Summer Court was greeted warmly by Rhysand, his easy smile in place as he gestured for Tarquin to step inside.

“It’s been far too long,” Rhysand said as he led Tarquin to the sitting room, where Feyre and Cassian waited. A fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth filling the room as the Summer Court ruler settled into a chair.

“It has,” Tarquin agreed, his ocean-blue eyes flicking around the familiar space. “But I’m glad to be here, even if the times demand it.”

Rhysand nodded, pouring Tarquin a glass of wine before sitting across from him. “I appreciate you coming. I know there’s much to discuss about the remnants of Hybern, but first, tell me—how is my little sister?”

Tarquin’s face softened at the mention of Y/n, a rare tenderness crossing his features. “She’s doing well,” he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. “It took time, but she’s healing. She’s slowly remembering the person she was before everything… happened.”

Feyre exhaled softly, relief visible in her expression as she leaned forward slightly. “That’s good to hear,” she said. “We’ve all been worried about her.”

Tarquin nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he continued. “She’s been spending her days playing with the children on the beaches, using her water magic again. It’s been good for her, I think, to be surrounded by laughter, by joy. She’s even started dancing at our court gatherings again. And she has started sparring with me again. She is putting much needed muscle back on and she is beginning to look like a sun kissed Summer Court princess again.”

Cassian smiled faintly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “That sounds like the Y/n we knew.”

“But,” Tarquin said, his voice turning more serious, “there’s something else.”

Rhysand’s expression sharpened, his piercing violet eyes locking onto Tarquin’s. “What is it?”

Tarquin hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone carefully measured. “She still carries a fear, a deep one. Not just from what happened, but from what was done to her.”

Feyre’s eyes widened, her hand clutching the arm of her chair. Cassian straightened, his brows furrowing.

“They carved vicious wound into her abdomen,” Tarquin said quietly, his voice laced with anger that still simmered from the memory. “Something meant to humiliate her, to break her, and used faebane to ensure it wouldn’t heal. A cruel trick to make sure she never forgets what happened to her at their hands. She hides it well, but I know she’s terrified of what Azriel will think if he ever sees it.”

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of Tarquin’s words pressing heavily on all of them. Rhysand’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with fury. “She shouldn’t have to bear that alone,” he said, his voice low. “Not that. Not ever.”

“She thinks it makes her unworthy,” Tarquin continued. “She doesn’t say it, but I see the way she avoids mirrors, the way she flinches if someone’s gaze lingers too long. And I know she’s afraid. Afraid that Azriel won’t accept her, that he’ll see her as broken.”

“He wouldn’t,” Feyre said firmly, her voice trembling with conviction. “Azriel loves her. He would never see her as anything less than perfect.”

Tarquin nodded. “I believe that too. But she doesn’t. Not yet. And until she does, I don’t think she’ll come back to Velaris. She’s still healing, but this…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This will take more than time. It will take him.”

Rhysand’s brows lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”

Tarquin met Rhysand’s gaze, his voice steady. “It may take Azriel coming to her at the Summer Court. Showing her, with no doubt, that he accepts her fully—scar and all. That she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

Feyre glanced at Rhysand, her expression a mix of hope and determination. Cassian, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded in agreement. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his mind clearly turning over the possibilities.

“She misses him,” Tarquin added softly. “She won’t admit it, but I see it in her eyes. And I think he misses her too.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight as he processed Tarquin’s words. “If Azriel knew…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“Then maybe it’s time he did,” Tarquin said firmly. “Because I don’t think either of them can truly heal without the other.”

The room fell into a quiet stillness, the truth of Tarquin’s words sinking in. Rhysand’s expression softened slightly, though the weight of his thoughts was clear.

“Let’s hope she finds her way back,” he said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. “Or that Azriel has the courage to go after her. Because I don’t think either of them can survive losing this bond again.”

******

Rhysand POV

Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his violet eyes fixed on Azriel, who stood stiffly across from him in the quiet privacy of the study. The room was lit only by the soft glow of the fire in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. Azriel’s wings were tight against his back, his expression unreadable as always, though Rhysand could see the tension in his posture.

“Tarquin visited yesterday,” Rhysand began, his voice calm but laced with something heavier. “He came to discuss Hybern’s remnants, but most of our conversation revolved around Y/n.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his hazel eyes locking onto Rhysand’s.

Rhysand studied his spymaster for a moment, the silence stretching between them before he continued. “He said she’s healing. That she’s remembering who she was before… everything.”

Azriel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his gaze flickering briefly to the fire before returning to Rhysand. “That’s good,” he said evenly, though his voice was quieter than usual.

“It is,” Rhysand agreed. “But he also said she’s still carrying a deep fear. About her scars.”

Azriel stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Her scars?”

Rhysand nodded, his expression softening. “She’s afraid, Azriel. Afraid of what they mean. Afraid that they make her unworthy, especially in your eyes.”

Azriel took a step forward, his wings flaring slightly behind him. “I’ve never thought that,” he said, his voice low and fierce. “I could never think that.”

“I know,” Rhysand said gently. “But she doesn’t. Tarquin said she avoids mirrors, that she flinches if someone looks at her for too long. She’s convinced that you won’t accept her, that you’ll see her as broken.”

Azriel’s face twisted, a rare glimpse of emotion breaking through his stoic mask. “That’s not true,” he said hoarsely. “She’s not broken. She’s—” He cut himself off, his wings trembling slightly as he tried to collect himself. “She’s perfect. Scars and all.”

Rhysand leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he regarded Azriel carefully. “Then you need to tell her that.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She left, Rhys. She went back to Summer Court. I’m not sure if she wants to see me...or if she would even be ready.”

“She went back to heal,” Rhysand said firmly. “And she’s been doing that. But healing doesn’t erase the doubts she’s carrying. It doesn’t erase the fear that you don’t want her.”

Azriel looked up sharply, his eyes blazing. “She’s my mate. Of course I want her.”

Rhysand raised a brow, his tone turning pointed. “You remember she watched you push her away for months while you spent time with Elain. And now with her scars, it makes her more cautious.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, his wings trembling slightly as he stood before Rhysand. The firelight in the study cast shadows across his face, but it couldn’t hide the torment in his hazel eyes.

“I failed her, Rhys,” he said, his voice low and strained. “When I went back for her… she was gone. And that image—her surrounded by those soldiers as I flew off with Elain—it haunts me every single day. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

Rhysand remained silent, his expression carefully neutral, though his violet eyes shone with understanding.

“It took us three months to find her,” Azriel continued, his voice trembling with the weight of his guilt. “Three months of her being tortured, of her enduring things no one should ever have to endure. And all that time, I felt the bond. Faint, but still there. I felt her pain, her fear, her agony. She didn’t even know she was sending it down the bond, but I could feel it. And I couldn’t do anything.”

He began pacing the room, his steps heavy and uneven, as if the weight of his memories was dragging him down. “When we finally found her… she was so broken, Rhys. So bloodied and beaten, barely clinging to life. I can still see her lying there in that filthy cell, her wings torn, her body trembling. And all I could think was that I should have been faster. I should have found her sooner.”

Rhysand’s brow furrowed, his hands clasping together as he listened intently. He didn’t interrupt, allowing Azriel the space to speak the words he had clearly been holding in for far too long.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever truly heal from what they did to her,” Azriel said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if I’ll ever truly forgive myself for letting it happen. For choosing Elain over her in that moment. I thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “I thought she could handle it. I thought she’d survive until I came back. But I was wrong. And she paid the price for it.”

Azriel turned to face Rhysand then, his expression raw and unguarded. “When I look at her now, all I see is what I failed to do. How I couldn’t protect her when she needed me most. And I’m terrified, Rhys. Terrified that I might fail her again. And I would never forgive myself.”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair. “Tarquin suggested that she might not come back to Velaris. Not unless you go to her and show her that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Azriel’s chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath, his fists still clenched at his sides. “And what if she doesn’t want me?” he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice startling even to Rhysand.

Rhysand’s expression softened, and he rose from his chair, walking around the desk to stand in front of Azriel. “Az, she misses you. Tarquin said she won’t admit it, but it’s written all over her. She’s just as afraid as you are. But if you keep waiting for her to come to you, you might lose her for good.”

Rhysand rose from his chair, crossing the room to stand in front of Azriel. He placed a firm hand on his spymaster’s shoulder, his violet eyes meeting Azriel’s with a steady, unwavering gaze. “Az,” he said softly, “you’re carrying the weight of something that wasn’t yours to bear alone. You did what you thought was right in an impossible situation. You saved Elain. And when you realized what had happened, you did everything in your power to find my sister. And you did.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Azriel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She suffered for three months, Rhys. How do I come back from that?”

“You don’t do it alone,” Rhysand said firmly. “She is strong. Stronger than you think. But she’s hurting too, Azriel, and part of that hurt comes from thinking you won’t accept her. You can’t change what happened, but you can show her what she means to you now.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his wings shifting restlessly. “I don’t know if I deserve her,” he admitted. “Not after everything.”

“You’re her mate,” Rhysand said, his tone softening. “And whether you think you deserve her or not, that bond exists for a reason. You’re tied to her, Azriel. And she’s tied to you. But if you don’t fight for her, if you don’t show her that she’s worth every ounce of your love, you’ll lose her.”

Azriel closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. “I don’t even know if she’ll listen to me.”

“Then you go to her,” Rhysand said. “You look her in the eyes, and you tell her everything you just told me. Every word. You let her decide if she wants to come back.”

Azriel opened his eyes, meeting Rhysand’s steady gaze. “And if she doesn’t?”

Rhysand squeezed his shoulder. “Then at least you’ll know you gave it everything you had. And that’s all you can do.”

[peggyao3]

Pt. 7 - Bruising / Bitemarks

A/N: The swordmaster in this one is undeniably inspired by the amazing @inkwingsinc's infamous Nostya Mulligan ❤️🥹

TAGS: some exhibitionism, some homoerotic energy, mentions of she/her FMC

Word Count: 325

"What has you wincing and mincing like that, princess?" Feyd's swordmaster sneers, battering at his pupil's side with the long edge of his wicked blade.

The na-Baron offers a mellow smirk as he swats away the weapon with a clangorous hiss of metal against metal, huffing through flared nostrils. His gait is o-shaped, his footing ridiculous. The swordmaster should beat him for it, but he finds himself impishly intrigued.

"You might as well let me see." The older man cocks his head, withdrawing his blade to let it dangle at his side in lazy circles, eyes shamelessly trained on Feyd-Rautha's crotch.

"Will you stop nagging if I do?" The young man snickers, causing his swordmaster to roll his eyes. Proud— that little bitch of a boy is proud to have his cock maimed!

"Depends. Maybe, if I'm impressed."

Feyd-Rautha slips his thumbs beneath the waistband and tugs his slacks down the expanse of his flat, hard stomach, baring muscled flesh where his abdomen narrows into the shape of an arrow and seamlessly melts into his milky pubic mound. 

Deliciously thick and half-hard, Feyd's cock stands at an angle in front of his solid thighs.

The swordmaster whistles. "Got you real good, boy. Poor thing had no breakfast, so she tried to eat you?"

"I make sure to keep her well-fed," Feyd coos. "She's just insatiable."

The older man leans closer, if only to scent the tang of sweat and pheromones. Fat, purple bruises adorn Feyd-Rautha's shaft, veins swelling against the marred flesh. The imprint of teeth decorates the plump head of his cock, bruised so deep that they're almost black. The swordmaster bites his lip when his pupil's cock twitches under the close scrutiny.

"Little beast, that girl," he  grins appreciatively and lifts his sly eyes to the na-Baron's. "I'd let her have a bite of mine."

That catches Feyd-Rautha's attention and he lashes out quick and hard, nearly severing the laughing swordmaster's neck.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring

[silenttrxxs]

choi san x reader a

smut, nsfw

youre getting ready, your phone had lit up about an hour prior. now youre stood in the mirror contemplating whether the dark red dress looks okay or if you should change into your black velvet dress. You opted for the black dress before standing back at the mirror touching up your makeup before the door swings open, you barely batter an eye as you feel the air thicken and a warmth behind you, his hands sliding across your waist as you apply your lip gloss.

"you nearly ready my love" he whispers into your ear before reaching into his pocket and taking a dainty silver chain necklace and holding the jewelery to your neck and smirking as he put it on your neck, his breath hot as he places a barely there kiss to your neck and stands back.

"youre the most gorgeous person ive laid my eyes on darling, now lets go and show the world how beautiful you are" san breathes out and interlaces your hands together guiding you to the front door, leaning down and grabbing the heels and patting his thigh.

you lift your leg up and place your foot on his thigh as he laces the shoe up and smiles as he massages your calf mucles before standing up.

"lets go my love" he says softly before entertwining your hand with his own and leading you to the car.

"stay there for a second baby" san says before opening the door for you. the car filled with deep red roses. your eyes fill a little with tears, you blink them away before walking over to san. "baby you didnt have to do all this" you say before placing to his cheek and sliding into the passanger seat, placing the roses on the back seats.

you look over to san as he starts the car driving to the shopping centre. "so what you planning to get darling" he says as his hand grips onto your thigh.

"i dont know yet, thank you for this sannie, it means the world to me.

You smile and get out the car leading san to the first store, grabbing a few dresses and some cute lingerie sets, noticing the way san would smirk or suck in a sharp breath as you pick up the items.

you smirk as you lead him to the dressing room, changing into the first dress and opening the curtain, you giggle as you watch san try to adjust to his stance. a tell tale sign that your plan was working. you giggle and closed the curtain. a hand stopping your movements as he slides into the room with you. closing the curtain and gripping your body, pushing your weight down onto the chair provided and looks down at you, he knelt before you, his eyes darkening as he kneeds your thighs spreading them, your arousal soaking your panties as you lock your gaze to him.

"fuck look at you, so wet for me already" he breaths out as he plants kisses to your inner thighs. marking the supple flesh. you gasp as he smiles up at you the gaze adorning his features stirring a wave or pleasure through your body.

you let out a loud moan as you feel his fingers teasing your core, his mouth sucking your sensitive bud as you body arches, his fingers finding the one spot that makes it impossible for you to be quiet. you gasp as he stops his movements as he grips the tie from his neck and stuffs it into your mouth.

"quiet baby, cant have you getting us caught" he whispers as he continues fucking your cunt with his fingers, his tongue gliding over your clit as he pumps his long fingers into you.

"fuck you taste so good" he breathes out before curling his fingers inside you, his tongue working hard to bring you closer to the edge.

"fuck fuck fuck...san oh my god" you mumble out as your body clenched the tight feeling overwhelming your body as he guides you over the edge, coating his face in your arousal as he shifts a little. painting inside his pants as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you come.

your hand gripping harshly in his hair as you ride through your orgasm.

"fuck youre buying this dress baby, you look stunning." he says as he rips the tag holding onto it as you catch your breath and stand up, placing his tie loosely around his neck.

"fuck i cant wait to treat you my love" he says grabbing the other dresses and entertwining your hands together and planting a kiss to your cheek.

[fettuccin-e]

The Devil In Me

Kinktober Day 8: Rough Sex

Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it irl guys dont be dumb), rough sex, degradation, slight sadism/masochism, black suit supremacy, matt is kind of violent but thats rlly just who he is yknow (w/c: 1.6K)

A/N: so like even though most of my shit has rough sex this is like a little rougher than i usually write. but theres fluff at the end because i literally cannot help myself lol (I have been using prompts from this list by flightlessangelwings!)

When Matt comes home to you bloodied and battered, fists curled at his sides and jaw clenched, you aren’t afraid. He’s dangerous right now, a man at the end of a wire, teetering dangerously over the edge of insanity.

He’s been pushed and pushed, the devil within him restless and feral. You know that he’s still the man you love; he’s the same Matty that cooks your favorite foods and listens to audiobooks with you and takes you for walks through Central Park.

You love Matt, and the devil that lives within him. To love him is to accept them both, and you do, without hesitation.

So when he stalks toward you, every inch of him dangerous and volatile, you don’t flinch away. You smooth your hands over his scratchy cheeks, thumbing gently over his lips. Soothing an animal. He brings his hands up to grab your wrists, holding them still against his face. He’s practically vibrating with unshed energy, aching to be set free.

“Need you, please,” he rasps, his voice quiet and rough. It’s more of a question than anything else, you know it is.  He always asks, never wants to hurt you. You know that if you were to say no, he’d simply kiss your forehead. He’d tell you he loves you, like he always does, and would go out again. Distancing you from the devil. You’ve never considered saying no, after years of being beside him. These nights are for you as much as they’re for him. They’re brutal, sometimes painful, but you crave them, crave him.

“Yes,” you whisper back to him, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. He growls, and his hands move to grip your hips, hard enough to bruise. They likely will, and later, Matt will kiss them, murmuring little apologies. You’ll giggle at him, telling him that he shouldn’t apologize. You’ll press on them while staring at the mirror, relishing in the soft ache.

Matt kisses you hard, all teeth and spit and tongue, before turning you until your back presses flush against his chest. You let your head lay back against his shoulder as one of his hands snakes down your stomach and under your panties. He cups your pussy without any finesse, his hands rough and calloused against you. 

“So fucking wet,” he grunts, and you whine as his hands part your cunt to run a thick finger over your clit. Your hips jerk forward, chasing his touch, but Matt uses his other hands to shove your hips back against him again. You can feel the thickness of his cock through his clothes, pressing against your ass. Against your better judgment, you grind back against him. Testing, teasing. Something you should never do with a caged animal.

“Fucking-” he chokes out, sounding almost angry. “Bend over for me. Now.” You nearly trip over your own feet in your rush to get to the couch. You can feel how soaked you are, your pussy slick and ruining your panties. You slide them off, but as you reach to take off your sleeping shirt, an old Fogwell’s tee from Matt’s dresser, the devil is already upon you. 

“I said,” he murmurs, “bend over.” He grips your shoulders, shoving them over the back of the couch until you brace yourself with your hands on the cushions. The edge of the couch digs into your lower stomach, but you can barely feel it, your anticipation clouding your senses. Matt smooths a rough hand over your ass, you barely have a moment to breathe before he’s landing a rough smack against you. Pain radiates through you, and you can feel yourself leaking for him. You choke out a soft moan at the impact, and shake minutely as Matt chuckles darkly.

“Fucking slut. You like getting hit? Fuck, you’re soaked, you love it, baby. I know you do. I can fucking smell it.” You whine as Matt leans over you, his lips brushing against your ear. “You can’t run from me, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you swear that you could pass out from the mixture of anticipation and pure lust running through your veins. 

You can hear the rustle of fabric behind you; the undoing of a belt, the sound of a zipper. Your hips twitch minutely when you feel Matt’s hard cock press against you, sliding against your sensitive pussy. The thick head notches against your entrance, and suddenly, Matt is pushing in, in, strong and unyielding. The stretch borders on painful without any prep; Matt is big on a normal day, but he feels even bigger tonight, bullying into your clenching cunt without remorse.

“So fucking tight, shit,” he mutters behind you, and you can only whine in response. He doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, not like he usually does. He uses you, taking and taking without remorse, desperate for it. He pulls out roughly before plunging back in, making you feel every thick inch of him. He works himself in and out of your sopping pussy, clothed hips slapping against your bare skin, chafing it raw and red and aching. Your hips jerk with every unrelenting thrust, barely able to take it as Matt takes you like a fucking toy.

“Yeah, fucking take it. You little slut, my fucking slut. I own you, I own this fucking pussy, you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, God Matt, fuck, I’m yours. I’m yours, baby,” you slur out. You feel hazy, your vision blurry as Matt fucks you. He can barely ever miss the most sensitive part of your pussy in this position. His cockhead jams into your sweet spot again and again, unrelenting and nearly painful with how much pleasure rockets up your spine. One of his hands presses against the small of your back while the other reaches up to wrap his arm around your neck. He pulls you up, your hands leaving the couch cushions. You have no other choice but to grip onto the forearm pressing into your neck as Matt forces you to arch into the air. 

Matt’s thrusts get deeper, pulling out less and less, until he's simply humping into your cunt like an animal. Choked out whines of “Matt, yes, yes, fuck, oh my God, Matt,” escape unbidden from your throat.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I’m your God right now. I’m the only one who can fuck this pussy, I’m the only one that knows how much of a whore you are.” Matt’s voice is raspy, overwhelmed and absolutely primal. You nearly scream as the hand Matt has on your stomach snakes down to toy with your throbbing clit. “I’m the only one,” he mutters, “who can make you cum. Right?”

“Yes, Matt, yes, please, please make me cum.”

“Fucking cum, slut. Cum for your God.”

You really do scream as Matt pinches your clit, rough and painful, and suddenly, you’re clenching hard around his cock, your nails digging harshly into his forearm. Matt fucks relentlessly into your pussy as you ride out your orgasm, his thick cock bullying you open, breaking you apart. Your orgasm wanes, but Matt just keeps driving himself in. You’re sensitive, so sensitive; your pussy feels used and achy, but Matt just keeps going. Little tears are starting to leak down your cheeks, and fuck, Matt isn’t stopping. He isn’t stopping, isn’t slowing down.

“Matt, I’m so- I’m so sensitive, baby, you gotta-” you slur, but Matt cuts you off with a swift smack to your over-sensitive clit, your body trembling with the pleasure-pain of it all.

“I don’t have to do anything, you got that? You said I could take you, and I fucking will.” His cock keeps jamming into your pussy, and you can feel your wetness sliding down your shaking thighs. They try to clench themselves closed subconsciously, trying to run from Matt’s onslaught, but it’s a fruitless battle.

You can feel another orgasm building in your stomach, the knot within you clenching tighter and tighter. Matt chuckles from behind you, mocking you as your cheeks burn and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Can feel this fucking pussy clenching again. You really gonna cum again, sweetheart? Even when you’re trying to run, you’re still a fucking whore. I always give this pretty pussy exactly what she needs, right sweetheart? God, she’s sucking me in, like you don’t want me to leave, baby.” Matt’s fingers are still pressed against your achy clit, his thrusts shifting his fingers maddeningly up and down. You’re going to cum, you’re going to fucking cum.

“Give it to me, gorgeous,” Matt growls, and he lifts his hand away from your clit just to slap it back down again, sending stinging, glorious lightning straight up your spine.

You have the briefest thought about the unlikelihood of your survival before you’re screaming all over again, your pussy clenching like a vice. It’s nearly painful, your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been ripped apart, destroyed by Matt’s touch. 

Your chest is heaving, shaking, as Matt’s hips begin to stutter in their thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck this pussy’s so fucking good. So fucking tight, ah-” Matt groans, loud and unabashed as he presses himself as deep as he can into your cunt, filling you with his thick cum. You’re weightless, held steady only by Matt and his strong arms. He slips out of you, and you whimper softly at the feeling of his cum running down your slick, ruined pussy.

You barely feel it when Matt turns you in his arms, lifting you into the air to carry you into your shared bedroom. The silk sheets are comforting and cool on your overheated body as Matt lays you gently onto them. He lays next to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. You can hear him vaguely, like you're underwater, cooing about how you are are, how perfect. You breathe against his warm, strong chest, relishing in the closeness.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Matt murmurs into the quiet of the room, and you press a kiss to his skin.

“Mhm,” you mumble. “Love my Matty, love my Devil too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, nuzzling into his chest.

“Well,” Matt whispers, “If I’m your devil, you’re my angel, sweet girl.”

“Hm.” You say. You can already feel yourself drifting off, safe and warm and loved. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I know you are.”

[kitnjon]

Any Jonsa fics in which characterization and physical appearance of Jon is closer to Canon?

Hi,

I am assuming you mean closer to book canon? Honestly I haven't really read that many book jonsa fics. I am more of a show jonsa fan and mostly read modern AUs 😅

Few book fics I have read are post ADWD. Sharing them below -

1. The Wolves of Winter by JustAWhiteQuill

~When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.~ Beneath a wall of ice, a crow died and came back a wolf. Now, he is crowned King in the North and faced with the immense task of preparing his battered kingdom for the Long Night. Atop the lonely mountain, a little bird grew fangs and came back a wolf. Now, she is the Princess of Winterfell and taking care of the only family she thinks she has left. When news reaches them of the other still being alive, a chain of events is set in motion. Winter is coming, and with it, the darkest hour of the night. The time for wolves is here. All the while, the dragons and lions south are battling for a throne covered in fire and blood.

2. I Can't Steal You (Like You Stole Me) by @thewolvescalledmehome

Seeing the only family Sansa Stark had left to her was the only motivation keeping her astride the horse. Jon Snow is at Castle Black. He’ll protect you. It had been so long since she felt safe, felt protected. She yearned for the security of familiar arms and someone who cared for her because she was Sansa and not a Stark. The nerves she may have felt over arriving at Castle Black alone to see the half-brother she had not seen—had barely thought of—in years did not consume her, nor did she allow herself to feel disappointment that it was not Robb or a trueborn brother to save her. Only, upon her arrival, she is told of the mutiny. Then she is asked an impossible question: What would she give to have him back?

Lyric title prompt on Tumblr from the song "You" by The Pretty Reckless.

3. Beasts of Seasons by Simonetta

She had prepared her words and her actions meticulously. She hadn’t prepared to actually see him. Or, Jon and Sansa reunite and things don't go according to plan, forcing Sansa to reevaluate her identity and her loyalties and forcing Jon to come back to himself. Post-ADWD, bookverse fic. Jon and Sansa reunite on campaign to win back Winterfell.

4. The Thawing of Winter by @jade-masquerade

Sansa knew Jon married her—married Alayne—for the Vale, or maybe, because of his past, he saw her as a fellow bastard and meant to raise her up the same as his people did for him, how they chose Lord Eddard’s sole surviving son as King in the North. But when she looked at him, she saw nothing of the sort in his eyes, only a flash of desire, the way a man ought to look at his wife, before he steadied his gaze. If this was truly wrong, she wondered, then why did the gods let it feel so right?

Putting this in tag so others may add in as well.

Thanks for the ask!

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[andypantsx3]

incendiary | 6 | bakugou x reader

pairing: Bakugou Katsuki / Fem Reader

length: 3.7k | 6th of 8 chapters

summary: When you accidentally go viral in defense of quirkless people, an extremist group puts a target on your back. Pro hero Dynamight is the last person you want watching it.

tags/warnings:  enemies to lovers, themes of discrimination (please see note in fic masterpost), canon typical violence, eventual smut, aged up characters

series masterlist

“Absolutely not,” Bakugou growled.

You just barely managed to step back as he reached for your laptop with one heavily-muscled arm. He swiped downwards as though he meant to shut it himself, physically closing the book on this discussion.

You let out a strangled noise, stumbling away, beating a quick retreat around the counter as the whisk he’d been using in the pancake batter clattered off the side of the bowl. You knew he could jump it if he really wanted, but the buffer between you made you feel better, although his instant rejection raised your hackles.

“Wait, why not?” you asked, although you’d been uncertain about the request yourself. It’s not like you had set out to accidentally become one of the most famous quirkless people in the country. Not to mention every time you stumbled back into public view, it seemed to just prolong your stay here, and put you in additional danger with Matsui and his group.

“Because it’s a fucking target on your back, idiot,” Bakugou said, pinning you with those scarlet eyes. “All this work to protect your bratty ass and you want to signal to Matsui right where you are?”

“Well, no,” you huffed. “But how many chances do you get to be on TV? This has to be carefully thought through.”

One blonde brow raised as Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest. You noted he was sleeveless again today, in nothing but a black tank, and all that bare muscle was looking especially pronounced at the moment—possibly from the workout you’d heard him finish a half hour ago . You forcibly dragged your eyes back up to his face, only to find he was watching you in disbelief.

Oh. Right. He was on TV like every day.

“Well, how many chances does a normal person get to be on TV?” you corrected, your face feeling hot for some reason.

The haughty, dismissive twist of Bakugou’s features made your back molars ache with that familiar need to bite him again.

“You’ve already been on TV and look where it got you, brat,” Bakugou said, returning to beating the pancake batter with a little too much vigor, his biceps straining.

Your gaze snapped to the motion of his arm, and you wisely chose not to pursue the subject any further, lest he deprive you of pancakes. Also your mouth was suddenly weirdly dry, and you felt a little bit like you needed to sit down.

This discussion could be put on pause for a minute.

You beat a hasty retreat from the kitchen instead, throwing yourself onto the couch where all your textbooks were still waiting for you, highlighter and pens uncapped where you’d dumped them all over the table. You sighed, flopping down and returning to your homework, feeling weirdly hot and displeased.

Bakugou was technically right. You ran a huge risk giving an interview on Japan’s biggest daily news show. And you didn’t even want to be famous—you wanted nothing to do with the level of internet notoriety you’d received, and you were so eager to be out of this damn safehouse. Now that Bakugou had apologized and you’d cleared the air, it somehow felt like the safehouse was even smaller than before.

Over the last few days, you and Bakugou had done an awful lot together. Cooking, eating, making actual human conversation. He’d also indicated he would let you watch one single hour of trash reality TV later this evening, which was almost nice of him. This entire morning, you’d found yourself compelled to spend time out in the living room while he cooked, trying not to peer at him over the top of your laptop screen as you finished up a paper.

All that interaction felt like you were occupying very close quarters, however, and that strange sense of tension was still there between you, though you couldn’t put your finger on quite what it was now. It was probably safest to evacuate the safehouse before anything came to a head.

You finished up your homework, trying to push the interview request to the back of your mind.

But it stuck around stubbornly, as if superglued to the forefront of your brain. There was this roiling feeling within you, like the one that had come just before your blowout with Bakugou. And his saying no only made things worse—it was like he’d lit a pilot light, dangerously close to a trail of gunpowder…

The request lingered in the back of your mind over the following days. It was there when you fell asleep, when you showered, when you brushed your teeth. It lurked in the cup of the measuring spoons as you and Bakugou cooked together once more, in the faces of the actors during your single permitted hour of “idiot TV”. For something you were fairly certain you could have said no to just a few days ago and never thought of again, it had alarmingly persistent sticking power.

On Sunday afternoon you found yourself blinking back to yourself in the shower, realizing you’d lost dozens of minutes to contemplation, staring sightlessly at the ugly floral curtain. You sank to the floor of the shower, huddling into a contemplative ball under its steady spray. A memory niggled at your mind, fuzzy, barely remembered, and yet disturbing in its intensity.

The flash of an ugly blue-and-green polo, a pasty leer, and a surge of white hot anger, climbing up your chest, into your throat, and then—and then—

And then the convenience store. The two men, advancing into the space you’d ceded. A request that they mind their own business and leave you to yours.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business, you fucking freak,” echoed on loop in your brain.

Wouldn’t know a thing about minding your own business—because you had asked a bunch of QRAs to back off. To back off of people like you.

And…well didn’t that make it your business? Yours, more than anyone’s? You were the quirkless person whose very existence was being picked over. You were the quirkless person getting harassed on the street, in the classroom, in some random convenience store where you were just trying to buy a sandwich. You were the person trapped in a safehouse because someone wanted to murder you—all for minding what was exactly your own business.

Before you knew what you were doing, you’d risen back to your feet, and were shampooing your hair with a vengeance. You rocketed through your personal care and all but leapt out of the shower, and stuffed yourself into your change of clothes, still half-wet.

And then you found yourself peering into the living room, and risking the fragile peace you’d found with Bakugou once again.

“The fuck about ���no’ are you not getting?” Bakugou demanded, whipping around to stare at you before the question had even finished leaving your own mouth. He was stretched out over the yoga mat, holding himself perfectly level, with his feet not even touching the ground.

You gaped, your mouth falling open as your brain went momentarily offline. All thoughts of the interview evacuated your mind. “What the fuck are you doing?” you demanded, your eyes flicking unwillingly to his straining biceps.

Bakugou’s red-eyed glare cut through you. “It’s a fucking pushup, idiot.”

Your head shook as your eyes lingered in the dips and swells of his muscles. That black tank top he was always wearing was slowly riding up over the flat plane of his stomach and you could just make out the shadow of an intimidating set of abdominals from this angle.

“Nuh uh,” you said stupidly.

A blonde eyebrow raised, and he slowly, agonizingly pushed himself into an impossible ninety degree angle and on into a fucking handstand.

You could feel how slack your jaw was but there was nothing you could do about your caveperson image. Your eyes were nailed to the trim waist and mouth-watering set of abs bared by this move. “You—pushup—that’s not—” you just managed to clamp your mouth closed as that horrible echo of pegnate?? gregnant?? tolled in the depths of your mind.

You were so focused on the flex of Bakugou’s arm as he lowered himself again that you almost missed the flash of a smirk across his mouth.

“Got something else to say, brat?” he asked.

The smugness in his tone raised your hackles, but it took you several more minutes to fumble around and locate your faculties for human speech. “I—yes, as a matter of fact. I’m doing the interview. And that’s not a question, it’s a statement.”

Bakugou pressed into another handstand, and then pushed up out of it, easy as anything. A vague sense of annoyance buzzed about you like a mosquito as he righted himself. Showoff.

“I already said you’re not, princess,” Bakugou said. Sweat glinted at his collar points and the line of his hair, giving him a faint glow in the afternoon sunlight. That sweet, tangy caramel scent met your nose again as he moved closer, crossing those biceps over his chest.

You tried not to go cross-eyed. “Well… I already said I am,” you told him, yanking your eyes firmly back up to his.

Something about the look on his face made your teeth ache to latch over his skin again, to clamp down and bite.

He leaned in, bringing a whiff of caramel with him, and you stumbled back a step, surprised. “You mean you’re not gonna be good for me, princess?” he asked, something smug thick in his tone.

Instantly your face flamed, the way it had a few days ago over breakfast. Good for him? Good for him? Your ears went so hot that the air around them chilled you.

“I’ll show you what’s good for you,” you said nonsensically, raising your hands to his chest to push him back, only to find he was as immovable as a stone wall, and as hard as one, too. Your hands froze on his pecs, your face getting even hotter with the heat of him under your hands.

A wicked smirk carved the sides of his mouth, and your brain suddenly fuzzed with static, panicking.

You couldn’t think—all you could do was reach up, catch a fistful of his hair, and yank him down into a headlock.

“Oi, what the fuck—” Bakugou swore, twisting. You clamped your arm down, panicking harder, realizing you’d just grabbed a trained combat professional, desperate to keep him down.

But Bakugou wasted no time. No sooner had you tensed your arm than he’d seized you under your legs and back, pushing you straight up and over his head. You flailed, trying to grab back onto him, but he swung you right down on the yoga mat he’d been occupying, grappling for your arms and pinning you down neatly. He managed it in under two seconds, and you stared up at him, dazed, taking in the incredulous look that split his stupid handsome face.

“What the fuck was that for, brat?” he demanded, his face filling up your entire vision.

“Showing you—what’s good for you—” you managed to cough out, winded.

A feral smile slashed across Bakugou’s mouth, completely unexpectedly. “I’ve met fuckin’ babies who can do better than that.”

You glared up at him, trying to angle your foot to kick him off of you, but he shifted, pressing his knee down on your leg in warning.

“You’re not doing the interview,” he said firmly, his tone final.

But you had already made up your mind, the second you’d sifted through those memories in the shower and realized just why the request had stuck with you. And not even pro hero Dynamight was enough force to stop you.

“Yes I am,” you told him, staring him straight in the eye. You tried to put all your conviction, all your determination and intent into your stare, into the firmness of your tone.

“For what?” Bakugou demanded hotly, his grip tightening on your wrists.

“For me!” you said. “I keep getting accused of not minding my own business, for being a nosy bitch or whatever, and I’m sick of it! Being quirkless is my business. I completely intended to mind my own business the night of the first video, going out with my friends and getting drunk, and it’s those QRA assholes who showed up on my campus in the first place! And then in the convenience store—all I was doing was trying to buy a sandwich!”

Bakugou’s mouth pressed into an annoyed line. “Yeah? And what are you even gonna say, brat?”

You grunted, trying to shift him off of you, but he held fast, pressing you down harder into the mat. “I want to give a real account of what it’s like to be a quirkless person who is minding their own business. Who was literally just living my life, uninvolved in any sort of activism or anything, and still got pulled into multiple situations where my life and my safety are threatened! The point is that ordinary people need to care about this stuff because it apparently can seep into your life whether you think you can avoid it or not. And some of us have been learning the hard way.”

Bakugou’s brows furrowed, his full mouth curling up in distaste like he hated to even be contemplating what you’d said. “So you wanna let Matsui know right where you are because you’re what—pissed off?”

For a moment, the only thought in your head was leaning forward and biting that expression right off of his face. Your whole brain was swirling with the barely-contained need to do something to him—until a revelation dawned on you.

You would be letting Matsui know right where you were.

Matsui, who had been waiting in the shadows like some sort of phantom harm. Matsui, who’d been bold enough to send a threat to your university, had been bold enough to run his mouth in all of the unsavory parts of the internet, but hadn’t yet been bold enough, or knowledgeable enough, to make his final move. Matsui—-who no one could actually touch or bring in until his threat was confirmed to be real.

And really, what better way to confirm than to draw him out?

You stared at Bakugou, your eyes running down his now-familiar features. That pert nose, that pretty mouth, always set in determination, those blazing scarlet eyes, always searching out a fight. His blond brows, still drawn down in focus, and the haughty tilt to his jaw. If there was one person equipped to handle Matsui, if he did come for you, it was the annoying pro hero currently pinning you to his yoga mat.

“What, scared to fight him?” you asked, knowing exactly the kind of reaction it would get from Bakugou.

His teeth gritted, and he leaned down to put his face into yours. “I ain’t scared of shit.”

“Then what’s the issue?” you asked. “Didn’t you say at the beginning that you wanted to hunt him down yourself and crush him?”

Bakugou’s expression darkened, getting slightly redder like he was getting angry, like he knew you were baiting him—but if there was one thing about him, it’s that he was an incredibly consistent personality. “I’ll fucking destroy him.”

You quickly suppressed the smile that threatened to overtake your mouth. “Good, then we’re in agreement.”

Bakugou looked almost apoplectic. “We are not in agreement, you goddamn brat,” he spat.

“You just said you were gonna destroy him!” you said. If your hands had been free, you would have thrown them up in exasperation.

“Jeanist has to agree to this idiot fucking plan, and he’s not gonna do that if it puts you at risk, you fucking brat. There’s no guarantee that Matsui wouldn’t bring a bunch of his quirk supremacist friends, it would be extremely easy for you to get your ass blown off the face of the earth. What makes you think you’d even fucking make it out of there in one piece?” Bakugou growled.

You looked up at him, slightly touched by the concern. But try as you might, you couldn’t imagine Bakugou of all people losing track of the fight and letting you get cremated. The more you insisted on this idea, the more you believed it yourself.

“Because I’ll have you,” you said simply.

Bakugou paused, blinking down at you through long, golden lashes. His face went suddenly still in a way that you hadn’t seen before, and without his features twisted up in disdain, he looked instantly, incredibly handsome. “What,” he said flatly.

You squirmed a little in his grip, embarrassed by how sincerely you meant it. But you pushed on. “Because I trust you to protect me,” you said. “You have so far. And you’ve proved I was wrong about you before. You haven’t given me a reason not to trust you.”

Bakugou’s face spasmed, like he was desperately trying to not feel human emotion, but you could see the way the tips of his ears went pink through the ashy blonde strands of his hair.

You thought this had been a rather effective play on your part, though you did mean it. He’d saved you once before, made you tea and food and let you cry in front of him like a big dramatic baby. He’d apologized, and spent the last week trying to make it up to you, albeit aggressively, by letting you get away with more and trying to feed you real meals.

Actions spoke loudly, and Bakugou’s actions had proven himself to you, as far as you were concerned.

Those scarlet eyes cut away from you, focusing on some point on the floor to the left of your head, and it was then you knew you’d gotten him.

“You’re a goddamn pain in my ass,” he said, his voice slightly more gravelly than before. “You can go on one fucking condition.”

You nodded eagerly, thrilled with your success. “Okay. Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

Bakugou’s lip curled, and his gaze cut back to yours. “You’re going to learn self-defense before you go on that stupid fucking show.”

You blinked. “In less than a week? During finals week?”

“As much as I say you will,” he growled, raising his eyebrows at you significantly.

You got the impression then that this was a non-negotiable point for him. And much as you doubted you’d been an expert by the time Thursday rolled around, you couldn’t deny the idea had merit. You probably weren’t going to take out Matsui himself, but it wouldn’t hurt to know how to suppress someone with a lesser quirk.

“Okay,” you said, nodding. “I’ll do it.”

Bakugou shifted over you so he was crouched over you, almost sitting on your stomach, still pinning your wrists down at the side of your head. A mean smirk overtook his face again, and a warning light flicked on in the back of your brain.

“First lesson, then, brat. Try to get out of this hold,” he said.

You stared up at him in disbelief, incredulity and annoyance instantly bubbling up in your veins like they’d just been set on a hot stove. “Now? Get out of this?” you demanded.

Bakugou’s smile was a wicked, feral thing, and it made something hot curl in your stomach, even more disconcerting than your annoyance. “If you wanna make it to your computer in time to respond to the email, then you’d better hurry up,” he said.

Immediately you started bucking in his hold, trying to shove him off of you with the raise of your hips, trying to twist out of his grip like a spineless jellyfish. Bakugou held you down, looking far too self-satisfied, and way too relaxed, like this was child’s play to him, while you struggled for your life. You kicked and curled and squirmed but none of it would dislodge him, and the insane urge to fucking bite him rose within you again, blotting out all rational thought.

Before you had realized what you were doing, you’d turned your head and brought your mouth to one of the arms holding you down. And then you leaned up and bit him right in the middle of his bicep, clamping down for all you were worth.

“What the fuck—!” Bakugou shouted, suddenly pulling his hands off of you just as hot, reflexive sparks of his quirk shot out of his palms. The motion jerked the skin of his arm out of your mouth, and you could see the ring of your tooth marks left in the firm muscle, smell the ashy sweetness of his quirk heat the air around you.

You realized he’d only moved to protect you, but that was enough of a surprise for you to buck him off of you, sliding quickly out from underneath him.

He recovered quickly enough, catching you by the scruff of your shirt and slamming you back down on the yoga mat. He covered you with his body again, his palms still hot from his quirk.

“What the fuck was that you goddamn brat?” he demanded.

You gave him your shittiest, smuggest grin. “Self defense,” you said. “And I escaped your hold, even if only for a second, so I win.”

Bakugou looked beyond pissed.

“You’re gonna get it, you shitty fucking brat,” he told you warningly, his tone going darker.

But you didn’t care. You were far too satisfied with your unexpected win, and the realization of your desire to bite him that had compounded over the course of your isolation with him.

You loved the look of him, incredulous, furious, and so impossibly golden and handsome over you—this, you thought wildly, was worth any revenge he could think up. This was exactly how you wanted him.

And then Bakugou moved, his revenge swift and merciless.

He uttered your name like an oath, ducked his head. And then he caught your mouth in a kiss—hot and furious.

And the tension you had sensed building all along finally snapped.

[kalopsicanna]

seasons

the four seasons of Iori Utahime, through the eyes of Gojo Satoru

(art is def not mine)

Gojo Satoru first saw her in the spring. how could he have not?

she was stunning.

her luscious black hair was carefully put in two pigtails held by ribbons. her miko outfit, though strange to him then, was clean and free of any wrinkles. the tiny pout she had as she talked to one of his classmates, Shoko, was what really did it for him.

he knew then.

he wanted to go up there where they were. he wanted to coolly flirt with her like he normally did with the other girls. he wanted to make her laugh, maybe ask her out too in the same breath. but all it had taken was a locked gaze with her big brown eyes for just a split second and he had frozen up.

his tongue was heavy and his breaths were short. his brain short-circuited and he couldn’t even form words, let alone sentences.

still, she smiled so kindly at him and the warm feeling in his chest exploded.

“your cursed energy is barely there. you grade two?” he found himself saying, almost instantly putting his foot in his mouth. of course, he had panicked and resorted to a stupid taunt.

her soft, pink lips, the same ones he had likened to a delicious fluff of cotton candy in his head, twisted up in an ugly shape.

she was angry yet her voice was calm as she spoke to him.

“you shouldn’t talk to your senior that way”

he was in trouble.

he liked her face, all red and flushed, as upset as she was. he liked it a whole lot more than he was aware he ought to.

“senior? not when you’re this tiny”

he couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him when she started scolding him about manners with Shoko trying to calm her down and Suguru, who had materialized beside him, doing absolutely nothing to help.

though she was yelling her heart out, he knew, somehow, that she would be in his life for a long time.

maybe even forever.

he truly felt spring then.

the weather was warmer. the trees were greener. the air was cleaner. everything felt alive. vibrant. the sun’s warm rays felt unbelievably fantastic on his skin and the birds above chirped away merrily.

he never acknowledged any of these things before. he thought them to be trivial. unimportant.

but as the cherry blossoms on the trees all around them bloomed, so did something else in his heart, something so small yet so deeply seated.

a liking for the older girl before him.

the summer was about to end.

school would begin soon. he hated it. he hated just how short the break was. hated that he would have to get back to killing curses soon.

but there was one thing he didn't completely hate.

“the fireworks will begin soon” Geto coolly said, holding up his lighter for Shoko to use on her unlit cigarette.

“i’ll go find Utahime” he volunteered, though no one asked of her.

she wandered off with nanami a while ago but he wanted more than anything to watch it with her.

there were all sorts of people at the summer festival they had gone too. a lot of couples too.

he didn't walk for long before he found her.

she was alone.

“takoyaki?” he offered, extending the plate of fried batter to her.

he knew she liked it. it was all she could talk about when Shoko had asked her to tag along with them. that and the fireworks show happening at the peak of the festival.

that was why he wanted to watch it with her.

more specifically, he wanted to watch her. wanted to share something she found so special with her. even if she had no idea of his plans.

she eyed him suspiciously, presumably confused as to why he was being so nice to her when he usually taunted her until she turned as red as a cherry.

“take it while i’m still feeling kind” he added, so as not to give himself away.

she just rolled her eyes but took one anyway.

“why’re you alone? nanami had enough of you?”

“no!” she vehemently denied, not caring about her full mouth.

her denial let him know that he was somewhat right. nanami was too polite to ever say something like that but with haibara’s death weighing down on him in particular, it wouldn't be too far off to say that he didn't want to be around people.

it was a wonder how shoko even convinced him to show up in the first place.

“right” he deadpanned, a hint of a tease in his tone and she huffed, taking another ball of takoyaki.

“oh, it’s time!” a girl beside him squealed and that got his attention.

he looked up and indeed the fireworks show had started, with a few being set off already.

he neither had the time nor the opportunity to process what was happening before Utahime grabbed his hand.

she held it. more specifically, his wrist.

she took off running and he had no choice but to follow.

“w-where are we going?” he managed to get out, despite his brain quickly turning into mush from the sudden skinship.

he was panicked.

he didn't want her to realize what had happened. how he had no infinity up around her like he did everyone else (save for Geto and Shoko). how he was burning red at just the touch of her hand. how he was quickly losing awareness of his surroundings just because she held him.

he was hyper-aware of her palm enclosed around his wrist. he could feel it all. every ridge, every bump. it was hot. like she was burning her print on him.

he couldn't say it would be unpleasant if she did.

much too soon, she stopped at a clearing of some sort, a ways from the crowd of people, and let him go.

“there's a better view here,” she told him with a kind of smile that made his heart go into overdrive.

surely, she couldn't have been smiling at him.

“huh?” he blurted out but before she could even begin to answer him, another firework exploded into brilliant colors in the dark sky, taking her attention.

he watched her throughout the show, carefully taking in every single fraction of every reaction she gave to it.

her yukata, baby pink and blue, was a wonderful contrast to her fair skin. her hair, though still left in her signature ponytails, somehow made her look far younger than she actually was now. maybe it was the childlike beam on her face, so bright and dazzling that it rivaled the flashing lights.

he took a secret joy in being the person to see her like this.

not Nanami. not Geto and certainly not Shoko.

just him.

he only moved his gaze once there was nothing but darkness around them.

“you are such a kid, Utahime,” he told her, grateful she couldn't see his own growing smile in the dark of night.

no, he couldn't possibly hate this.

the fall came with a sad rush.

Geto had defected.

he’d been slowly suffering silently and had just finally snapped and massacred an entire village of nonsorcerers.

Gojo Satoru had been none the wiser.

he didn't know what hurt more. that he had been so oblivious to his best friend’s agony. or that his only friend couldn’t even confide in him until the very end.

just thinking about it made his chest throb painfully.

exhausted, he placed his arm lazily over his eyes, shielding them from the sun.

he'd only been in that position for a little over five minutes when he felt something cold be pressed against his cheek.

“got some time?” Utahime, the guilty party, asked, an eyebrow raised.

she‘d brought an extra can of cola alongside her beer and she held it out to him, which he accepted.

she had a small smile on her face but there was no hint of amusement in her features.

“sure” he mumbled and she took a seat beside him under the shade of the tree that was quickly browning in the autumn season.

they sat in a natural silence.

she peacefully sipped on her drink, eyes following the falling leaves in a sort of childlike amazement. he, on the other hand, held onto the can, though its coldness was biting and his fingers would go numb soon.

maybe he would feel something other than the hurt in his heart.

“how are you doing…really?” she started, carefully, like she was thinking about her every word.

he didn't answer. he couldn't. what could he possibly say? that he was anguished?

even the thought of it almost made him laugh.

Geto Suguru, his friend Suguru, had completely caught him by surprise and gone rogue. that's all there was to it. all he was feeling towards it was immaterial at the moment. he knew that very soon, he would get the call and he would have to hunt down the one person he once considered a brother.

the one he still considered a brother.

“yeah, it was a stupid question,” she thought out loud and laughed a bit.

she was a bit different, he noticed, now that she wasn't a student anymore.

her hair was out of the pigtails and now in a half-up half-down style with a bow to finish it off. her eyes didn’t glow like they used to back when he had first met her. the only thing that didn’t change was her miko outfit and that too didn’t look quite the same.

she looked almost…sad.

he wanted to ask if she was okay. wanted to ask how she had been doing. wanted to ask how teaching in the same school she had attended was. but he just couldn’t get the words out.

“we’ve really never been friends, you know…?” she muttered, taking another sip of her drink.

a gust of wind blew and shook up the tree so some more leaves fell out of it. a few landed on his white hair and she gingerly picked them out while she continued talking.

“but i’m here. right here” she paused to take a breath. “if ever you want to talk”

she placed her hand on top of his for just a fraction of a second before retracting it.

“anytime” she added and he finally met her eyes.

his sunglasses were nowhere to be found and she was able to see how redrimmed his six eyes were. able to see how actually bothered he had been about the whole ordeal.

she feared he would be next. feared he would snap next. that they would lose him too.

he knew it took a lot for her to offer him such comfort. she didn’t exactly hide her distaste for him. no, he wouldn’t take her up on her offer. but hearing those words from someone he trusted as much as her, it made him feel just the tiniest bit better.

“please”

or maybe he would.

the winter was biting.

his lips were numb and he knew that if it wasn't for the cherry lip balm in the pocket of his coat, they would be chapped too.

Gojo Satoru shook off the snow that had piled on his shoes and stuffed his hands into his pockets too. he was sure that if he stood outside for an extra minute or two, he would be well on his way to being the first-ever human popsicle.

“i’m here!” a feminine voice called and he whipped his head around so fast that he almost got whiplash.

Utahime, swaddled in a large coat, a thick scarf, and even mittens, pranced down the street to the white-haired man with a scowl on his face.

“did you wait long?” she asked him once she was close enough.

“yes. i’m all frozen” he sulked like a kid, dramatically sighing.

“sorry. my mom wouldn't let me go”

she hooked her arm with his, giving him the most apologetic smile she could muster.

“warm me up with a kiss?”

she flushed a bright red, eyes darting all around them to see if anybody had heard them.

“we’re outside” she pointed out and he laughed like she'd said the funniest thing ever.

“no one cares, Hime”

with that, he leaned down and placed a quick kiss on her lips, further flustering her.

“hey!”

her scolding only made him laugh even more.

they continued on the way to Shoko’s apartment where they were supposed to meet up with the others without any other incidents, just catching up on all that had been going on in their lives.

it was only when they got there that he turned to give her the most mischievous smile.

“what is it now?” she asked him, exasperated with all his antics.

he only pointed upwards and mouthed,

“mistletoe”

Nanami, Shoko and Ijichi had been busy decorating the tiny apartment with seasonal props when they heard a very loud

“Satoru!”

[xzerosparrowx]

The Guitar

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Day #1 - Prompt: Firsts | Word Count: 861 | Rating: T | CW: Use of homophobic language/slurs | POV: Eddie | Tags: How Eddie Munson got his first guitar, Wayne Munson is Eddie's Dad, Allen Munson, First Christmas, Christmas special.

Eddie lays awake in bed, watching the weak winter morning sun cast its light across the unfamiliar room with tired eyes. He blinks back hot tears as he feels the chill around his ears, remembering the way Allen Munson pulled at his hair, the sound of the electric razor buzzing against his skin. 

Now he was here in his Uncle's trailer, a man he barely knows aside from the few times Al complained about him over the phone. 

“... Says I should stop stealing cars and get a proper job. Wayne doesn't fucking get it, man.”

“Why does he wanna look after that little queer?”

“... Just because he's got no kids, he wants to steal mine.” 

A soft little knock startles him, the shuffle of feet near his door. “Eddie, you awake?” Wayne calls out quietly, a nervous waver in his voice.

“Yea-yes, sir,” Eddie answers, sitting up but not making a move towards the door.

“I'm not- you don't have to call me that, Eddie. You can just call me Wayne,” Eddie hears him sigh, “I'm thinking of making pancakes or waffles, not sure which one you prefer. If you like something more savory for breakfast, I bought eggs and bacon as well.” Wayne rambles, and there is something sad and warm in Eddie’s chest, an old ache that he had now long been accustomed to that Wayne had stumbled upon and brought into sharp focus.

“I-I’m happy with whatever si- Uncle Wayne,” Eddie answers finally, getting up from bed and pulling on a pair of old sweats and a baby blue threadbare sweater. It’s large on his thin frame, a hand-me-down from Wayne, warm and comfortable. 

He hears his Uncle move away from the door and Eddie gathers his courage to step out of the room. A kaleidoscope of twinkling fairy lights meet him, the trailer lit in a beautiful array of colour and tinsel.

Oh yeah, it’s Christmas.

Wayne is standing in the kitchen, pouring a ladle of pancake mix on the hot griddle. Eddie rubs his eyes, forcing the tears away before standing near Wayne and watching him cook. 

“You know how to make pancakes?” his uncle asks, expertly flipping a pancake. Eddie shakes his head, the only time he ever got breakfast was if Al left him money for groceries, which was not often.   

Wayne pours another ladle in response, before handing the spatula to Eddie, “all you have to do is wait for the bubbles to show up. Once they pop, they’re ready to be flipped. See?” He says, pointing to the little bubbles in the pancake. 

Guided by Wayne, Eddie flips the pancake his uncle beaming down at him when it lands perfectly on it’s uncooked side, “I think we have Julia Childs in the trailer!” Wayne laughs and Eddie cannot help but join him, rolling his eyes good naturedly at his uncle. They continue like that, Wayne ladling the perfect amount of batter on to the griddle and Eddie flipping them with varying degrees of success. 

It’s the first time, since Eddie moved to the trailer a week ago, that living here feels normal. To realise that maybe Wayne is nothing like Al at all. They eat the pancakes in companionable silence, Eddie drowning his in maple syrup while Wayne sprinkles icing sugar and lemon.

“I have a present for you, go sit on the couch,” Wayne says, pushing his plate away and getting up before Eddie can think to protest. Eddie does as he’s told, feeling awkward and unsure again as he listens to Wayne move stuff around. 

“Alright, close your eyes!” Wayne calls and Eddie closes them, he fidgets with his hands, rubs his thumb over his fingers in a soothing back-and-forth. He hears Wayne place something on the coffee table and opens his eyes when Wayne gives him the ok. 

Oh.

Eddie stares at the old, black acoustic guitar in front of him, lovingly stored in its case. There are scratch marks here and there, the leather strap flaking in places, but it gleams under the lights as if it knows that it is a well-used and treasured thing. 

“I’m sorry it’s not a new guitar, but I don’t really use this old girl anymore, so I thought maybe I’ll hand her down to you,” Wayne offers sheepishly, wringing his hands nervously, thumb over his fingers. 

“How- How did you know I wanted one?”

“I remember hearing you ask Al for one,” Wayne says this like it’s natural that he would remember something so small about Eddie, and Eddie breathes through that sad and warm ache in his chest. 

“That was two years ago, Uncle Wayne,” he manages to choke out, he can feel his throat starting to thicken, tears beginning to well up and he watches his uncle trying to fight off his own emotions. 

“Well, you’re a good kid. You deserve something that’s just for you.”

His uncle's arms are strong and comforting when Eddie leaps towards him in a tight hug. Eddie does not remember the last time Al hugged him, but if he closes his eyes he can almost pretend that Wayne had always been his Dad. 

[readerstories]

In Rain and Mud - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 3/4

God damn this is a long one, these men have me in a strangle hold. (Part 1) (Part 2) (AO3)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence,porn with plot, biting, blood, smut, anal fingering, oral, anal

Wordcount: 7209

Summary: Your cabin lays far away from anything and everything. And with the rainstorm currently battering the woods this night you don’t expect to see or hear another human being until you leave for town. So when there’s banging on your door, you switch your book with your shotgun from its place on a sidetable, loading it as you approach your door.

Getting out of the shower, you feel a lot fresher and better not smelling like blood and guts. It took several rounds of shampoo and soap to get it all out, but now you are clean. A little sore, but clean.

As you step out of the shower you realize the scent of blood is still lingering in the air, faint but noticeable enough to make you sniff the warm and humid air.

Grabbing a towel to put around your shoulders, your nose leads you to your laundry hamper, Logan’s and Wade’s suits next to it with two black damp towels sitting on top of your laundry. Logan’s suit is folded, Wade’s is crumpled on the floor. Picking up one towel, you sniff it. It smells of tobacco, leather, earth, and blood. Blood of multiple people.

Interesting.

Dropping one towel, you pick up the other. The blood is very much there too, but the rest of the smell is like sticking your nose in a bag of gummy worms. Sweet and artificial. 

You assume this is Wade, and the first was Logan.

Deciding you should probably stop smelling dirty laundry, you dry off, combing your hair into a somewhat controlled mess after you fluff it up with your towel drying, before wrapping the towel around your waist. They have already seen you nude, but it’s the principal of it. That was right after a fight, this is too long after it to be casual or in the moment.

Stepping out of your bathroom, you find Logan sitting on the couch, Wade wandering around the room poking and prodding at your stuff.

“Finally!” Wade exclaims, cutting off a sentence that you barely catch the end of, something about cats and dogs? “Thought you were going to be there forever and we would have to leave without seeing that pretty face and body again.” Wade strides over to you in what can almost be described as a bounce, grabbing a clean pair of green sweats and a black t-shirt he had apparently raided your dresser for. 

“Boo for the towel sweetcheeks. You couldn’t even leave a few water droplets for us to watch running down that hot and hairy bod, and to fantasize about later?” He grabs your shoulder, leaning in to sniff loudly right next to your ear before pulling back.

“You smell like wet dog.” He grins and you growl at him, your vocal chords changing enough that it comes out more wolf than human.

“Just get in the fucking shower Wade.” You have half a mind to just throw him outside and make him shower with rainwater running off from your roof, but he lets go of your shoulder.

“Yes captain, yes sir.” He gives you a mock salute, topped with a wink just before the door slams shut behind him. You roll your eyes at him, looking at Logan to see if he agrees with you that Wade is the most unserious man you have ever met. 

You notice the beer bottle in Logan’s hand and an empty bottle of whiskey (you assume and hope from last night) on the floor just after making brief eye contact with him. You glance at the clock. 

9 am. 

You look back at him, he stops with the beer bottle half way up to his mouth, tilting his head and raising a brow.

You shrug after a few seconds. None of your business.

“Just leave some for me.” Is all you say as you head to your bedroom, grabbing the clothes you stripped off before the fight. Smart thing would have been to pick them up earlier and get them with the rest of your laundry, but for now you toss them into a corner of your room, grabbing a clean white t-shirt, and new (plain, but practical, thank you very much) boxers, reusing your grey sweatpants, deeming them clean enough. You forego socks, padding back out into the living room on bare feet.

Logan has left the couch, beer set aside as he kneels in front of your fireplace, building up with logs to start a new fire with the few smoldering embers from last night's fire. You can hear Wade singing something in the bathroom, it sounds like a Taylor Swift song, you can’t place it, but you can hear how out of tune it is.

You don’t say anything to Logan, leaning your hip against your couch and watching him as he works, tuning out Wade as good as you can with enhanced hearing. 

You kind of wish you had given Logan a t-shirt instead of a hoodie, so you could have maybe, if the shirt was tight enough, watch his back muscles move. 

With practiced ease Logan gets good results just a few moments later, flames licking greedily up the newspaper and logs, casting a warm glow. He gets up with the smallest of grunts, which you wouldn’t have heard if you had normal hearing.

He doesn’t seem surprised in the slightest as he turns around and finds you looking at him, his expression neutral as it can be with those frown lines. You briefly wonder what other abilities he has other the the knuckle knives and healing that left his hands looking untouched. 

Your stomach chooses that moment to gurgle with hunger. A raised brow from him in humor at your uncontrolled stomach.

“You want a sandwich?” You don’t know why you ask him, to be polite you assume, as unusual that is for you in this whole weird situation.

“No.” His answer is to the point. “No thank you.” He adds as an afterthought, seemingly just as unused to being polite as you are. You shrug in acceptance, walking to your fridge as he goes back to the couch, grabbing a book from a shelf on the way.

He starts reading as you make your sandwich, the silence of the room broken only by the crackling of the fire and Wade’s still very off key singing, now it’s a song you definitely don’t recognize, something about underwear?

Whatever.

You finish making your sandwiches, taking your plate over to the couch, you too grabbing a book on your way to read. Logan glances at you as you sit down, there’s two armchairs you could have sat in, but you want your comfy corner on the sofa, so he will just have to share.

Besides, it makes it easier to discreetly smell him while you eat. He smells of tobacco and leather, but also a little bit like your conditioner and mild laundry detergent. He must have showered last night, stealing your products. You wonder if he styles his hair into those little tufts he has (which kind of look like cat ears), or if it falls like that ‘naturally.’

You know Wade is also using your products right this second, though at least he won’t need your shampoo and conditioner. 

Speak of the devil, the door to the bathroom slams open, Wade stepping out in a cloud of steam, making you both look up at him.

“Ahhhh, I feel like heaven! You gotta tell me where you got that watermelon scrub, makes me feel smooth like a baby all over.” You stare at Wade, because he’s wearing a t-shirt that you had gotten as a joke gift from a friend, (that you thought you had burned years ago), that says “I <3 big titted men” in bold white letters.

“Where the fuck did you find that?” It’s a little tight on him, becoming tighter as he flexes jokingly, almost posing for you to take him in fully. Which you do to be fair, he’s a lot fitter than you thought after that first glance when he was just wearing his pants yesterday.

“Top left drawer pookie. You’re due for a closet cleanout b-t-dubs. But also a closet upgrade, cause there was like, no fun underwear in there, not even some with those little comic red hearts on them.” He plops down between you and Logan, making Logan grunt and you growl at him as he steals half of one sandwich.

“You guys having a book club over here, or have I missed some important plot?” You eye him in annoyance, the stolen part of your sandwich disappearing quickly into his mouth. He tries to grab the other half, but you slap his hand away, which he pulls back quickly and holds with an over-dramatic pout.

“Not much else to do, other than watch whatever dvd’s I have, which I’ve already seen all off.”

“Boooorrrinnnggg. The books, not the dvd’s, I’m sure you got some real juicy ones in there.”

“Knock yourself out.” You gesture to the cabinet below your tv, and he quickly gets up, knocking his legs into yours. He tries another swipe of your sandwich, all he gets is another slap to his hand, though you are tempted to slap his thigh since it was within reach, but you restrain yourself. 

He kneels in front of your dvds, but before he can open his mouth to say more shit, you decide to ask a question that has been on your mind since the fight (or slaughter you suppose) in front of your cabin.

“Who were those people? In the tactical gear.” 

“Bad guys!” Wade comments, while reading the back of a dvd. “It was a job, we attacked a facility of theirs not far from here.” You frown.

“There isn’t supposed to be anything around here.”

“Well there isn’t anymore!” Wade cheerfully replies as he opens a case, taking out the disc and inserting it into your dvd player.

“Genius over here blew it up, along with our ride out of there.” Logan helpfully supplies, voice gruff and clearly having had enough of Wade’s shit a long time ago before you even met them.

“Oh shush you Mr grumpy, at least it led to this sweet man and his sweet bod and his sweet cabin.” Wade pinches your cheek as he settles down, earning yet another slap to his hand, the want for you to strangle him starting to build in the back of your brain.

“That does mean that we technically owe you money though, since you took down a good part of their team. Brutally, but very beautifully I might add.” You snort, taking a last bite of your sandwich. You notice how Wade follows the motion with his eyes briefly before starting to fiddle with the remote to your tv.

“No thanks, I’m not that desperate right now.”

“Ohhhh, someone has a big dark secret??” Logan turns his head to watch you out of the corner of his eye, his ability to only pay attention to only the words that matter from Wade’s mouth a clearly much learned and needed ability.

“Not really, just doing some dirty work here and there when my part time butcher job wasn’t enough, not much more to it.” You shrug, glancing at the TV, noticing of all things Wade had chosen “The First Wives club” as the movie to watch.

“Awww, a little baby mercenary!” He goes to pinch your cheek again, you catch his wrist, tempted to break it, but you just throw it in his lap instead. Logan watches the exchange with a barely there upturn of his lips that you just manage to catch before his face is his usual neutral scowl.

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Noted, baby is off limits, but sweetcheeks and handsome is not.” Wade grins and you roll your eyes.

“You fought something fierce out there.” Logan's voice is rough, cutting of whatever asinine thing Wad was about to say. You assume it’s meant as a compliment from Logan, taking it as such, though you shrug.

“I’m a mutant, it’s not the first time I had to defend something that’s mine, or use my powers for something grisly.” Your tone is light, it’s just a fact of life really.

“Awww, schnookums, you already think of us as yours!” Wade swoons, hips knocking into you and Logan, hands on his face and voice going into a higher pitch.

“The cabin you idiot.” You promptly ignore the little stutter your heart gives at the idea his words plants in your brain, and hope Logan is too deep in his second beer to notice or at least care. “Didn’t want it full of bullet holes.”

“Well, we were in front of it, which means we would also have been full of bullet holes, which means you do care.” Wade staples his fingers under his chin, blinking innocently up at you. Well, as innocent as a merc can blink covered in scars and bumps while you were told that he blew up a building the day before, before turning up on your porch smelling of blood. 

You look at him incredulously, book long forgotten in favor of this strange man. If nothing else, he keeps your attention easily.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” You glance over Wade towards Logan. “Have you ever heard him shut the fuck up?”

“I keep talking unless my mouth is otherwise occupied handsome.” Wade says and winks, patting your thigh.

It’s far from the flirtiest thing that has spewed out of his mouth since you met him, but for some reason this time, it plants an idea in your head.

You look at Logan, who is rolling his eyes, but when you keep looking he squints and raises a brow. You glance at Wade, who’s still talking, though you have tuned his words out.

There’s a question in the tilt of your head and mirrored raised brow. Have you ever…?

Logan frowns as he realizes your silent question, shaking his head.

Turning your head the other way and glancing back at Wade, there’s a new question. Would you…?

Logan licking his lips, tongue barely peeking out is a clear answer.

“Hey, stop talking with your eyebrows, it’s not fair when I don’t have any!” You tune back into Wade, who clearly had realized that you weren’t listening to him, though you don’t think he has quite realized what silent questions and answers were happening right in front of him. He looks between you and Logan, the latter just staring at you.

You take that as an invitation to start whatever the hell this is going to be. You grab the collar of that god ugly t-shirt, pulling Wade closer to you.

“Hey, hey, be careful with the merchandise.”

“Wade.” Logan speaks from behind him.

“Was it the eyebrow comment? Really? That was what pushed you over the edge? To be fair to me they are bushy and match the whole wo-”

“Wade.” Logan growls his name out, making Wade whip his neck at an impressive speed, finding him closer than he was seconds ago. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” You can already see the protest forming in Wade’s throat, so you turn his head towards you with a gentle hand on his jaw, stopping those words with a brief kiss to his scarred lips.

They are bumpier than anyone else you have kissed before, but you certainly don’t mind.

You only let the kiss last for a few seconds, pulling back just enough to gauge Wade’s reaction. 

His eyes are closed, but he opens them and blinks as more than a few seconds pass since the end of the kiss.

“If that’s all I’m gonna get, I am going to say you are really bad at edging.” You snort. So at least the flirting wasn’t all for show. Using your hold in his shirt, you pull him forwards, somehow maneuvering you both so you are leaning your back against the arm rest, Wade straddling your lap.

“If this is not your wet dream, it’s certainly one of mine.” You have one hand fisted in his t-shirt still, the other settles on his hip. His hands wander all over you. “You run warm. Is it the whole wolf thing? You are hot in more ways than one, though if you are just gonna hold me here and do nothing, I am going to call you a lot worse words than a god damn tease- Oh my god.” You grin up at Wade as Logan presses himself against his back, one hand on Wade’s unoccupied hip, the other covering your hand in his hip.

“Okay, this is definitely my wet dream now.” Wade laughs, his eyes wide, clearly not believing what is happening just yet. To convince him that this is real and not a dream, you tug on his shirt again to pull him into yet another kiss.

This one is longer, messier, deeper. You discover the inside of Wade’s mouth is soft, one place his scars haven't touched.

Your tongue explores the skin there as you wonder how it would feel around your dick. His hands are constantly moving, gliding through your hair, over your chest, down your stomach, up over your side. Not staying still for a second, but not even attempting to touch you where you want him to most.

And he had called you a tease.

Wade lets you do as you please, though he tries to give as good as he gets, but he’s somewhat distracted with the weight of Logan pressing into him, but also making him grind down on you with your combined hands on his hips. 

Your own cock grows hard in your sweatpants, making your hips twitch up towards Wade, well as much as you can with two men pretty much in your lap, one noticeably heavier than the other.

Wade whines, noise escaping between kisses, making a pleased rumble work its way up from your chest without really meaning to. Logan groans behind him, letting go of Wade’s hip to slip his hand into your hair, getting a good grip and tugging. You groan, it makes you break the kiss with Wade.

“What the hell Logan, can’t you see- Oh!” Logan leans forward even more, effectively squeezing Wade between the two of you as he pulls you into a kiss. He is softer than Wade, but hairier, his beard rubbing against you deliciously. His tongue dips into your mouth, just briefly between a lot lighter kisses.

Wade’s face is pressed against your shoulder, and he takes the opportunity to bite down on your clothed shoulder. You gasp with pain and pleasure into Logan’s mouth, who takes the opportunity to press his tongue in deeper, which you take greedily.

You break the kiss, but only so you can retaliate against Wade, biting him with a lot sharper teeth, sharp enough that you rip through fabric and pierce skin, tasting that familiar copper tang on your tongue. Logan still has his grip on your hair, though it is lighter now.

“Jesus fuck I swear on myself like Marvel Jesus, I liked that shirt!” You hear Logan snort, making you look up at him

“Too bad.” You hum, letting your hands transform just enough that you have claws, giving you an easy way to slit the t-shirt into pieces, keeping eye contact with Logan as you do so. Your claws leave light red marks in your wake, not much worse than someone with long nails scratching, but they are gone in seconds, just as you realize the bite on his shoulder is already gone as well. 

So he has super healing too, info you file away for later to maybe test out some more. Perk, you can go hard. Con, no marks to look at and adore later.

“If the two of you plan on fucking each other through me I am so down, but I must point out my mouth is horribly unoccupied at the moment.” He’s right, which you can’t have, so you push at Logan’s thigh, making him back off. Logan does so, but doesn’t go far, only enough so you can swing your legs over the side of the couch, plating them on the floor as you manhandle Wade down to kneel between them. 

Your cock is aching in your sweatpants, pre-come making a little wet spot on the grey fabric, which Wade hones in on. His hands are on your thighs, all of him leaning forward, but pausing as black clad thighs sit down next to you, an arm thrown over the back of the couch, hand brushing against your shoulder.

“Your choice with how you wanna occupy that pretty little mouth of yours Wade.” You press your thumb to his bottom lip, he opens his mouth so suck on your thumb for a few seconds, eyes darting between your own and Logan’s.

“This mouth is not pretty or little, it’s huge and filthy, don’t either of you forget it.” Thumb out of his mouth, he dips down and forward to mouth at your cock through the soft material of your pants.

“Wolvie over there can wait, he has already gotten to almost sorta fuck me in a Honda Oddesy.” You look at Logan, who grimaces.

“It was a fight.”

“The most homoerotic thing I’ve ever been a part of that wasn't just straight bone on bone.”

“I stabbed you.” Interesting.

“Not mutually exclusive honey badger.”

“Multiple times.” Very interesting.

“Still-” Rolling your eyes, you quickly end what is turning out to be unnecessary bickering by pressing Wade’s face down into your crotch with a heavy hand on the back of his head.

“Okay yeah, message received!” His words are muffled against your dick, but his thumbs up is clear. And it feels good, which is all you care about for the moment. Speaking of, you look to the side, catching Logan staring. He leans in to kiss you, which you gladly let him, breathing in the scent of the two of them around you.

All you can smell is sex, arousal, and excitement, what is coming stronger off whom is impossible to decipher.

Wade’s hands on your thighs move up to your waistband as his mouth keeps dancing over your still clothed cock, sucking it through the by now soaking material. You groan and moan, each noise swallowed greedily by Logan.

Wade fingers curl, starting to pull your sweats down, he momentarily stops as the fabric bunches up because he can’t move it further, but you are quick to lift up your hips just enough so he can pull it the rest of the way off. Somehow you manage to not break your kiss with Logan, which means he feels the pleased rumble you let out against his lips as Wade’s hand circles your cock.

“Not gonna lie, your cock is great, perfect size honestly, but I was expecting the carpet to match the drapes so to speak.” You and Logan both break the kiss, looking down at Wade, who’s slowly moving his hand up and down your cock, making it hard to dechiper what the fuck he means.

“Wade, what the fuck are you on about?” Logan grumbles out, a hand falling down on your thigh, squeezing without seeming to be conscious of the action. Wade looks at him, raising one hand up towards Logan.

“One: saw his full form." Middle finger up. "2: his partial transforming of his hands." Pointer finger up. "3: Why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to transform just this?” Ring finger comes up as he squeezes your cock, making your hips twitch up and cock leak pre-come.

“Oh for fucks sake you moron.” Logan scowls at him, hand squeezing your thigh again as Wade strokes over your cock, slowly. Something about the bickering like this is oddly familiar, but also very hot.

“Don’t bully me, I’ll cum.” Wade jokes right back at Logan’s words. You pluck his hand off your cock, even as much as you don’t want to.  “Hey, hey, I am not complaining enough for you to do that!” He tries to get his hands back on you, but you hold his wrists so he can’t move as you concentrate.

The transformation isn’t as smooth and effortless as your other ones, needing some concentration and muscles flexed in effort. Slowly your cock transforms, growing longer, thicker, tapered with a bulge towards the bottom, just above your balls.

Wade wolf whistles, Logan stares in stunned silence.

“Ohhhh, who made you realize you could do this?

“If you think you’re the first person that asked this question I’ve met Wade, sorry to disappoint.” 

“Oh no no no, no disappointment here, just utter delight that whoever they were helped you on your way to realize your full freak potential.” You snort letting go of his hands, which immediately goes to your cock. You throw your head back, your own hands finding their spot on the back of his head, not pushing, but clearly sending a message of where you want this to go eventually. 

Logan’s hand on your thigh squeezes down again, and you hear and feel him shift on the couch, leaning forward so he can smell over your throat.

“You smell like a fucking three course meal, and fucking look like it too.” He growls against your skin, and you feel sharp canines brushing against your pulse. Your dick pulses, leaking more pre-come, which is suddenly cleaned away by Wade’s warm tongue. You moan, one hand moving from Wade’s head to Logan’s, pressing him against your neck as you tilt your head.

He takes the invitation, pressing sharp teeth into your throat and biting down as Wade starts to sink his mouth down around your cock. Logan bite is not hard enough to draw blood, but you can tell he wants to with the way he keeps biting over the same spot over and over again, skin healing rapidly beneath his teeth.

You lick your lips, trying to find your words, but it’s hard with Wade’s mouth on your cock, and Logan’s mouth on your neck and his hands on your thigh and in your hair.

But you manage to find them, by the grace of whatever deity you believe in.

“Logan, I was shot today, I think I can manage your teeth.” You growl out, which Logan answers with a growl of his own. You feel Wade moan around your cock, his tongue working over your shaft as his mouth slides up and down your cock, as Logan finally bites down hard enough to draw blood. 

It stings, but it feels so goddamn good, especially as he doesn’t let up, not giving your sking a chance to heal, making the blood run down the side of your neck. 

Without thinking your hips chant up, chasing that pleasure you can feel cursing through your veins. Wade choking on your cock is expected, as he does you feel your cock twitch, even as he pulls off you to catch his breath. His hands don't leave you though.

“Fuck, give a guy some warning.”

“Wade, less talking.” Logan has only let go of your neck to speak in a low voice that is all grumble and no finesse.

“Yeah yeah, just a quick question, does your healing work on refractory periods?” 

“Yes.” You and Logan answer in unison, staring at each other for a few seconds before your focus is back on Wade, a wide smile taking up most of his face.

“Oh I fucking love my life, and fanfiction. I am going to make you come in my mouth first, then I am going to ride this freaky dick into the sunset. Or sunrise, cause I can go alllll night.” You roll your eyes. But, you like the sound of that plan, arousal stirring in your guts at his words. You need things to move along.

“I got lube in the bedroom, bottom drawer on the right nightstand.” 

“Damn, the one place I didn’t have time to snoop. Come on peanut, go get it, and then help me open up for this massive thing.” You expect some sort of protest from Logan, but he gets up, only pausing to steal a kiss and whisper in your ear. 

“I want to watch him ride you, to both of you break.” His dick is temptingly close to your face as he gets up, just a little lean forward and down, but you don’t move an inch, mouth dry and speech having left your for a few seconds as you watch him the whole walk to your bedroom, that fantastic ass on display even in black sweatpants.

“Deadpool fucking Wade, that man.” You look down at him. “What, I am Marvel Jesus, only fitting I take my own name in vain.” God he is on some nonsense, you mind less now though he kneels in front of you, shirtless, hard as a rock in his pants, a mix of pre-come and spit shining on his lips. 

Once more you push your thumb into his mouth, though this time the rest of your fingers rest under his chin, giving you a grip to guide him towards your cock.

“You talk too much.” He doesn’t protest at all, taking your cock into his mouth so easily and willingly, sucking on the tip before sinking down further, hands covering what his mouth and tongue can’t or don’t.

You hear Logan come back just a few short moments later, as he kneels behind Wade, who you feel wiggle as good as he can while keeping his mouth’s rhythm on your cock. The uncapping of the lube bottle makes you open your eyes. You hadn’t even realized you had closed them.

Logan is fully nude now, Wade matching seconds later as his pants are pulled off by Logan. You tug your own shirt off, throwing it to the side, not caring where it lands.

You watch as Logan sinks the tip of one finger inside Wade. Wade reaches back, pushing Logan’s hand against him, making him sink deeper.

“More.” It’s barely audible around your cock, but it gets the message across, making Logan push his finger all the way to the knuckle. Wade moans around your cock at the feeling, which in turn makes you moan as pleasure shoots up your spine.

Logan pulls his finger out of Wade, but before he can protest, there’s two thick digits shoved inside of him. Wade’s hands are gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise, but you know with your healing they will never appear, which is a shame, because you think to have Wade’s handprints on you would be hot.

Two fingers soon turn into three, and it takes some damn self control on your part to not come in Wade’s mouth as he groans around you because of the added stretch. 

He takes his mouth off your cock, licking over your shaft and balls before spitting in his hand, looking over his shoulder at Logan.

“I want you to fuck me first, spread me open for him.” Logan groans as Wade looks up at you, hand pumping fast over your cock. “And you are going to come in my mouth, then I’m riding you even if the fucking couch breaks and the stuffing is spilling out.”  You voice your agreement with this arrangement by leaning down and pulling him into a quick and messy kiss. 

“You better hurry up, or else I’m just going to spill all over your hand.” Your voice is deep, more grumble than words, but Wade takes those words to heart, mouth sinking down and around your cock once more.

Behind him, Logan sinks into him, slowly filling him up. You can tell he’s sunk to the hilt when Wade stops, a shuddering breath coming out of his nose.

The pause isn’t long, hands and mouth on your cock working hard on you to make you spill on his tongue. One hand goes down to fondle your balls, for a moment dipping lower, teasing, before going back up.

Logan starts slow, but Wade isn’t having it, reaching back like earlier, pawing at his ass, clearly wanting more. 

Which Logan gladly gives, the wet slaps of him fucking into Wade filling the room alongside the noises of Wade sucking your cock like a champion. 

One of your hands is gripping the couch so hard it’s a miracle the fabric hasn’t ripped, the other is pressing down on Wade’s head. 

Not that it’s needed, he’s sucking on you like a man starved, or a man on a mission. A mission to taste you, to make you cum before he does.

Which is nearly thwarted as Logan gets his hand on Wade’s cock, if the full body shudder is anything to go by.

But, by some miracle, you come first, exploding over Wade's tongue with just a shout of his name as warning. He almost chokes, but drinks you down, making sure to get every drop of you. He lets your cock fall out of his mouth to lick up what has spilled from his mouth, almost teasing if it wasn’t for how desperate his movements are. 

Your cock stays hard, through just minimal effort from you, though you hardly pay it any mind with how Wade moans against your warm skin.

Logan is giving him as good as Wade gave you. Wade's mouth dance over your thighs before biting down as he cums, spilling come over Logan’s hand, and blood over his teeth and your thigh.

Logan is not far behind. Three pumps is all it takes for him to spill inside Wade, and you swear you see his claws peeking out from between his knuckles. Seconds later they are gone, Logan panting hard against Wade before pulling out. He’s still hard, which makes your mouth water and an idea forms in your head.

Before you can act on it though, you find yourself being manhandled onto your back, seconds later Wade is straddling you, hips spread wide. He grabs your cock, guiding it in, slowly starting to sink down. His cock is still hard or perhaps hard again, you don’t know or care to differentiate the two. You go grab it, but he bats your hand away. 

All it does is shift your attention to Logan, who is still kneeling on the floor, cock hard between his legs as he watches the two of you with rapt attention. 

The idea from earlier springs forth in your minds. You need your mouth on that cock. 

Right now.

You make what can only be described as a grabby motion at him, too focused on not coming again already, you cock inside Wade’s warm and wet hole making it difficult to be able to form proper words.

It does get the message across though, as soon enough you have Logan straddling your chest, your hands grabbing his ass as you guide his hips towards your face. He chuckles, which goes straight to your dick which makes it twitch inside Wade, who in turn moans.

He rests his tip on your lips, and you open your mouth, ready to feel the weight and taste of him on your tongue and in your mouth.

You suspect he was going to try to keep back, to deny himself and you just for a few moments longer, but it’s squashed as Wade also squeezes Logan’s ass, laughing at the grumble it gets him. 

“Come on, you know you want to, it's rude to keep a guy hanging.” For once you are glad Wade is able to quickly find his words, because yours is lost somewhere in the back of your throat where you wish for Logan’s cock to be.

He pushes his cock into your mouth, and you groan at the just perfect feeling of him on your tongue. You also shift your feet so you can meet Wade’s bounces, earning you a breathless laughter.

God, they feel so fucking good. Wade is bouncing on your cock like he was made for it, Logan fucking into your mouth slowly, clearly not wanting to choke you. 

But you want him to.

Not that you really can, having almost no gag reflex.

Which Logan seems to realize as you take him with no effort over and over and over again, your mouth and throat open for him.

He speeds up, abandoning his slow pace, matching Wade’s instead.

You start to rumble, deeper than either of them have heard from you before, making them stop in their tracks. 

"Fucking hell, you're like a god damn vibrator!" Wade laughs, an appreciative sigh coming out his mouth as he lazily grinds himself down on your cock. Logan lets out a low fuck, digging one hand into your hair, the other into the back of the couch, and you definitely see a quick glint of the tips of his claws again.

You’re not having this stopping, pulling at Logan, transformed claws digging into his ass as you encourage him to keep fucking into your drooling mouth, and pump your hips up into Wade. They groan in sync, starting to move again, and you feel your second orgasm rolling up on you.

All it takes is one tug off your hair from Logan and a squeeze from Wade’s hole to your to spill over the edge. 

The continued vibrations in your throat as you growl while cumming send Logan over the edge, spilling all over your tongue, making you swallow it all down greedily. Wade is just a second behind, the feeling of you spilling into him being enough, making him sit down fully on your cock, milking you for every last drop as he spills over Logan’s back and ass, some of it dripping down onto your stomach.

It takes a while for you to come down, to get your senses back enough to let go of Logan’s ass, letting him pull out of your mouth. You both gasp for air, seconds later he is down and on his back on the floor, catching his breath. Wade is in a similar state pulling off you, out of breath, but he plops down on top of you instead. 

You feel him leak down on your thighs, and there’s Logan’s cum on your chin where some escaped your mouth , and given a 15 minute rest, you could go again.

You don’t push for it though.

A few minutes go by, and you realize it’s the longest you’ve gone without hearing a word from Wade without anyone else talking. You lift your head, looking where he has his head on your chest. You raise two fingers against his neck, but it’s batted away, albeit weakly.

“Five more minutes.” He sounds half asleep, which he probably actually is.

“Were you going to check for a pulse?” Logan says from the floor, humor evident in his voice.

“Haven’t heard silence in so long, needed to check if everything is alright.”

“You are so mean to me.” Wade’s eyes are closed and his voice is flat, but you can feel the smile stretching his lips against your warm skin. “Mind blowing sex will do that to a man, even one as strong as me. You are both invited to fuck me unconscious again.”

“Aaannndd it’s gone.” You roll your eyes as it seems Wade is slowly rebooting, at least his mouth is, the rest of his body is limp and heavy on top of your own. “Come on, up you go.” You push at his shoulder, and he whines, actually whines, which shouldn’t go to your dick, but it does.

You ignore it with a sigh, maneuvering him enough that you can stand up on your own, leaving him on the couch, before leaning down to throw him over your shoulder like a rag doll.

“Hot.” He mumbles and you snort, turning towards Logan who is now at least sitting up on the floor. His hair is a mess, tufts long gone, disheveled locks only being pushed into somewhat of an order as he drags a hand through his hair.

“I would offer to carry you too, but I know my limits.” Logan snorts, reaching a hand out, which you take, helping him up from the floor. “I suggest we all cuddle up in bed, have a nap, then figure out something to eat.” Logan reaches for the remote, turning your TV off.

“Or we could go round three. Just give me an hour. Or two. You guys fucked me up real good.” You both roll your eyes at Wade’s words, heading to the bedroom. Logan grabs three water bottles on the way, closing the door behind you as you put Wade down on your bed. You grab your disregarded t-shirt from earlier to wipe Wade down, using a little bit of spit to loosen up the dried blood on his shoulder. He lets you without much of any noise, you would think he was already asleep if it wasn’t for the fact that barely open eyes watch you as you do so.

Logan gives Wade a water bottle, cap already off, offering you an unopened one.

“No princess treatment for me?” You jokingly ask, finished with cleaning Wade off for now, still holding onto the shirt you used to clean him with.

“You can still walk.” You chuckle before chugging half of the water bottle in one go.

“Smug fucks.” Wade mumbles, watching your throat as you chug.

“Here, let me.” Logan grabs the t-shirt from your hand, wiping away Wade’s cum from your stomach, your blood from your neck, and his and yours mixed release from your thighs. “All clean.” He spots the little spot on your chin. “Except riiiighhtt…” He licks his come away. “There.” Wade groans from the bed, making the both of you look at him,

“Still fucking hot. Scratch what I said earlier, 30 minutes and I will be rearing to go, you too hot for anyones good motherfuckers."

“Oh shut the fuck up Wade.” You say in unison. You put your water bottles to the side, Logan throwing your now very stained t-shirt into a corner as you both get on the bed with Wade. You curl up behind him, Logan against his front as he pulls the duvet up over the three of you.

Sleepy and comfy silence fills the room, only broken by a couple of yawns.

It lasts for about a minute.

“Chat, does this make me a furry?” 

“Don’t make me fucking gut you Wade.” You growl, letting your nails just grow the tiniest amount so they poke into the flesh of his stomach from where you have your arm thrown over his waist.

“Ohhh, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

“God, you are so fucking strange.”

“Say you, you nasty dog.” Wade pushes his ass back against your crotch, where your cock is still sensitive, though transformed back into your normal form. You and Logan growl in unison, stilling any movement Wade tries with solid hands on him.

“Shut the fuck up, and go to sleep Wade.” Logan mutters against his forehead.

“Alright, alright Wolfie and Wolvie, but you both run hot, so if I wake up in the middle of the night because I died of overheating, it’s your fault.” You scoff, nose buried against the back of his neck, the texture and sweet smell of him by now familiar, lulling you into sleep. 

It also helps that he smells of you and Logan.