#one day i’ll touch the world with bare hands (even if it burns)

[spencerreidwifey]

Tied 2 You - Spencer Reid

tiny part two of tied up!

(however this can be read as a stand-alone)

Summary: Spencer frees (Y/N), and comforts her, finding solace in each other’s presence... and Henry's.

Masterlist!

Post Prison!Spencer x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff 💌

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: none!

The room was heavy with a silence that felt eternal, broken only by the faint sound of (Y/N)’s labored breathing. She hung limply from the ceiling cuffs, her bare skin shimmering faintly under the dim red light. Every muscle ached, her exhaustion so profound it seeped into her very bones. Time had blurred; minutes felt like hours and hours like days. She blinked slowly, her dry eyes burning, too tired to even flinch when she heard the unmistakable click of the doorknob turning.

Her head turned sluggishly toward the sound, her heart fluttering with a faint, desperate hope. Please, let it be him. The door creaked open, and relief flooded her veins as Spencer stepped inside. But the sight of his face struck her in a way she hadn’t expected. His chocolate button eyes, usually so bright with intelligence, were dark with worry and guilt. He froze for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her disheveled, vulnerable form, and his lips parted in a silent expression of regret.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he murmured under his breath, his voice heavy with emotion. Carefully, he shut the door behind him and turned the lock with a quiet click. He needed no interruptions, not from Henry, not from anyone. This moment belonged to them, raw and aching.

Spencer crossed the room with quiet urgency, his steps deliberate but tender, as if afraid that even the vibrations of his movements might add to her suffering. When he reached her, he hesitated for the briefest moment, his fingers trembling as they hovered near her wrists bound in the cold metal cuffs. His eyes met hers, glassy with unshed tears.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm against the sting of her pain. His hands worked quickly but carefully to release her, the soft click of the unlocking cuffs a stark contrast to the heavy silence.

As the metal restraints fell away, (Y/N) let out a shuddering exhale, her arms collapsing uselessly to her sides. The relief of freedom was overwhelming, but her body betrayed her, too weak to support itself after hours of suspension. Spencer reacted instantly, his hands darting to her waist to steady her. His touch was gentle, and firm, the only anchor keeping her from crumpling to the floor.

“You were such a good girl for me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as he held her close. His voice cracked slightly, betraying the depth of his remorse. “I shouldn’t have left you like that. I should’ve been here.”

Her legs trembled as her feet found the ground, the weight of her body foreign and unsteady after so long. Spencer shifted his hold, one arm wrapping securely around her waist while the other gently cradled the back of her head. He pulled her against his chest, allowing her to lean into him fully, to feel his warmth, his stability.

“I’ve got you now,” he promised, his voice a low, comforting hum. “I’ll take care of you.”

His words melted into her skin like a promise etched into eternity, his hands tenderly rubbing circles into her back to ease the ache in her muscles. Slowly, as her breaths steadied and her body relaxed in his embrace, she felt the faint stirrings of peace. Spencer’s presence, his touch, was a salve for her wounds, both seen and unseen.

Spencer shifted slightly, carefully adjusting his grip on (Y/N) as he bent down and scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She was weightless in his embrace, her body pliant from exhaustion, but he held her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. His heart ached at the sight of her drooping eyelids and the faint wince she gave when her muscles protested the movement.

With deliberate, measured steps, he carried her across the room toward the plush red velvet chair that sat like a throne in the dim lighting. Lowering her gently, he let her settle into its softness, ensuring she was comfortable before releasing her from his protective hold. Even as he pulled away, his hand lingered at her shoulder, unwilling to lose contact.

Spencer’s gaze swept the room briefly before spotting the oversized t-shirt she’d discarded earlier. He retrieved it swiftly, the worn fabric crumpled in his hands as he knelt before her. Looking up, he met her tired eyes, his own filled with an unspoken promise of care.

“Let’s get this back on, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing as he unfolded the shirt.

(Y/N) nodded faintly, lifting her arms weakly to help him guide the shirt over her head. The fabric slid over her skin like a comforting shield, the soft cotton a small reprieve from the vulnerability she had felt moments ago. Spencer’s fingers brushed against her arms as he straightened the hem, his touch featherlight, almost reverent. He didn’t bother with her bra—it was unnecessary now. She deserved comfort, and he was determined to give it to her.

As he adjusted the shirt, Spencer’s hands paused briefly to cup her cheeks, his thumbs brushing away a stray tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her jawline, his lips lingering for a moment before pulling back just enough to speak.

“Is Henry still here?” (Y/N) asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She hated how fragile she sounded, how the experience had reduced her to this state. Her pride wrestled with the reality of her exhaustion, but Spencer’s presence soothed the worst of her inner turmoil.

“Yes, Darling,” Spencer replied, his tone as gentle as his touch. “He’s just watching a movie.” Another kiss found its way to her temple, then to her cheek. His lips moved as though pulled by an invisible force, unable to resist showering her with affection.

“I told him I was going to the bathroom and to behave,” he continued, his voice laced with a soft chuckle as he kissed her again, this time at the corner of her lips. His affection was relentless, each kiss a silent apology, a reassurance that he was there, fully present and devoted to her comfort.

(Y/N) leaned into him, her eyes fluttering closed as his warmth and care enveloped her. For the first time since she’d been cuffed, she felt a flicker of security, a sense of being grounded again. Spencer’s presence, his touch, and his words were her safe haven, and she let herself surrender to the comfort he offered so freely.

"I'm alright, Spence," (Y/N) reassured him, her voice gentle and soothing, knowing all too well that he was silently berating himself for being away from her for so long. She cradled his face with one hand, her thumb brushing his cheek in a tender motion. "I know you came as soon as you could. Henry can be a handful sometimes, and you did what you had to do." Her words were soft, meant to calm the storm she could see swirling in his eyes.

Spencer responded not with words but with a trail of feather-light kisses along her jawline and neck, his lips warm and lingering as if he could convey all his unspoken apologies through touch. He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder, exhaling deeply as though her scent alone could ease the guilt he felt.

"I'm still sorry, my love," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice barely above a whisper. His arms wrapped around her tighter, drawing her as close as possible, as though proximity alone could make up for the hours they had been apart.

(Y/N) stroked the back of his head, fingers tangling in his unruly curls. They sat like that for a while, wrapped in each other's warmth and comfort, letting the silence speak for them. It was only when (Y/N) shifted slightly that a realization hit her.

Her eyes widened, and she leaned back just enough to look at Spencer. "Wait—Henry," she said, the name tumbling out in an urgent whisper. Her gaze darted toward the hallway, and she bit back a laugh. "He’s still here... we’re supposed to be watching him, not leaving him to fend for himself!"

Spencer’s head shot up, his lips parting in mild alarm. "Oh no," he said quickly, already beginning to stand. "Do you think he—"

"Relax, Spence," (Y/N) interrupted with a small smile, tugging him back down before he could spiral. "He’s probably just building a fort or raiding the snack cabinet. But we should check... before he turns the kitchen into a war zone."

With a shared laugh, the couple reluctantly untangled from each other, their brief moment of solace giving way to the delightful chaos that awaited them.

Walking out of the Red Room, Spencer’s arm rested protectively around (Y/N)’s waist, his movements careful and deliberate. He glanced at her every few steps, silently checking on her as they made their way toward the door. Pausing, he locked the Red Room behind them, testing the handle twice to ensure it was secure before turning his attention back to her.

"Alright, let’s take it slow," he murmured softly, guiding her down the hallway. His grip on her waist tightened slightly as they approached the living room.

The sound of laughter and the faint noise of Transformers blaring from the big TV greeted them as they entered. Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile at the sight ahead—a massive blanket fort sprawling across the room, complete with pillows stacked high like castle walls. Henry’s giggles filled the space, a joyful symphony of innocence.

From her spot beside Spencer, (Y/N) spotted a tuft of blonde hair peeking out from behind the couch. The giggles grew louder, and before she could react, there was the rapid thud of small feet against the wooden floorboards.

“(Y/N)!” Henry’s voice rang out, growing closer by the second. He darted toward her, his arms outstretched with childlike enthusiasm, his face lighting up as he reached her.

The impact was gentle but sudden as Henry wrapped himself around her legs in a big hug. (Y/N) laughed softly, the warmth of his affection momentarily distracting her from the ache in her body.

Spencer, however, stiffened beside her. His protective instincts kicked in immediately, and his hand moved to steady her. "Careful, Henry," he said, his tone a mix of caution and tenderness as he held (Y/N) a little closer against his chest. "Her legs might be a little tired right now."

“It’s okay, Spence,” (Y/N) reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. Her smile widened as she looked down at Henry, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I missed you too, buddy."

Henry pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I made a fort! You have to come see it! It’s the best one ever!” he exclaimed, pointing toward his masterpiece with pride.

(Y/N) chuckled softly, glancing at Spencer. “What do you think? Do we check out the fort?”

Spencer’s lips quirked into a small smile as he relaxed, nodding. “Only if you promise to sit and not move around too much.”

“Deal,” she teased, letting Henry take her hand and lead her forward while Spencer stayed close by, ready to catch her if needed.

The living room buzzed with warmth, the blanket fort and Henry’s laughter creating a cocoon of comfort that seemed to soothe them all.As Henry eagerly guided (Y/N) toward the blanket fort, Spencer stayed close, his hand hovering near her waist in case she needed support.

The boy’s excitement was contagious, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm despite the fatigue still lingering in her body.

“Look! I even made a secret entrance!” Henry declared proudly, dropping to his knees and crawling through a small opening in the fort’s fabric walls. His muffled giggles came from inside as he waited for them to follow.

(Y/N) lowered herself carefully onto the floor with Spencer’s help, stifling a wince as she got into position. She glanced up at him with a playful smile. “Don’t worry, Doctor Reid, I’ve got this.”

Spencer sighed, his brow furrowing. “Just... be careful,” he murmured, crouching beside her as she crawled through the entrance. He followed close behind, ready to catch her at a moment’s notice.

Inside, the fort was cozy and warm, lit by a string of fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the carefully arranged pillows and blankets. Henry was already sprawled out in the center, holding up a bowl of popcorn with a triumphant grin.

“Tada! Isn’t it cool?” he asked, looking between the two adults for their reactions.

“It’s amazing, Henry,” (Y/N) said with genuine admiration, settling into a pile of pillows. She reached for a handful of popcorn and winked. “You might just have a future in architecture.”

Spencer chuckled as he sat beside her, his long legs folding awkwardly in the small space. “You’ve outdone yourself,” he added, his tone warm.

Henry beamed, his pride shining brighter than the fairy lights. “Okay, now we watch Transformers! But you have to sit here and stay forever,” he said, pointing firmly at (Y/N).

“Forever, huh?” (Y/N) teased, leaning back against Spencer, who instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders to support her. “Well, with a fort like this, how could I say no?”

Henry grinned and hit play on the remote, the familiar sounds of explosions and robot voices filling the small space. As the movie started, (Y/N) relaxed into Spencer’s embrace, his fingers gently tracing comforting patterns along her arm.

Spencer leaned down, his voice soft against her ear. “You okay?”

(Y/N) tilted her head to look up at him, her smile tired but content. “More than okay.”

As Henry giggled at the screen, oblivious to the quiet moment between the two adults, (Y/N) let herself savor the warmth of the fort, the closeness of Spencer, and the pure joy of being surrounded by love and laughter.

For the first time in what felt like ages, everything felt just right.

(the gif is how I picture them in Henry’s fort)

Thank you so much for reading!

Please like & reblog if you enjoyed!

Masterlist!

taglist: @topgunslut @donttrustlove @kakamixoxo

(let me know if you would like to be added)

[dancingthroughthewilderness]

very incomplete list of tags i use just so that i can navigate this more easily. does not include any character tag or devotional tag

to be updated

[talesof-old]

handle it | a.s., h.l.r., g.c.

pairing(s): poly!batboys x fem!eader

warning(s): 18+, smut, couples arguing, teasing, piv sex, handjobs (f receiving), oral (m receiving), reader has a vagina and is referred to by her/she, reader is called pretty girl, men being annoying and protective/possessive, if you squint there’s wing play, i did not proofread or edit because for some reason this put me in a slump, i think that’s all

word count: 1.7k

a/n: sorry this took me so long i was strugglinggg so it does end kind of abruptly

masterlist

poly!batboys + smut, angst + happy ending

“For the last time, you will not tell me I can’t go.”

Azriel barked a hoarse, humorless laugh, his eyes cold as he looked down at you. Gone were the days of training at Windhaven, children playing war as the world fell apart. No, now Rhys was High Lord, and you were a long way from the mountains you once called home.

“I’m in charge of this mission. What I say goes. And you are not going.”

Throwing your arms up in exasperation, you catch a glimpse of Cassian’s amused expression and Rhysand’s impassive face. They knew better than to get between the two of you. Azriel’s barely contained rage that settled just beneath his skin could burn hot at any given moment, and you were a formidable opponent that even your battle seasoned superiors knew better than to rile.

“You’re staying here.”

You whirled around, face nearly coming into contact with Azriel’s hard chest. Your wings flared.

“Rhys has the final say. I’m going.”

Violet eyes flickered between the two of you, one side of his lips quirking up in a smirk as Rhys shrugged. Anger flared in your chest. There was no reason for him not to side with you. You’d proven yourself over and over again, earned your place just as much as they had. It wasn’t fair.

“Rhys, I swear on the Mother-“ Rhys shook his head, silencing Azriel as he moved. Cassian followed after him, both quick to leave you two alone.

“Figure this out between you. We’re not getting involved.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as the door shut behind them; the silence that followed was deafening. His shadows darted out and away from him, only to return to curl around his body like they couldn’t decide whether to comfort you or their master. It would’ve been comical, really, if Azriel’s sharp eyes weren’t burning holes into your forehead. You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” Azriel didn’t say a word as you walked out the room.

Dinner was not a pleasant affair. Mor picked up on the tension between the shadowsinger and you with a simple glance, and it seemed to only agitate you further. Territorial fae bastards, the lot of them.

“We still set for that shopping trip on Saturday?” Mor’s honey voice filled your ears and you allowed yourself to smile. At the end of the table, Azriel sat stiff as a board, barely touching the food on his plate.

“Of course, I still need something for Dawn’s ball.”

She nodded, sipping her wine as she contemplated. You raised a brow. There was something mischievous in her eyes as she spoke next.

“I hear Caius was asking after you.” Shadows exploded across the room, darting out to weave through your hair and urge you towards their source. You narrowed your eyes at Mor who simply threw her head back and laughed. Amren scoffed over her glass.

“Az.” At Rhys’ firm tone, the shadows were reeled back in, and light filled the room once more.

“We’re leaving. I’ll keep you both updated.” A warm hand clasped yours and then all of a sudden you were in Rhys’ bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed. You turned to the partner in question.

What the fuck?

Rhys chuckled in your mind.

I thought you two would’ve sorted this out.

You rolled your eyes at that, turning to flop onto the bed, wings draped over your body. Rhys rested a hand on your lower back, shivers crawling up your spine as he massaged your tailbone.

He’s a possessive prick.

Rhys laughed out loud this time, trailing his hand over your backside. You preened under his touch, twisting to stretch out like a cat and smiling over at him softly. A grunt sounded from behind you. Rhys glanced over, sending an image to you.

Cassian and Azriel (the former having already removed half of his clothes), lip locked and tugging hard at each other’s bodies. Heat pooled in between your thighs and you turned to raise a brow at your companion. He smirked. In a blink, he was hovering over your body, chest pressed against your left side. You tilted your head upwards, pressing your lips against his. He moved slowly, pressing you down as he swiped a tongue over your lips. Rhys’ palm moved to cup your arse, rubbing your clothed cunt against the bulge in his pants. You sighed as you melted into his touch.

A broken moan drew you away from your High Lord.

You turned your head, pupils blown wide with lust as Cassian manhandled Azriel, tugging at his short hair and biting the exposed skin of his neck. Rhys laid back, hauling you up to rest on top of him. He helped you straddle him.

Someone hit the wall behind you, choking on a groan. You grinned as Rhys pulled you into him, licking a stripe up your throat.

“You’re both fully capable of resolving your issues, hm? Isn’t that what you said the last time?” You let out a long suffering sigh and gripped Rhysand’s hair.

“Don’t be a dick.”

He trailed light fingers up your sides, the sensation dulled by the fabrics covering your skin. Teasing touches turned rough as you rolled your hips. You smiled sweetly.

Behind you, the bed dipped as your two lovers joined you.

Cassian’s rough hands gripped your hips, careful of the wings you now arched high. Azriel settled against the pillows next to Rhysand, watching you with half-lidded, dark eyes. You maintained eye contact with the shadowsinger, grabbing Cassian’s hand and slipping it into your loose fitted pants. He cupped your mound, urging you to grind against his palm. You did so, head falling back as the roughness of his skin dragged against your lips and clit. He let you use him, your chest heaving as you rode yourself to climax. Your legs shook, upheld only by Rhys’ hands.

Rhysand took to leaning forward and nipping at the skin of your sensitive neck. He grinned as you keened, cunt clenching onto nothing as you tumbled over the edge. You fell against Cassian as your blood rushed through your ears. He chuckled, ignoring the way you jolted when your wings made contact with his frame.

Your body trembled following your orgasm, blissfully warm but not entirely relaxed. Azriel grunted as Rhys cupped his bulge. Your eyes flashed to his, annoyance still eating at your gut.

“Come on, pretty girl. Don’t be like that.” Cassian mouthed at the juncture of your neck and shoulders, sucking hard. You moaned softly, writhing against him as he massaged your breasts.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” Rhysand’s low voice sounded from beside Azriel. He huffed, abdomen muscles tense as the High Lord slipped a hand into his trousers. He pumped his cock, running a gentle hand over his slit and laughing when he hissed.

“You managed to piss her off pretty bad. Wonder what you’ll have to do to make it up.” Heat rushed to Azriel’s face. You watched with rapt attention, eyelashes fluttering as Cassian stripped you of your top to expose your breasts. You shivered at the sudden chill.

“Will she let you touch her?”

Azriel clenched his hands into fists, all but tucking them underneath his thighs. You giggled. Looks like he wanted to be tested tonight.

“Rhys.” You purred.

He whipped his head towards you at the sound of your voice, his name dripping with lust. You wriggled your ass against Cassian’s dick and tugged on Rhysand’s shirt.

He was on you in an instant, mouth hot against yours as Cassian pulled down your trousers and underwear. He was quick to line himself up your cunt and slowly sink in, leaning forward to press kisses to your upper back as you moaned. Rhys swallowed the sounds all too willingly.

As Cassian bottomed out, Rhys tugged down his own pants, situating himself right by your mouth. You lowered yourself onto your elbows, a soft whine leaving you as the angle changed how deep Cassian was within you. Rhysand grabbed a handful of your hair and guided your mouth to his cock. He grunted when your lips wrapped around the reddening skin.

Cassian pulled half-way out of you, giving an experimental thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut. He was slow with it, setting a lazy pace to keep you from climaxing too soon. You shivered as one of his hands grazed the inner part of your wings. Molten heat burned between your hips.

With a practiced tongue and a few well timed sucks, Rhys was pulsing in your mouth, balls drawn tight. His head was thrown back, moans tumbling from his lips in a way that would’ve had you grinning. Cassian kept his sensual pace.

You hollowed out your cheeks, gagging as Rhysand’s cock hit the back of your throat. He choked on a moan, halfway through cooing at the tears on your cheeks when his orgasm tore through him. He shook; beside him, Azriel trembled with need.

You swallowed his cum greedily, humming. Rhys jerked. You pulled off of him with a pop, grinning like a madman.

“Wicked thing.”

You shrugged, arching your back to meet Cassian’s thrusts. One of his large hands splayed across the bottom of your curved spine, the other coming around your waist to toy with your clit. You spasmed against him.

A low chuckle sounded through the room.

“Be careful tonight, we’ve all got a mission tomorrow.” Even in the midst of your pleasure, your head jerked towards Azriel. He wore an expression half resigned, half lustful. You reached for him with one hand, balancing on your right, fingers trembling. A moment ticked by. He moved, graceful as a panther, and tugged you to him. Cassian groaned as you involuntarily clenched around him. He pulled out of you, letting you splay across the shadowsinger’s front.

“You’re really giving in?”

Azriel’s sigh was answer enough, but he responded with a simple, “Yes.”

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his chin. The ache between your thighs was desperate for attention, however, so you moved to straddle his hips.

Much to the displeasure of your two other lovers, the words “You’re mine for the rest of the night,” were what left your mouth. Azriel leaned back.

“Show me you can handle it.”

+++

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 2 - Broken

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

I'm sorry, part 2 got a little out of hand in length so I've decided to split it up into different chapters! There should only be one more part after this (maybe??!) Hope you enjoy! This is more of Bucky's POV and gives some more insight into what happened. Thanks for all your engagement with this series, as always comments and reblogs are appreciated! Unfortunately I no longer use taglists.

💔

Your phone sat on Bucky’s desk as he stared at it blankly. He wasn’t really sure what he expected, maybe that you’d call it, or it would magically reveal some sort of answers to the many questions he had. But it didn’t. It just laid there, about as useful as a rock. A ‘babe, how are you?! we need to hang out soon!’ notification from Natasha had lit up the screen an hour or so before, but otherwise it just continued to sit silently – an insulting prompt that mocked him with your absence, the clock on the screen taunting him with how late it had become.

He'd had a glance at the checking and credit card accounts he’d set up for you, but they hadn’t been touched. In fact, nothing had been touched. None of your clothes had moved, your toiletries remained in the bathroom. You hadn’t even appeared to have taken any shoes with you. Natasha’s casual check-in text suggested your friends were unaware of what had happened. You’d just…vanished. A ghost in the night.

He felt nauseous, his gut churning. He’d tried to find the CCTV footage of you leaving, but the image was grainy – he could hardly make you out. The cameras had been acting up lately, he needed Steve to get them fixed. He kept thinking about you wandering out into the night by yourself, no money, no plan, how he’d forced you out into the cold. The one person he swore to protect, to keep safe.

His guilt was eating him alive.

But then he thought of the recording. Your voice so clear, laughing with the fed – mocking Bucky, calling him names and sneering at his gullibility. He could hardly believe it all at first. Not you? Not his doll, who had opened him up to love in ways he could have never imagined. Surely it couldn’t have been you, who had uprooted his life for the better, who had hit him like a whirlwind, changing his very being forever in all the best ways?

But he’d checked in with Banner who ran the tech and had confirmed you had been there. Your phone had pinged the cell tower in that exact spot they’d tracked the meeting point to. They’d even found a CCTV clip of you getting in a strange car that day, despite telling Bucky you were having Wanda over for a girl’s night. The audio was delivered by his own men, verified by their informant. The evidence was overwhelming.

‘It was so easy’ you had giggled cruelly on the clip, the words burned into his memory, ‘I just fluttered my eyelashes a few times and he was asking me to move in after a few weeks. I barely lifted a finger yet he swallowed everything I gave him and asked for more. Now I know how his whole operation works…but I need more time on the Stark deal. Just give me a bit longer and I’ll have that one-armed pussy spill everything after a few more ‘I love yous’ and dirty fucks. I promise...’

Of course he’d seen red. How could he not? He’d always been hot-tempered (passionate, his mother used to say), and the recording had destroyed his entire world in a matter of seconds. Aside from the betrayal, the pain, he felt humiliated. He’d finally been vulnerable with someone, shared intimacy in ways he’d never experienced with another person – only to find out it was all a lie. A trick. A joke. It affirmed his biggest fear – that he had been correct to build those walls, to protect himself from anyone who would use his feelings against him. Love could be exploited as a weakness, and he’d turned up to the fight unarmed.

In his mind, he’d not thrown you out – not sweet, beautiful you. Not you who held him close in your sleep and nuzzled into his chest, not you who traced his scars with her fingers and encouraged him to take off his prosthetic when you were intimate if he wished to. Not you, who stayed up late on his birthday just to present him with a homemade cake when he came home after an exhausting meeting – insisting he blew out the candles. Did she ever even exist? He’d always joked you were too good to be true. Now he’d accidentally manifested that into reality.

No. He’d thrown out her. The woman who had been gathering intel on him since the moment the two of you had met. The woman who exchanged kisses for information. The woman who had laughed about all of this as she gleefully ratted on him, delighting in her prowess over the foolish, lovesick mob boss she’d so easily toppled. The woman who’d callously worn the mask of someone who loved him. She was thrown out of his house, out of his embrace.

Unfortunately, the two versions of you were one and the same.

But at least he knew better, now. He’d go back to casual sex and pretty girls hanging off his arm. Easy. Fun. Uncomplicated. The walls would go back up and they wouldn’t come down again. Deep down he’d always known that men like him weren’t meant to be loved, that they weren’t worthy of genuine affection. Not all voids could be filled. People like you, or at least who he thought you were, were not for him. They deserved better. You’d always deserved better. He’d had a brief taste of happiness, but that was all he deserved. The universe would continue to punish him for his many bad deeds.

The only thing left to do was finally go to bed, but a solemn knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. He could tell it was Steve. 

“Steve?” he called, checking his watch. It was late, he’d assumed his second in command had already gone home.

Steve entered looking sullen. He was tensely holding his phone, and someone appeared to be on FaceTime with him. He cautiously extended it to his long-time friend.

“I’m sorry, Buck”, he said gravely.

“Steve..what?” Bucky asked as he gingerly took the phone from him. Sam looked back at him from the small screen, his solemn expression mirroring Steve’s.

“Bucky…I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly in that same tone, filling Bucky with a sinking dread.

Something was very wrong here.

“What is it?” He fired angrily at Sam, “just spit it out…”

Sam flipped the camera around to face what looked like a heap of old rags on the ground. He appeared to be in a parking garage, surrounded by nothing but concrete and darkness. It was hard to make anything out.

“What am I looking at here?” Bucky squinted at the camera as he tried to focus the image. Steve silently observed over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you just told us,” came the sound of Sam’s furious voice off-camera.

Bucky watched with confusion at the screen as Sam's boot suddenly kicked out at the heap, and the heap moved.

And then he clicked.

The ‘heap’ was a man.

The man groaned and cried out as Bucky realised the ‘rags’ were ripped, bloody clothes. He rolled over in obvious pain as Sam manoeuvred the camera to get a better look. As the man turned over, Bucky recognised his face. 

It was one of his own. 

“Rumlow?” Bucky asked with confusion. 

Behind him, Steve moved closer and leaned forward to watch the screen. “Just watch, Buck” he said sombrely.  

Rumlow looked up at the phone, blearily staring into the lens as he squinted at the phone light. His face was bruised and bloodied. Someone had given him a good going over. 

“It was me. Alright? I did it,” Rumlow groaned.

“Did what?” Bucky sneered, still not entirely clear on where this was going – but already feeling his anger mounting.

Rumlow sighed heavily and Sam gave him another swift kick to the ribs to encourage him to continue. 

He moaned out in pain and closed his eyes. “Aaargh. Alright…I did it! I did it okay! I made the recording!” he spat.

Bucky’s eyes darkened as comprehension of the situation unfolding began to take hold. His fist tightened around the phone screen. “Which recording…Rumlow?” He asked, his voice sinisterly calm. 

Rumlow paused and spat a wad of blood onto the floor. Bucky recognised the look of fear building in the man’s eyes, he’d seen it many times before. Rumlow was stalling to delay the inevitable.

“Tell me!!” Bucky roared at the phone, holding it so tightly in his fist that the screen might crack.

He watched Rumlow wince as he turned away from the screen, dropping his head in defeat.

“Of your girl…talking to the police…it wasn’t her-uh-it wasn’t even real. I used AI. From…from recordings of her voice from old security footage…I’m sorry…I just-”

But Bucky was eerily composed. Rumlow took his silence as the cue to continue.

“I hacked into the security system and planted the clip of her getting in the car. And I stole her phone for a few hours when she was at the house with a friend, planting it at the meeting point then driving back with it. She didn’t even notice it was gone…I’m sorry I…”

Bucky cleared his throat. He tapped a single contemplative finger over his lips as his eyes glazed over.

“Sam?” he asked, his voice void of emotion. 

Sam flipped the camera back to face himself. He looked grimly into the lens. “I’m sorry Buck…we had no idea…I caught him on the phone with the feds about the shipment – he thought I’d already left and-”

“Keep him warm,” Bucky interrupted, his voice cold like ice, “I have more urgent matters to attend to first, but I will deal with him”.

Sam merely nodded. Just as he cut the call, Bucky heard Rumlow wail and beg in the background. He’d be doing a lot more of that soon.

In a sudden fog of anger, Bucky pelted his phone hard against the wall. He roared with rage, lobbing his scotch glass at the window – shattering both. He flipped his desk, the chair, the bookcase – leaving a tsunami of destruction in his wake. Steve merely watched on, patiently. He knew Bucky needed to vent whichever way he could.

Eventually Bucky slowed, panting with exertion as he took a second to try and slick back his hair, now unkempt and messy from his outburst. He pulled back his shoulders as he attempted to regain his composure.

“We’ll find her, Buck”, Steve told him unwaveringly. “She can’t have gone far on foot. Then you can explain everything and apologise”.

Bucky shook his head as he ran his hands through his hair. Toeing the pile of debris that now cluttered his office floor he sighed heavily. “She told me she didn’t do it, Steve. And I didn’t believe her…”

“The recording was very convincing,” Steve clamped a sympathetic hand onto Bucky’s shoulder, “it sounded just like her – and had all of us fooled. Not to mention the phone location evidence…the CCTV of her leaving…before I came up here, Sam told me that this AI is brand new tech, far more advanced and convincing than what the masses have access to…”

Bucky bleakly shook his head, “Doesn’t matter. She’s my girlfriend and I’m supposed to trust her. Believe her. When I heard her voice on that recording I just…”, he trailed off sadly, “…it tapped into my worst fears…”

Steve nodded sagely. “Let’s just find her first, and you can talk to her. And then we can deal with Rumlow”.

Bucky grimaced, “I knew he was a risk to take on…with our shared history in HYDRA’s organisation…but I never thought…”

“Let’s just find her for now,” Steve repeated, always calm in a crisis. He pulled out his phone, making calls to various members of their group, sending out texts and kicking off various communication chains. In mere minutes, they’d have entire squads of their men scouring the area with a fine-tooth comb.

Bucky stood amongst the wreckage – the room’s physical ruins a glaring reminder that this wasn’t the only mess he’d made tonight. He pulled his own phone from his jacket pocket, opening his photo album as the pings and buzzes from Steve’s device filled the room. He flicked through the pictures of you: your face cheesily grinning at the camera, your lips sweetly planted on his cheek, a candid shot of you cooking in the kitchen – caught off-guard, your mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. You’d asked him to delete it as you thought you looked dumb, but he insisted he keep as he like the way your eyes sparkled in it. It was one of his favourites. Looking at the pictures helped him calm down, his breath evening as he remembered what was important here. He ran a finger over the image of your face, “I’m sorry, doll” he whispered, “I promise I’ll do anything I can to fix this…”

A couple of miles away, you slept deeply in the tear-stained hotel sheets – completely unaware of the organised efforts to track you down. You didn’t dream, you didn’t stir, you just slept - grateful to give yourself over to oblivion.

💔

There had only been a few places you could have gone on foot.

Bucky’s men had worked quickly despite the late hour. The local police force, already firmly in Bucky’s pocket, loaned him a few law enforcement bodies to assist with the search, no questions asked – as was standard. Sheriff Bodecker always played ball. They collected the CCTV from local businesses, doorbell cam footage from local residents (who weren’t particularly happy to be woken to do so, but didn’t have much choice), swept the area on foot and in vehicles. It was faintly possible you had hitchhiked and thumbed a ride into the city, but Bucky knew this wasn’t likely, so they put that option on the backburner – although it hadn’t been entirely ruled out.

The gas station staff hadn’t seen you, but their CCTV did catch a blurred figure passing in the road opposite the camera. A faint outline of your route started to emerge as the puzzle pieces came together. Eventually, Bucky was sent the security footage of you checking into the Holiday Inn. His heart pulled as he watched you looking lost at the reception desk – your eyes round like saucers as you produced crumpled dollar bills, head turning left to right as you surveyed your drab surroundings. He could only imagine how lost you must’ve felt, how hurt and betrayed. Exiled by the man you loved, you trusted, and having to hunker down in a shitty roadside hotel. Part of him was impressed by your ability to pick yourself up and keep going even in the toughest circumstances – it was one of the many reasons he loved you. But mainly, he was ashamed. Ashamed that he’d pushed you to this, that he’d failed you in so many ways.

Bucky inhaled deeply as he closed the hotel clip on his phone, nodding to his driver and stepping into the dark SUV.

I’m on my way, doll.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

୨⎯ "attention" ⎯୧ (kdh)

+*:🌟:*﹤descrip. : leehan just wants ur eyes on him!! :(

+*:🩷:*﹤content : sub!leehan, dom!reader, edging, riding (who's surprised), surely this is exhibitionism and voyeurism???

+*:🧃:*﹤warnings : 18+ mdni! :T (i'm watching you 🫵), female anat 4 reader, piv sex, both characters are quite flawed imo but everything is consensual 🫶, leehan confesses to reader like ten times but it's mostly in his head, leehan’s kinda weird in the mall sorry idk how men flirt idk how anyone flirts, leehan has a scent kink in my book idk how that happened but it did

+*:❤️:*﹤word count : 4.7k phew it's a long one buckle up

+*:🍏:*﹤a/n : i tried my best to write the first paragraph as plot but it was so hard so I wrote it in drabble format but the rest is in story format!! sawry bout that </3 selfedging!leehan anon if you read this i hope u like it <33

+*:🌟:*﹤masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *

BF!Leehan who wants your eyes on him, but you've been so focused on work, leaving early and coming home late. He knows it's important, that you have to finish your project by the deadline, but he can't help but feel a little selfish about your time when you've rarely spoken to him in the past two weeks. He's barely even seen you, always falling asleep despite trying to stay up when you come home, and he's getting antsy missing your company.

You're sliding out of bed after only being home for five hours. He’d startled awake when you came in, but you were too tired to talk, too tired to change before collapsing on the bed.

He’d changed you himself, gently wiping your makeup off and massaging lotion into your skin, then held you close to him as you caught up on much-needed rest. He wakes up when he feels your body heat leave his side, and groans as he watches with foggy eyes as you disappear into the bathroom. 

“Don’t go to work. Stay here with me,” he begs sweetly when you come back out. You consider it, he can see it on your face, but you ultimately shake your head.

“I can’t, baby. Gotta get this project done, then I’ll be all yours, m’kay?”  He pouts, but it doesn’t last long because you kiss it away and ruffle his already messed up hair. Within minutes, you’re out the door.

Leehan sulks in bed for a little longer, wishing he could make you pay attention to him. It feels like the only time you’re actually looking at him, thinking about him, is when the two of you are intimate with each other. It’s hard to find time in two busy schedules, but during those rare moments, it’s just you and him; the world around the two of you doesn’t exist anymore.

He’s so warm and safe in bed and the only thing that would make it better is if you were here with him, tangled up in the sheets and wasting the day away. He thinks about your soft skin and how sweet it smells, how warm your touch is when he’s lucky enough to be blessed with it, blessed by your gentle eyes and kind words when they’re focused only on him and spoken just for him to hear.

His hand is traveling under his waistband without hesitation, and thoughts of you clutter his mind as he wraps his palm around his length. He tries to mimic the way you squeeze his base and flick your thumb over his slit, tries to imagine it’s your pretty hands touching him this way. It's not long before stars are dancing behind his eyelids and he’s grunting out into the silent room. 

You never want him to cum the first time around, and almost always pull away when he’s on the edge. He’s so used to the denial, to the feeling of his orgasm slipping out of his grasp that it just feels natural when he pulls his hand away from his cock. He sucks in a breath at the way it twitches and sees you, hears you in his imagination, saying, “Good boy, aren’t you so well-trained?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the burning hot need coursing through his veins, and an idea forms in his head. He knows he shouldn’t, but it should be fine, right? Just a voice message showing you how much he misses you. You wouldn’t get upset with him for that, surely.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens you guys’ text messages. He spends another four seconds convincing himself this is a good idea. Then he’s grabbing his cock again, pulling all the tricks to put him on the verge of tipping over. When he feels close, he presses the “Record a Message” button beside the text bar.

At first, it’s just shy little moans as he complains about how much he misses you, how much better it would feel if you were here. Then, they turn into desperate, raspy gasps as he pushes himself over the edge. The audio recording sends the second he releases the button, and he can’t unsend it, so he accepts his choices and waits to hear what you have to say.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The answer is absolutely nothing. You don’t respond to or address the audio recording at all, aside from a smirk and a “Did you have fun today?” that you throw his way when you walk through the front door. 

He continues doing it, messages ranging from more audio recordings to photos of his stomach painted white, and usually you’ll kiss him, ruffle up his hand, call his “little treats” cute, make more promises to help him out when you’ve met your deadline.

He knows your work is important, but although guilt claws at him for it, Leehan still feels a bit hurt that you didn’t take his complaints to heart, just assumed it was another one of his trivial games. 

Leehan can play games, and when you hole yourself up in the bedroom to type away at your laptop, he realizes that he will. He’ll do whatever it takes to get your attention.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

You finally have a day off, and have decided you’d like to spend part of it at the mall looking through new arrivals. Leehan’s not big on shopping, so he just follows you around and occasionally gets distracted by fish merch. 

You’ve stepped away at least four times to take phone calls from your coworkers, and you guys have only been at the mall for an hour and a half. When lunchtime rolls around, you excuse yourself again to answer a call from your boss, leaving Leehan alone to pick at his food in disinterest. 

“Um, hi. Are you busy?” A feminine voice says. The girl has to stand directly in Leehan’s line of sight for him to realize she’s talking to him. When he looks up at her, she smiles shyly and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Can I help you?” 

“No! Well, yes. I…was just wondering if I could have your phone number. I saw you standing alone earlier…” The girl’s voice fades out as Leehan peeps your approaching figure in the distance, and the gears in his head turn with another (probably bad) idea.

“...alone again here in the food court, so I thought I should take the chance.”

Leehan didn’t hear most of what she said, but he can tell when someone’s interested in him, and he can play along.

He flashes the girl a charming smile, dimples and all, and nods along to whatever she’s rambling about. She’s cute enough, and seems like a nice girl, but Leehan’s real focus is entirely on you as you watch the scene. He watches you as best as he can from his peripheral, but never takes his eyes off the girl in front of him. 

“Is that…alright?” She says, looking at Leehan with wide, hopeful eyes. He pretends to consider whatever she asked, and holds a palm out for her to rest her hand in. Her face gets even redder, and he kind of feels bad that he’s using her to get to you.

He’s about to tell her that he’s sorry to disappoint, and that he appreciates it, he really does, but he has a girlfriend. He doesn’t get a chance to say any of that when you come up behind him seemingly out of nowhere and tap him on the shoulder. The girl pulls her hand away from Leehan’s and stands around awkwardly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You ask. Your arms are crossed and your eyes are locked on his, but not with the love and admiration he’s been longing for. His composure falters when he sees your expression, one that says he’s fucked up more than he knows.

“This girl came up to me and…” He trails off and gestures in the girl’s general direction.

“And?” You ask impatiently, but Leehan doesn’t know how he was going to conclude that sentence. This girl came up to me and I pretended to be interested to get a rise out of you? He has a feeling that’s not going to support his case well. You turn away from him and to the girl behind him, causing him to turn around as well.

“You’ll have to excuse my idiot boyfriend. I’m sorry he wasted your time instead of just telling you he was taken.” The girl nods in understanding and tries to hide her disappointed pout. She accepts your handshake when you offer it and hurries off. 

You shoot Leehan another pissed glare, then dump your remaining food in the trash and walk out of the mall. He considers apologizing to the girl as well, but she’s already out of sight, so he trashes his own food and trails after you with a ball of shame sitting in his throat. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

To be honest, you scare Leehan just a little, especially when he knows you’re angry with him but you’re not talking about it. He’d rather you just chew his head off and get it over with, just tell him how much of an inconsiderate dumbass he is. You don’t, so the guilt manifests and manifests until he feels like he might puke it up.

You lock the front door and hang up your coat, and the first thing you say to him in the last twenty minutes is “Sit.”

Leehan parks his ass on the couch immediately, and waits to hear whatever other command you might give him. He expects you to sit next to him, or on the armchair by the couch or even on his lap. He doesn’t expect you to sit right across from him on the coffee table. At least a minute passes full of you just staring at him, and the silence is killing him. 

“Baby–”

“Shut up,” you say, and his mouth clamps shut. You stare at him for a few more seconds, poking your inner cheek with your tongue in thought. Then, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Leehan watches as you cross your arms over your chest, and tries not to flick his eyes down to the way your boobs are being pushed up. He may be sick with horniness and loneliness, but it’s really not the time.

“Why are you acting like this, Leehan?” It takes Leehan a few seconds and a quirk of your eyebrow to realize you’re actually waiting for an answer, that you want him to speak now.

“What do you mean?” That’s his intelligent response. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“Don’t act dense with me. You were flirting with that girl just so I’d see. I know when you’re acting out for attention, and that’s exactly what you’ve been doing this entire week.” Leehan’s embarrassed at being caught so he shakes his head in denial, but it’s nowhere near convincing even to himself.

“No? You didn’t touch yourself and record it for me? Didn’t send me photos of you covered in your own cum? Didn’t flirt with a girl right in my face in a desperate attempt to get my attention?” Leehan’s cheeks burn at the direct confrontation. Hearing his actions out loud brings a fresh wave of shame over him, and he’s so ready to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“Show me.”

Leehan’s eyes fly wide open and he lets out a nervous chuckle. “W-what?”

“You wanted my attention so bad. Now you have it,” you say with a bored expression. Your eyes leave a trail of fire wherever they land on his skin. He has your attention, and has to think of a way to keep it. 

“Go ahead,” you command with a jerk of your head. Your lips are turned down into a frown, and it’s so condescending, like you don’t even want to be here. Leehan needs you to want to be here, and he’s nothing if not a performer. He lifts his hips and tugs his pants down to his thighs. 

You make a noise, something between a hum and a coo, when he pulls his boxers down and his dick springs against his stomach.

“Your little cock is hard, Hannie.” He knows he’s not small, but your words are still humiliating, and still burn the need to impress you across his skin. “Gonna show me how you fucked yourself when you were moaning into your phone?”

Leehan’s hips buck against nothing, causing his member to slap against his stomach again, and his mouth falls open with a groan.

He does as you tell him, wrapping his hand around his cock like he’s been doing every morning for the past week, squeezing his base, flicking his tip, imagining it’s you, wishing it was you, but he doesn’t dare ask. Instead he watches your facial expressions, how your lips curl up into a smirk when he’s close.

“Stop,” you tell him, and he pulls his hand away without question. He would’ve been foolish to not expect the sensation of his orgasm floating farther and farther away from him. He tries to slow his breathing, tries not to lose his mind so early into this session.

“Keep going.” 

He continues his previous pace immediately, and his hips tremble when he tries to stop them from bucking up. His tip is a bit more sensitive when he brushes his thumb across it, and it takes less time for him to get close. 

He strokes a bit faster, moans a bit louder. He has no idea how long you plan to keep him here, but he still anticipates the relief of falling off the edge.

“Let go.”

Leehan pulls his hand away from his cock and clutches the couch instead while willing his legs to stop shaking. He’s helpless to disobey you, but he groans as his orgasm escapes him a second time.

“Hm…I dunno. Something’s not right.” You tap a manicured nail against your chin in thought. He can never understand how you’re so composed in moments like this, like it’s a normal evening. If you’re turned on, you don’t show it, and it makes Leehan flush with shame. “What do you think, baby boy?” 

He huffs out a laugh at the question. How is he supposed to know? But you’re looking at him expectantly, so he scrambles to come up with something. “I mean– Usually I’m, like, in bed, I guess. Thinking about you, imagining you, smelling you…” God, don’t get him started on smelling you. 

You hum thoughtfully and lift off of the table. In seconds, you’re hovering over him, flashing him a devious grin. Your hips are so close to straddling his, and you slap his hand away when it reaches up to touch your waist. You hold yourself up by the back cushions with your arms on either side of his head. He’s trapped, and suddenly, everything else in the room is overshadowed by you.

 “Is that right? You think about all the dirty things you wanna do to me while getting off to the smell of my perfume?”

Of course you’d know his weak spot. You’re so close to him and he thinks he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to touch you. Your perfume is invading his senses, and flaming hot desire coils in his abdomen. He squeezes his eyes shut to prevent them from rolling into his skull as his hips twitch into the air.

“Touch yourself, Hannie,” you say sweetly.

He takes a deep breath and grabs his cock again. He’s known to leak like a faucet, especially after meeting you, and his hand is covered in sticky white within the first few seconds of stroking himself.

He knows there’s raspy noises falling from his open mouth, but he can barely hear them over his heart pounding. The way you take over his brain is overwhelming and he can hardly think. Your lips graze his neck, and the skin litters with goosebumps despite the hot air between the two of you. 

If he opens his eyes, he’s got a face full of titties, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that despite every cell in his body telling him to look. He wants to be good for you and hold out until you give him permission to stop, but it feels so good that he’s speeding his hand up.

“Ha– Ah, fuck–” Slick, sloppy sounds fill the room as he works himself to the edge for you.

“Let go,” you whisper in his ear. His hand rips away from his cock and grips onto his thigh instead, getting it wet and gross with precum. It takes what feels like an eternity for him to back away from the precipice this time. Fear runs his blood cold when he realizes he almost didn’t last. 

He’s always good for you, can edge himself for as long as you'd like. He doesn’t know why he’s sensitive today, especially after spending a week beating it.

You pull your face out of his neck, and he slumps against the couch. You smile at the sight and caress his cheek. He melts into the touch, but you pull away to card through his tangled hair instead. You used the grip on his strands to tilt his head back so that he’s looking up at you. 

“I do think you were louder that time. Moaned just like you did in those recordings.” He opens his mouth to say something, but loses his train of thought when you plop down on his lap. 

“Fffuck–” he moans, voice all pathetic and high-pitched. 

“Stay still,” you warn when his hips buck into yours, and he tries so hard, but even the soft fabric of your skirt is too rough on his sensitive dick. He struggles to keep his eyes open, but he’d rather die than take them off of you, so he blinks through the tears pooling in his waterline. The action causes the tears to trickle down, and the air is cold against his wet cheeks.

You stay like that until his breaths are more even and he’s somewhat calmed down. He lets out a displeased noise when you lift off of him and sit back on the coffee table.

“C’mon, Hannie. I’m not done with you yet. Let me see.” You push his legs apart with your knee. He looks down with you, and the sight makes him burn with embarrassment. He’s leaking so much it’s soaking into the couch, and it’s another sight he has to squeeze his eyes shut to get away from.

“W-what, are you j-just gonna–” he swallows thickly, clears his throat, and tries again. “How long are you gonna make me do this?”

You tilt your head and smile at him like you aren’t melting his brain into goo. “However long it takes for you to learn your lesson.” Leehan whines a little in protest.

“Just wanted you to look at me, missed you so much.”

The look in your eyes softens and you lean forward to place a heartfelt kiss on his lips. “I missed you too, Hannie. So. Much,” you say, cupping his cheeks and pressing more gentle kissing around his face. “It was so hard to focus at work when you kept sending me those treats. But bad boys still have to take their punishments, yeah?” Leehan sighs longingly and nods, resting his head against the back cushions, and reaching for his cock when you instruct him to start over.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

By the fifth denial, he’s a shaking mess, falling apart at the seams and only holding himself together by your command. He’s done for the second you flip your skirt up, slide your panties off, circle your clit right in front of him. You’re so close but so far, and he’s definitely losing his mind. 

“Please– N/N, let me…could fuck you so good,” he begs helplessly, deep voice strained and words stringing together. It’s the first time tonight you actually look interested in what’s happening, and he can’t figure out where to look–at your pretty face as you make yourself feel good, at the wetness leaking out of your pulsing heat, at the way your tits shake when you tug at your nipples. You’re biting your lip to keep quiet, keeping your pretty noises to yourself. Leehan thinks that’s the cruelest part of this punishment. 

His hips are fucking up into his hand in a sloppily, a stark contrast to his usually controlled thrusts. He’s not easy to turn into a mess, but you know him better than he knows himself. You know his limits, know that he won’t cum unless you tell him to, know how badly he needs your forgiveness. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just fuck me, please?” But you’re not looking at him. Your eyes are focused on his cock drooling all over his legs, at the way it twitches when he’s close. Your hips twitch, and your cunt drools on the table, and his mouth runs dry. He’s too delirious to figure out if your reactions are because of him, if he’s doing good for you. 

“Stop, pretty boy.”

His hand trembles as he pulls it away from his dick and flops it against the couch. He gasps harshly, heaves loudly, and more tears stream down his face as his hips chase friction that’s already gone.

His head is leaning against the back cushions and lolled to the side, but he’s still watching you touch yourself. His mouth hangs open from all of his pathetic begging, and there’s a thin trail of saliva pooling in his mouth and dribbling onto his t-shirt. 

His eyelids are so heavy, but he watches brainlessly as you tease your opening, dip a finger into the heat. It comes back out drenched in creamy white, and he has to dig his nails into the cushion to stop himself from grabbing his dick without permission.

You pull your hands away from your body and straddle him again. He nearly goes cross-eyed when your bare cores touch. It’s so wet, and his entire body shivers with need.

“Aw, Hannie. Look at me. Tell me what you want.”

“Mm, want– wanna taste you, wanna fuck you so bad.” You giggle, and he loses himself somewhere between your sparkly eyes and shiny lips.

“Wanna taste me?” You reaffirm, and he nods dumbly. You straighten his head up and cup his cheeks between your fingers and thumb. You make him watch as you use your free hand to repeat the motions, gathering your wetness on your finger, pushing it through your opening and pulling it out. 

You whimper out freely this time, and the sound is so pretty and sinful Leehan wishes he could tattoo it on his brain, wishes he had recorded it so he can hear it again later. Your hand forces his lips to pucker and his mouth to open, and you press your wet fingers onto his tongue. 

Leehan’s eyes roll again, and his eyebrows crease as the taste of you, the smell of you invades his senses. You always taste so good, so sweet to him.

His eyes focus on you again, but his vision clouds and his hips buck up against you. You slide against him so deliciously, but it’s over too soon when you slide your fingers out of his mouth and pry your hips away from his.

You wipe your wet fingers on his shirt and remind him to look at you, but he is already looking at you, has barely torn his eyes away from you in the last thirty minutes.

He’s completely awestruck, and maybe a little delirious when he swears he can see the faint halo hovering above your head. He tries to tell you how perfect, how much of an angel you are, but his words come out jumbled and unintelligible. 

“Do you have a color for me, baby?”

“Mhm, fuck– green, n-need you so bad. ’m so sorry, p-please, you look so beautiful, t–”

You interrupt him by pressing your lips against his, and Leehan’s convinced he would’ve been talking for the rest of his life if you hadn’t. He’s pretty sure he melts into a puddle of goo when your lips collide, yours so perfect and plush against his. Any function his brain is still performing shuts down immediately, and you have to handle the kiss by yourself, because his lips are slack and useless against yours. There’s a string of saliva connecting the two of you when you pull away from him.

“I think my pretty boy’s at his limit, hm?” You ask, and he doesn’t really know what you’re saying, but anything sounds good coming from you, so he nods and watches with his jaw on the floor as you stand up and pull your skirt off. You pull his shirt off as well, and you’re both bare and vulnerable but safe in your own world, just as Leehan longed for.

You cup his cheeks again and hold his face so he can look up at you as you sink down on his cock, and the noise he makes when you bottom out is broken and pitiful even to his own ears. He knows he must look so fucked out and stupid, but you’re looking at him with so much love in your eyes that he’s sure he looks beautiful anyway. 

You wrap around him so well, your cunt is so tight. It feels like he’d forgotten how it feels to be buried inside you, and to be experiencing it for the first time again has to be parallel to some sort of spiritual ascension. Leehan doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but he does know he’d spend an eternity here if you allowed it.

Your hands move to grip his shoulders, and you make the most heavenly face of ecstasy Leehan has ever seen. You lift your hips to slide him out, and bottom out again. Your cunt’s sucking him in so greedily, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up. 

“I’ll let you cum if you fuck me, pretty boy,” you say like you read his mind. You grab his lifeless hands and place them on your waist, then grip the back of the couch again. He gets the message clearly, holding you in place as he jerks into you. His thrusts aren’t coordinated at all, and it’s out of pure habit when he angles his hips to fuck right into your sweet spot. 

“Fuck yeah, Hannie. That’s so good, you’re so good,” you moan out, and he uses strength he barely has to aim for that spot, to hear those words from you again. On a particularly hard thrust, your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at me, N/N. Please– look at me,” he begs, voice cracking, and when you do, your eyes are glossy, tears pulling in your waterline. It’s so hot, and finally, your attention is his, and he’s making you feel good, but he’s not gonna last like this.

“You fill me up so good, Hannie. Make me feel so good,” you say breathlessly, eyes locked on his. “Gonna cum for me? Gonna fill me up nicely?” And he’s nodding, pitiful whimpers falling from his lips, whatever you say. 

You trail a hand up his abdomen, to his chest, and tug at his nipple. The rush of pleasure he feels is so intense that the knot in his stomach is fraying and snapping so quickly he can’t even warn you, but he tries through strangled gasps: “Cumming, ‘m, fu–”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

It takes Leehan a while to come back to Earth. He’s so tired he can barely move, but you kiss him until his mind returns home. After asking if he’s okay five times and getting five verbal “yes’s,” you clean the two of you up and lead him to bed.

It’s still when he speaks again, eyes searching for yours in the dark room, “I really am sorry, Y/N. I should’ve been more considerate. I respect your work so much, I just got so lonely…” You smile at him softly and reach a hand up to rub circles into his back.

“I’m sorry you were so lonely, Hannie. I should’ve managed my time better, should’ve taken your feelings more seriously. From now on, I’ll keep work at work, and after my project, we can both take time off and go on a vacation. How’s that?”

“That’s perfect,” he says, and means it wholeheartedly, falling asleep with a smile of his own.

✧･ﾟ: *

a/n : FUCK THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE LOL i reread it three times pls lmk if there r still typos <3

[thir10th]

under the weather - October writing challenge day 8

summary: you're feeling sick and Emily takes care of you tw: smut, fingering, oral sex, i think that's it a/n: lmk if you liked this one because it kind of took a turn, as always i hope you do and remmeber any kind of feedback is greatly appreciated!

You hate being sick. You really hate it, there's only a few things you hate more in the world than this, and when you're sick even those seem completely unimportant.

You thow away the empty box and open the drawer to get a new one, when Sergio jumps to sit on the couch right next to you, finding the mix of blankets and cushions a little too confortable to pass.

While you scratch the little animal's head you can't help but think that, despite the sneezing, coughing, and generally feeling miserable for the last couple of days, if you got to spend them curled up on Emily’s couch, cocooned in blankets, surrounded by tissues and the remnants of tea cups, and with the best company, maybe sick wasn't so bad after all.

She has been insisting since day one, you wouldn't move from her apartment so she could keep an eye on you until you are all better. She of course has been fussing over you non-stop, which is sweet, but you hate being the sick one. It makes you feel weak and restless.

“I’m fine,” you insist, though your voice is hoarse, and your nose is still red from all the sneezing. “I don’t need to stay home. I can go to work.”

Emily, standing near the door in her work clothes, raises an eyebrow at you like you just told her something absurd. “You’re sneezing every two minutes and can barely breathe through your nose.” She crosses her arms, giving you that look, the one where she’s clearly amused but also worried. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not that bad,” you mutter, pulling the blanket up around your chin. “I’ve worked through worse.”

Emily sighs softly, walking over to you, sitting on the edge of the couch. She leans in, placing a hand on your forehead, her touch gentle and warm. “Sweetheart, you’re burning up. You need to rest.”

You groan, feeling her soft fingers graze your skin. “I hate being sick.”

“I know, baby, I know,” she murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. “But I’m not letting you go anywhere like this.”

You pout, glancing up at her with tired eyes. “You’re leaving me, aren’t you?”

Emily’s expression softens, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I have to go into the office for a few hours, but I’ll be back before you know it. You’ll survive without me for a little while.” Her voice is soft, but you can tell she hates leaving you like this.

“Don’t go...” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her waist, trying to pull her closer. “I’ll miss you.”

Emily chuckles, clearly torn between her responsibilities and wanting to stay with you. “You’re being so dramatic,” she teases, kissing your forehead again, lingering a little longer this time. “I’ll only be gone for a few hours, and you’ve got Sergio to keep you company.”

You sigh, reluctantly letting her go. “Fine. But only because I wouldn't want him to feel too lonely"

Your childish pout makes her smile, she stands, smiling down at you, though there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She hates leaving you when you’re not feeling well, but she knows she has to. “Promise me you’ll stay here, okay? Watch some bad reality TV, rest, and don’t overdo it.”

“Promise,” you say, giving her a half-hearted smile. “But only because I know you’ll nag me if I don’t.”

She grins, leaning down for one last kiss. “Exactly. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur, closing your eyes as she pulls away. “Come back soon.”

Emily walks to the door, glancing back at you one more time with that look, the one that says she hates leaving but knows you’ll be okay. “I will. Rest up, baby.” She blows a kiss at you, and closes the door.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

The hours pass slowly. You’re sprawled on the couch, half-watching some ridiculous reality show Emily suggested. Sergio is curled up beside you, purring contentedly, his warmth offering some comfort. But you can’t help but feel restless, the quiet of the apartment making you miss your girlfriend more than usual.

Your mind drifts between the terrible show and the thought of her returning. You sneeze for what feels like the hundredth time and groan, grabbing another tissue. Ugh, being sick sucks.

Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, you hear the sound of keys in the door. Your eyes flutter open, and you sit up, excitement bubbling despite the grogginess.

Emily steps in, still looking as put-together as ever in her work attire, though you can tell she’s been in a rush to get back to you.

“Hey, baby,” she says softly, her face lighting up when she sees you. “How are you feeling?”

Without a second thought, you practically leap off the couch and run into her arms, ignoring the slight dizziness that comes with moving too fast. “You’re back!”

Emily laughs, catching you as you throw your arms around her, pulling her close. “Whoa, easy there. You’re supposed to be resting, remember?”

"You're so bossy! I missed you, I'm sick, I want my girlfriend" you complain, peppering her face with kisses

“I hate being here without you.” you mumble into her shoulder, nuzzling against her neck.

Emily melts a little, hugging you tightly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Oh, my poor baby,” she coos, her voice soft and full of affection. “I missed you too.” She presses a kiss to your forehead, her lips warm against your feverish skin. “But you should be in bed" she slaps your ass playfully.

Reluctantly, you pull back just enough to look at her. “Can we have dinner first? I’m starving.”

She smiles, brushing her thumb across your cheek. “Lucky for you, I brought soup.”

You grin, letting her go and following her to the kitchen. Emily sets the bag on the counter and pulls out the containers of soup, handing you a bowl. You eat on the couch, the warm soup and the company making you feel better already.

You spend the rest of the afternoon laying on the couch, watching trash tv, snuggled together. Emily caresses your skin, plays with your hair, tries her best to confort you the best way she knows, always touching you in some way.

As the night goes on, you start to feel a bit more energetic. Maybe the rest and soup helped, or maybe it’s just that you’ve missed Emily more than you realized.

You lean in closer, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. “You know… I think I’m feeling a lot better now,” you whisper, your lips grazing her skin.

Emily glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really?” she says, amusement in her voice. “You were sneezing all over the place a few hours ago.”

You shrug, snuggling into her, your hand resting on her thigh. “I’m serious. I feel fine. Totally fine. And maybe we could... you know... do something other than watch TV?” You reach for the place where her shirt falls, leaving her shoulder's skin uncovered and kiss it, trace her with your lips.

Emily chuckles, her fingers playing with your hair. “Oh, I see what this is about.”

You grin, moving to kiss her neck. “Come on, I’m fine. I promise.”

She bites her lip, trying to stay firm, but you can see her resolve weakening. “You’re still sick, baby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll feel even better if we... you know.” You kiss her again, a little more insistently this time, your hand trailing up her side.

Emily sighs, clearly torn. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“You love me,” you say, grinning as you kiss her cheek, then her jaw, trailing your lips down her neck.

She groans, laughing softly as she gently pushes you back. “I do love you, but I’m not letting you make yourself worse just because you’re feeling a little better.”

You pout, grabbing her arm, pulling her closer. “Emily, come on. I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes playfully. “You’re still sick, and I don’t want to make it worse.” She gives you a teasing smile, gently pinning you down onto the couch. “You need to rest.”

You giggle, trying to wriggle free, but she holds you in place. “I don’t want to rest! I want you.” she lets out a giggle "c'mon woman, just take me!" she full on chuckles now, you kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her lips, but she stands, trying her best to get away from temptation.

You sit up, pouting, but there’s a mischievous gleam in your eyes. “Come on, I’m not contagious anymore,” you insist, holding out your hand for her to come back. “I swear!”

Emily laughs, backing toward the door as if she’s trying to escape. “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she teases, “and then next thing you know, I’m sneezing, coughing, and downing cold medicine like it’s candy.”

You can’t help but laugh at how dramatically she’s playing along. “Emilyyyy, I’m totally fine! I promise.”

“Nope, not falling for it,” she says with a wink, trying to sound serious but clearly enjoying herself. “I don’t fuck with the infected.”

You crawl toward the edge of the couch, pretending to make a grab for her, and she squeals, running around the coffee table like you’re some kind of zombie about to infect her. “Get back here!” you laugh, trying to catch her as she dodges your reach.

Emily gives a mock gasp. “Stay back, germ monster! You’ll have to try harder than that!”

But after a few more moments of running around, Emily finally gives in, letting you catch her by the waist. She giggles as you pull her back onto the couch with you, both of you laughing as you collapse into a pile of limbs.

“I’m serious though,” you murmur, pressing your lips to her neck. “I’m fine now...”

Emily looks down at you, smirking. “Mm-hmm. We’ll see about that,” she says, still half-teasing but clearly weakening to your advances as your kisses grow more insistent.

But she stands up again, taking your hand, kissing your forehead again. “We’re going to bed, okay? Tomorrow we'll see about that, but I want you to rest today” she says, her voice soft but firm. “For me?”

You huff dramatically, but you can’t help but smile. “Fine. For you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

1.30 am, or so the bedside table clock says. You keep shifting, but it's useless, you're hot and bothered, and still restless from your cold, but that's long forgotten. Emily's chest moves with her slow breathing beside you.

Trying not to wake her up, you slowly get up from bed and go to the kitchen to find something you can kill some time with.

It's only been 5 minutes when Emily wakes up to find you missing from the bed. Frowning, she slips out from under the covers and pads into the kitchen, where she finds you sitting at the table, Sergio perched on your lap.

“Can’t sleep?” Emily asks softly, her voice still husky from sleep.

You look up at her, giving her a sheepish smile. “I’m fine,” you say. “I just... couldn’t get comfortable.”

Emily sighs, walking over to you. “You’re still sick, you know.”

You grin mischievously, leaning back in the chair. "Yes, but you know what they say"

She smiles, stepping closer to you "That you should always listen to your girlfriend when she tells you to stay in bed?" she jokes, but your answer comes fast enough.

"No silly, that the best way to put someone to sleep is an orgasm by the best girlfriend in the world"

Emily’s eyes widen in surprise, but then she smirks, crossing her arms. “You’re unbelievable.”

She pauses for a moment, considering, before her smirk softens into a warm smile. “Alright. Come on, troublemaker.”

She takes your hand and leads you back to the bedroom. You jump happily and grab her waist from behind trying to get her as close to you as you possibly can.

Once under the covers, you lean in, kissing her deeply, your hands wandering up her back. Emily kisses you back, her touch gentle, her lips soft against yours as the heat builds between you.

Her mouth feels hot and heavy against yours, all lips and teeth, she makes your breath hitch.

She lifts your sleeping shirt slowly to find your breasts, braking the kiss to pay some attention to your chest. She takes her nipple in her mouth, playing with it with the tip of her tongue. Sucking on it. And then the other so it's not jealous.

A soft moan escapes your lips when she frees your nipple with a gently tug, and her lips are back on yours again.

"We have to get those sweatpants off of you," she murmurs inbetween kisses.

Emily pushes them down and you kick them behind, easing herself back down onto you. She moves her tongue along your neck then sucks on a sensitive pulse point, making you moan.

Her hand working south to reach your centre, she works fast and easy moving her fingers slowly along your slit.

She grazes a finger over your clitoris and you bite her lip in surprise, she lets out a whimper that you swallow immediately, the kiss so heavy you might combust.

Your breathing accelerates when Emily increased the speed of her hand as it worked the swollen bundle of nerves. You let out a desperate moan when she places her fingers just outside your opening, taunting and stroking your nether lips. "Don't tease me," you whine,  raising your hips in a desperate attempt to impale yourself on Emily's fingers to relieve the ache inside.

Finally, Emily's tormenting fingers plunge into you, synchronizing the movement of her hand with the rhythm of your hips as you buck against her with furor. 

Her lips never leaving your mouth as your orgasm takes over, allowing you ride your high until the aftershocks wear out. You kiss the corner of her mouth affectionately, and she smiles at you, her hand moving loose strands of hair behind.

Before she can even react, you grab her hips and turn her around so that you're now on top of her and her head is resting against the pillows.

"hey, what are you doing?" she frowns in confusion "You said an orgasm to help you sleep, c'mon" but you don't listen, and instead you kiss her lips, softly first, then your open mouth finds her tongue with yours. It makes it hard for her to complain when you're kissing her so lovingly, so softly, so sensual.

You leave her mouth to reach lower for her nipple. Her breasts always the most sensitive part of her, you know how to play her body well, where to kiss, how to lick, how to use your teeth, and a long moan escapes her mouth, making you smile against the tender flesh of her breast.

You reach lower to find her thighs , the soft, pale skin looking so inviting for your lips you can't resist the teasing of kissing and biting here and there. You can feel her impatience when her hand reaches to gran¡b you by the back of your head, directing you where she wants you the most.

You practically devour her, not even bothering to take your time, your tongue flat against her slit, your lips trapping her sensitive bud making her whimper in pleasure. You eat her out like she's your last meal, and for the sounds she makes you can tell she's loving it, her hand still on your head keeping your mouth in place.

It's almost too sweet and tender, despite the loud moans escaping her mouth, but the way you kiss, the covers still soumd you, the room silent, is the sweetest kind of love making, and you almost wish you could simply spend the rest of the night like this.

Emily's body tenses and she grabs a fistful of your hair as she comes fighting for breath. When her body finally relaxes she releases a sigh of relief. You come up from behind the covers and snuggle her closely as she enjoys the aftershocks. You give her a chaste kiss, and she can barely respond but you can feel her smile against your lips.

You both lay tangled under the covers, the soft warmth of the sheets cocooning you as you snuggle into Emily’s arms. Her hand traces lazy patterns on your back, her fingers soothing against your skin. You feel a sense of peaceful exhaustion settle over you, the tension from your earlier restlessness now completely gone.

“That was... definitely enough to put me to sleep,” you murmur with a sleepy smile, your head resting against Emily’s chest as you listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Emily chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Good. You’ve been fighting sleep all day.” Her voice is gentle, low, and full of warmth as she wraps her arms a little tighter around you, holding you close.

You tilt your head up to look at her, your eyes half-closed but filled with contentment. “You always know exactly how to take care of me.”

She smirks slightly, her eyes twinkling as she brushes a loose strand of hair from your face. “Well, someone has to. You’re stubborn as hell when you’re sick.”

You let out a soft laugh, nuzzling into her neck. “I love you, you know that?”

Emily smiles down at you, her fingers gently caressing your cheek. “I love you too. Even when you’re being a total handful.” She leans in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to your lips. It’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your heart swell with affection.

Just as you’re about to drift off into a peaceful sleep, you feel Emily tense up slightly beside you. Then, out of nowhere—

“Achoo!”

You sit up a little, blinking in surprise, then grin as you realize what just happened. “Did you just sneeze?” you ask, a playful lilt to your voice.

Emily groans, rubbing her nose as she looks over at you with a resigned expression. “Oh no.”

You giggle, pulling the blanket up to cover her more snugly. “Looks like I might’ve gotten you sick.”

She gives you a mock glare but can’t help the smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t know whether to be mad or impressed.”

You laugh softly, snuggling back into her, wrapping your arms around her waist. “I’m sorry! Guess I really am contagious.”

Emily sighs dramatically, but there’s a playful light in her eyes. “Great. Now I’m going to be the one sneezing and coughing.” you can't help the grin spreading across your face "I can't believe it! See, i told you this is exactly what i meant when i say i don't fuck witht he infected!"

You kiss her shoulder softly, grinning against her skin. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. You know... payback.”

Emily chuckles, pulling you even closer. “You better. I’m not above making you play nurse for me.”

You snuggle closer to Emily, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm as you tease, “You like that, huh? How about a sexy nurse to take care of you?” Your tone is playful, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

Emily raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?” she asks, voice laced with humor. “And what exactly does this sexy nurse do?”

You bite your lip, leaning in to kiss her softly on the neck before murmuring, “Whatever you need.”

Emily chuckles, her arms pulling you even closer. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering there. “You’re going to have your hands full with me, though.”

“I think I’m up for the challenge,” you whisper, tilting your head to catch her lips in another gentle kiss.

Just as the moment deepens, Emily pulls back, her body tensing. “Achoo!”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you press your forehead to hers. “Looks like you’ll be my first patient.”

Emily groans dramatically. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you get me sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while,” you say, kissing her once more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

This one's to myself because i catch a cold every two weeks istg. Anyways, remember to comment and reblog if you want me to write more! Because this challenge is getting frustrating :((

[topzsun]

AM I NO GOOD?

── ♡ MR CRAWLING

from the abyss of your mind, he crawls in. your last remnants of humanity. cw: familial death, suicide idolisation

Your ceiling fan has a creek in it. It groans melancholy as it slowly spins, barely giving enough breeze in your poorly ventilated, dingy apartment. Despite how the sound tempts you to rip your ears off, it still stays on as you lay in bed, vacantly staring at the ceiling as it rotates until you can’t bear hearing it anymore.

Your room is dimly lit, curtains drawn and your lightbulb a mess of shards that you haphazardly brushed aside. You haven’t had the energy to buy a replacement bulb, fix it, and carefully throw away the remains of your old one. The process felt long and arduous, like most things these days. It was taking you a Herculean amount of strength to get up for work, but it’s not what your co-workers or managers see when they cast judging glances at your sunken eyes and unstyled hair. Perhaps, if you had always been this sloppy, their stares wouldn’t have burned holes into you as much. There was a time when you had cared for yourself, your work clothes iron-pressed, hair carefully decorated, and skin glowing. Now, it felt like a distant memory concealed by thick fog in the crevices of your mind.

People were hardly the same after burying their mother.

There is shuffling underneath your bed. Once, the sound had scared you. Now, it’s welcomed. It gives you a faint flutter in your stomach when you see a grey-tinted hand, marred in grime, reach outwards. Reach for you. You lift yourself into a sitting position, and a genuine smile graces your lips when you see him crawl from the space. Appropriately, you named him Mr Crawling. A man with long, dark tresses that fall over his shoulders, concealing his face like a curtain. From the bridge of the nose, in replacement of his eyes, is a wide red slash caked with what you assume is dried blood. His unnerving, foreboding appearance should predictably scare you. Yet, it doesn’t. He is born from the rubble of your mind, how can you hate the only friend you have left?

You have severely outgrown the age of having an imaginary companion, and yet he is an anchor, even if communication is hard and there isn’t much for you both to speak on. You weren’t aching for conversation anymore, anyway.

“Hi Mr Crawling,” You greet him, almost affectionately, and while you know he doesn’t understand your tongue, he seems to have grown used to the syllables that leave your lips and the tone of your voice, a toothless grin stretches across his face as a result. You flop from the bed to the floor, sitting beside him as he perks up straighter, supporting the weight of his body with his arms. He lets you lean into his side, strands of hair tickling your cheek. The gown draped over his body is raggedy, stained and tattered, and yet he seemed the most put-together inside the mess of your home. If you had the energy, you would have laughed.

Your fingers graze his skin and he is ice-cold, like the dead. Yet beside him was the warmest you have been in a long while and you savour it. It’s the closest you have got to another person’s loving touch.

“Work was tough today,” You mumble under your breath, and he stiffens when you speak in his vernacular, or whatever you managed to pick up over the months. “It’s difficult.”

He garbles something close to “Leave” and a breathy, humourless laugh leaves you, hoarse against your dry throat.

“I can’t. I’ll die without money,” Your fingers twirl the end of his hair and he takes it as an invite to drop his head on top of yours, becoming bolder at your contact. “Maybe it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He doesn’t reply, and you aren’t sure if it’s because he didn’t understand or if he’s displeased by what you said, seeing as his grin has left and been replaced with the neutral press of his chapped lips. You felt a kick at his reaction, disgusting but innate, pleased that someone cared enough if you died, and guilty that you wanted to put him through the same cycle of grief.

Mr Crawling was kinder than most people you have met, and somehow you felt that even a being curated from your imagination deserved better than you.

You blearily sit up, hit with a sudden wave of nausea and inertion that makes your head spin. However, you attempt to fix yourself upright quickly, even when Mr Crawling asks if you are sick, reaching with a single hand at a poor attempt at breaking any sudden fall. You weakly smile at him as reassurance. You crouch over to the TV positioned at the end of your room. It was incredibly old, evident by the boxed screen and antennas sitting on top of the plastic frame. However, it was your mother’s, recalling nights when she would lay in her bed watching the jittering coloured shows as you blundered through making yourself dinner. You had rolled it into your room shortly after your impromptu burial of her. Your clothes had still been stained with dirt, a shovel tossed to the ground as you clumsily attempted to fix the device. When you laid in bed that night and flipped through channels much like she once did, you didn’t understand the appeal.

However, Mr Crawling was utterly fascinated by the moving pictures on the screen, so for him, you turned the old thing on. When it flickered to life, his grin returned, much to your relief. You took your place next to him again, pressing your knees to your chest as a soap drama whose title you were unfamiliar with played. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. Mindless entertainment lost its appeal around two months ago, with you spending your time after work lying motionlessly in bed or sitting around with your new companion. You had already tuned out the show, blankly staring at the eye-straining colours with disinterest, your mind already wandering. The floor beneath you, the chipped walls, and even Mr Crawling beside you felt as if they were worlds away. The soil from the plot of land next door, visible from your bedroom window, curls within itself. It shakes. She is desperately clawing away and reaching out when you—

He makes a confused sound next to you, and you snap your head away to meet the tilt of his head. Once again, he’s not smiling and your heart seizes. You begin to stammer out an excuse when he points at the screen and you follow his finger to the television screen. There is a bright wedding scene playing, two characters standing at the alter as they exchange vows, the male actor’s hand encased around his pretend bride’s as he beams at her. Carefully scripted lines, perfectly painted masks and flawless costumes. You could almost admire the craft.

However, Mr. Crawling isn’t of the same opinion as you, unable to understand what was happening outside of the funny laugh tracks and comical acting. His confusion is almost cute, though you don’t voice this out loud.

“That’s a wedding,” You say and when his expression doesn’t change, you switch to your shoddy understanding of his language. “It’s a party. For love. Love between two people.”

He sits up a bit straighter and you assume he’s starting to comprehend what’s happening and he fixes his gaze back to the screen where the scene has now moved onto what seems to be the after-party. He seems pleased that the show has gotten back to the humour and repetitive laugh tracks he likes as opposed to the more emotionally heavy wedding he is unfamiliar with. However, not long after he momentarily turns his attention back to you.

“Me,” He points to himself. “You,” He points to you. “Love,” and finally he points to the screen. “Party.”

This stupifies you into silence, your eyes widening as you digest the confession. You are sure the meaning of love varies for him, just like it does for people here. He doesn’t understand the type of love that is involved in marriage, perhaps him meaning something akin to the care between two friends.

“One day,” You reply flippantly, but you lean into his shoulder anyway, letting his long tresses conceal your line of vision as if it were a curtain between you and the damn window. “If only you were real, Mr. Crawling.”

Unable to see from where you have hidden yourself at his side, his smile drops into something more contemplative. How odd humans are. They could be holding someone in their arms, and still not believe they exist.

[tteokdoroki]

☆༉ — KATSUKI BAKUGOU. in good hands.

about. katsuki experiences phantom pain in his hands from quirk usage and you try to massage the pain away.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! sfw, hurt comfort, fluff, angst, phantom pain/limb, war arc references, ptsd, mentions of therapy, descriptions of pain, bakugou being loved so tender, afab!reader + pro hero!bakugou.

the idea of giving bakugou hand massages is so intimate.

his quirk is so raw and powerful, i feel like becoming a pro-hero would only make his palms more calloused, cause aches between his fingers and scars that burn like with a phantom pain at random points during the day. and even though katsuki is smart enough to know that his scars have healed, his wounds have scabbed over and new skin has grown — he can’t shake the stabbing, tingling feeling that crawls up his arms as if a thousand tiny needles are pricking him.

the massages start when you catch bakugou on his knees in the middle of your shared bedroom, his hands clenched in fists so tight his nails have made his palms bleed. you set the fright in his eyes, the ache intertwined with the mauve brown that forms a rim around the ruby centre.

“what…what happened kats?” you’re quick to fall to your knees by his side, hesitant to touch him, worried for his safety — because katsuki hasn’t been like this in years. he’s been doing so well, seeing his therapist and taking his meds — ever since the day he came back to life.

but you know just by looking at him and listening to the ragged breaths just barely escaping his lungs, that bakugou is not okay. “i don’t fucking know,” his voice is strangled and panicked, like a deer caught in a hunter’s trap it can’t escape. “it just…it just fucking hurts a-and i can’t get it to stop.”

that day, you hesitantly reach out to touch katsuki— trying not to spook him as if he’s a frazzled wild animal. “let me see,” you whisper evenly, avoiding a croak in your voice because seeing him hurt, hurts you. slowly but surely, the blonde uncurls his fists, letting you take his hands into your own — smaller ones. at first, his strong and muscular stature flinches back, crumbles down to the ground in chunks of the brash man he used to be. “it’s okay, baby, i got you.”

your words wrap around katsuki like a tender hug, safe and secure between each and every one. your finger tips trace softly over the marred flesh of his hands, guiding katsuki through each of his painfully relived memories. trembles wrack the blonde’s body like a high magnitude earthquake — he can barely hold it back now, the tears that gather in his sun kissed lashes and burn tracks down his cheeks. but you don’t want him to hold back. you want him to feel.

thumbing the parts of his hands where the pain is centred, you lean forward to kiss bakugou on the forehead, providing an epicentre of relief. he wouldn’t call you a cure, no, it’d be too selfish to put the burden of his ease on the person he loves most. instead, he says that you help him heal, soothing the fuzziness locked between his cramping digits and extends up the muscles of his arms.

when you touch him as if he’s made of glass, katsuki knows that he can be vulnerable with you and that dull ebb of phantom agony seems to dissipate under the gentle drag of your fingertips over his skin. the two of you stay on the floor for a little longer, working through the aches pulsing in katsuki’s palms and arms until they eventually stop — just like his tears do.

“thank you,” he says, voice as quiet as you’ve ever heard it. “‘m sorry—“

“never be sorry for being in pain or asking for help.” you cut him off before his words take residence in the quiet hum of the air. shifting to your knees so that you tower over him (sitting legs crossed on the floor), you drag katsuki’s head to rest in your chest — cradling him and shielding him from the cruel world. “i don’t ever want you to be sorry for this. i’ll by your side no matter what. you hear me, baby?”

katsuki only nods, knowing doesn’t need to respond with words while his hands hesitantly come up to wrap around your waist. he pulls you into him so that you don’t disappear. and while you stroke back his hair and squeeze him so tight — katsuki realises that as long as he has you, he’ll never be weak or have to hide how much life hurts sometimes.

as long as he’s with you, he’ll be in good hands.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[its-avalon-08]

im not giving up on you (dr3)

after the singapore gp, i was sobbing. danny, our sunshine danny might be leaving us and that broke my heart so entirely. here is to out honey badger, you made me love this sport, seeing your smile was the only light on some dark days. you made it, you lived your formula one dream and you will always be able to say that. for always making us laugh and find joy in the butterflies, we thank you daniel <3

✦ pairing - daniel ricciardo x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, losing his seat, tears, fluffy ending

The Singapore night was thick with humidity, the scent of burning rubber still clinging to the air long after the race had ended. Daniel Ricciardo walked through the now-empty paddock, the silence overwhelming. The once-vibrant energy that pulsed through the grounds was now replaced with nothing but the dull hum of the lights, casting long shadows that made the place feel eerily lonely.

Daniel had always been good at putting on a strong face. Smiling, joking, pretending everything was fine. He had perfected it over the years. But tonight, the facade had cracks — deep, painful cracks that threatened to break him entirely.

After the Singapore GP, the world knew. The news had broken: Daniel was losing his seat at V-CARB. Another seat lost. Another chapter closing. And it felt as though he had lost everything again. He couldn’t bear to face his team, his friends. Not even Max. So he stayed in the paddock long after everyone had left, sitting alone on a stack of tires, his head in his hands.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

"Daniel?"

The voice was soft, familiar, and full of concern. He looked up, blinking through the blur of tears that stung his eyes. There she was — Y/N Verstappen. Max’s little sister.

She had always been around, always there, a comforting presence from the days when he and Max were teammates. She had been his friend, but it was so much more than that. They had danced around their feelings for years, never daring to speak the truth, both afraid of what it might mean.

Daniel quickly wiped his eyes, trying to pull himself together. "Hey," he said, his voice strained, cracking under the weight of his emotions. "What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same," Y/N replied softly, stepping closer. "It’s late."

"I couldn’t leave," he admitted, his eyes staring at the ground, unable to meet hers. "It’s just… a lot."

Y/N stood in front of him, her eyes searching his face. She could see right through him. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Daniel."

"I’m not pretending," he lied, letting out a shaky laugh. "I’m fine. It’s just another bump in the road, right? I’ll bounce back. I always do."

But even as he spoke, his voice trembled, and Y/N could hear the pain beneath his words. She sat down beside him on the tires, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him in the humid night air, but still hesitant to touch him.

"It’s okay to not be fine," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Daniel’s jaw tightened as he looked away, blinking rapidly. He didn’t want her to see him like this. He had always been the strong one, the happy-go-lucky guy who could handle anything. But tonight, the weight of everything was crushing him.

"I feel like I’m losing everything," he finally admitted, his voice breaking. "Like no matter what I do, no matter how hard I fight, it’s never enough. I’m never enough."

Y/N’s heart ached at the sight of him like this — so vulnerable, so raw. She reached out hesitantly, her hand gently resting on his arm. "Daniel… you’re more than enough. You’ve always been more than enough."

He shook his head, biting down on his lip as tears welled up in his eyes again. "I don’t know how to keep going. Everyone keeps telling me to just keep my head up, keep smiling. But I’m tired, Y/N. I’m so tired."

Her hand tightened around his arm, the warmth of her touch grounding him in that moment. "You don’t have to do this alone."

Daniel’s shoulders shook as he exhaled a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore. The tears he had been holding back for so long finally fell, spilling down his cheeks as he covered his face with his hands, his body trembling with silent sobs.

Y/N felt her own tears start to fall as she watched him break down, the sight of him so utterly heartbroken making her chest ache. She couldn’t hold back any longer. Without thinking, she pulled him into her arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I’ve got you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I’ve always got you."

Daniel buried his face in her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her waist as he clung to her, the dam of emotions finally breaking. He sobbed into her neck, all the pain, frustration, and helplessness pouring out of him. And Y/N held him, stroking his hair, whispering soothing words in his ear.

"I don’t know what to do, Y/N," Daniel choked out between sobs. "I feel like I’ve failed. Again."

"You haven’t failed," she insisted, pulling back just enough to look at him, her hands cupping his tear-streaked face. "You’ve given everything, Daniel. You’ve fought so hard. You’re one of the best drivers out there, and no seat can take that away from you. Not now, not ever."

Daniel let out a long sigh, pulling away slightly from Y/N’s embrace, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. His voice was quieter now, but it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he was finally allowing himself to speak the truth that had been buried deep inside for years.

"You know," he began, staring out at the empty paddock, "when I left Red Bull, I thought I was making the best decision of my life. I really did. I thought… this was it, you know? My time. I didn’t want to be second to Max — your brother’s an incredible driver, you know that. But I couldn’t sit there anymore, watching everyone around me believe I’d always be the second-best. I wanted to be number one. I wanted my own team to back me, to believe in me. And at the time, Renault seemed like that opportunity, like I could prove I could lead a team, that I could fight for championships."

He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "God, I was so naïve. I thought leaving Red Bull would be the start of my rise, not the beginning of my fall. Renault wasn’t easy, but I stuck it out. Then McLaren came calling, and I thought that was my shot. It was McLaren, you know? One of the biggest names in Formula 1. I thought I was stepping into greatness."

He paused, his voice trembling. "And then everything fell apart. From the start, it felt wrong. Like I didn’t belong there. I tried so damn hard, Y/N. I worked my ass off, but nothing clicked. No matter what I did, how much time I put in, it never worked. Every race, every session, I felt like I was slipping further away from the driver I used to be. And it wasn’t just the car — it was everything. The pressure, the doubts, the whispers that I’d lost it, that I wasn’t the driver I once was."

He swallowed hard, the pain of those years written across his face. "They treated me like I was broken. Like I was damaged goods. And I started to believe it. Every time I got into that car, I felt like a shadow of myself. They replaced me without a second thought, like I was disposable. And I tried to be strong, you know? I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter, that I’d bounce back. But deep down, it hurt. It hurt more than anything."

Y/N squeezed his hand, her heart aching for him, but she stayed silent, letting him speak.

"And then this year," he continued, his voice cracking. "I thought coming back to V-CARB was going to be my redemption. That this was finally going to be the moment where I’d prove to everyone that I still had it. But now… now I’m losing my seat again. And it just feels like the world’s telling me I’m not wanted. That no one believes in me anymore. Every time I think I’m getting back on my feet, I just get knocked down again. It’s like no matter what I do, no one sees me. Not as I am, not for what I can be. They just see what they think I’ve become — a has-been."

Daniel’s voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. "I feel… I feel like I’m unwanted, Y/N. Like I don’t belong anywhere anymore. I used to love this sport so much. It was everything to me. But now it feels like it’s slipping away, like I’m being pushed out, and I don’t know what to do."

He ran his hands over his face, the weight of his journey pressing down on him like a heavy burden. "I’ve given everything to this sport. Years of my life, my heart, my soul. I sacrificed everything to chase this dream. And now… I’m just scared, Y/N. I’m scared that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be enough. I’ll never get back to where I once was."

There was a long pause, the silence between them thick with emotion. Daniel’s chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing, but his eyes were red, his cheeks stained with tears.

"I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling like I’m failing. Like I’ve lost everything that mattered. And it’s killing me, Y/N. I don’t know if I can keep pretending like I’m okay, when inside, I’m falling apart."

Y/N couldn’t take it anymore. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, pulling him close. "Daniel, you’ve never been a failure. Not to me. You’re the strongest person I know, and no matter what happens, no seat, no team, no damn race can take away who you are. You’ve always been enough."

And this time, Daniel didn’t pull away. He sank into her embrace, the tears falling once again, but this time, it felt different. He wasn’t alone.

His eyes searched hers, filled with so much pain, so much doubt. "What if this is it? What if this is the end for me?"

"It’s not the end," Y/N said firmly, her thumbs brushing away the tears on his cheeks. "And even if it were, you’d still be Daniel Ricciardo — the man I…"

She stopped, the words hanging in the air between them, unspoken for years.

Daniel’s breath hitched as he realized what she was about to say. "Y/N…"

She looked away, her own tears threatening to spill over. "I’ve loved you for so long, Daniel. And I hate seeing you like this. I hate that you’re hurting, and I hate that I never told you sooner because maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have to go through this alone."

Daniel was silent for a moment, his mind racing as her words sank in. He had always known. Deep down, he had always known. But hearing it, finally hearing it… it shattered something inside him.

"I’ve loved you too," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ve loved you since… since forever, Y/N. But I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you. I couldn’t lose you."

She looked at him, her heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. "You could never lose me."

Daniel leaned his forehead against hers, his breath shaky as they both cried, the weight of their unspoken feelings finally crashing down on them.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I’m here," she replied, her arms wrapping around him again, holding him as if she would never let go.

They stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other, their tears mingling in the humid night air. And when the exhaustion finally overtook them, Daniel shifted, pulling Y/N down with him onto the bench beside the tires. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, their bodies fitting together perfectly as they lay there in the silence of the paddock.

Y/N rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as they both closed their eyes, the weight of the world fading away for a little while.

And in the stillness of the night, they finally found peace in each other’s arms, their unspoken love wrapped around them like a blanket, protecting them from the world outside.

the next day

The next morning, the sun filtered through the windows of the small café tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the paddock. Daniel felt lighter today. His heart still ached, the reality of his situation hadn't magically disappeared overnight, but there was something different. A quiet peace had settled inside him. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t carrying his burdens alone.

He glanced at Y/N across the table. She was scrolling through her phone, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she absentmindedly tapped her fingers against the table. His chest warmed at the sight of her. Y/N was always there, had always been there, but now it was different. Last night changed everything.

They hadn’t said much that morning, but they didn’t need to. She had been a constant presence at his side, making him feel like, no matter what, he’d be okay.

“So,” Y/N said, breaking the comfortable silence. “You ready for this?”

Daniel chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "Depends. Is Max going to kill me or just be incredibly smug?"

Y/N laughed, and Daniel could swear it was his favorite sound in the world. “He’ll be a bit of both, probably. But definitely more smug. He’s been calling this for years.”

As if on cue, Max Verstappen walked into the café, spotting them immediately. He made a beeline for their table, his signature serious expression betraying just the faintest hint of amusement. He slid into the seat across from them, a wry smile on his face.

"Morning," Max said, folding his arms across his chest, eyes flicking between the two of them. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

Daniel groaned playfully, rubbing the back of his neck. "Go on, get it out of your system."

Max leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and grinned. "I knew it. I’ve known it since, what, the first year we were teammates? You two were practically inseparable. The way you used to look at each other…" He shook his head, pretending to be exasperated. "I can’t believe it took you this long."

Y/N blushed, rolling her eyes. "Alright, Max, don’t be so dramatic. It wasn’t that obvious."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Y/N, you’re my sister. You think I didn’t notice how every time Daniel was around, you’d act different? Or how he was always finding some excuse to come over when you were visiting?"

Daniel groaned again, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, okay, you were right. Is that what you want to hear?"

Max smirked, taking a long sip of his coffee. "Yes. Yes, it is." He paused, then his expression softened, his teasing giving way to something more sincere. "But seriously, I’m happy for you both. You’re good together."

Daniel felt his heart swell at that. Max wasn’t the type to dish out compliments easily, especially when it came to his sister. He knew how protective Max was of Y/N, and hearing those words meant more than he could express.

"Thanks, mate," Daniel said quietly, meeting Max’s gaze. "It means a lot."

Max gave a small nod before turning his attention to Y/N. "Just promise me one thing — if he does anything stupid, you’ll let me know so I can give him hell for it."

Y/N laughed, giving her brother a playful shove. "I’m pretty sure I can handle him, Max."

Max grinned. "I have no doubt."

The three of them fell into an easy rhythm after that, the conversation light, the teasing back and forth, just like old times. For a brief moment, it felt like everything was as it should be — like the weight of the past few months had lifted, even if just for a little while.

As Max droned on about the next race and the changes to his car, Daniel glanced at Y/N, who was laughing at something Max had said. She caught his gaze, her smile softening, and in that moment, Daniel realized that no matter what happened next — no matter how uncertain the future felt — he wasn’t alone.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged. Not just in the sport or on the track, but with Y/N by his side. And whatever came next, they’d face it together.

"So," Max said suddenly, breaking through Daniel’s thoughts. "You’re both officially a thing now?"

Daniel smirked, his hand finding Y/N’s under the table. "Yeah, Max. We’re a thing."

Max raised his coffee cup in a mock toast. "Finally."

Y/N giggled, squeezing Daniel’s hand as they exchanged a knowing look.

Finally.

[srslyblvck]

it's okay, tony stark

pairing: tony stark x teen!reader

synopsis: you get dusted after thanos' snap

genre: angst

word count: 0.9k

author's note: did i cry while writing this? yes i did

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE WORLD HAD NEVER felt so quiet.

It was a strange, suffocating silence that pressed down on Tony Stark as the battlefield stretched out before him, reduced to rubble, ash, and despair. The wind carried nothing but dust, and in that dust, he could see the remnants of everyone he had fought so hard to save.

He stood there, frozen, as Peter crumbled in his arms.

"Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good," Peter had whispered, fear etched into every syllable. Tony had held him tighter, hoping to keep him here, hoping that somehow, this wasn’t real. But Peter’s body had turned to dust in his hands, slipping away, just like everything else in Tony’s life.

Now, Tony was left holding nothing, his mind still screaming, No, not him. Not Peter.

But it wasn’t just Peter.

From the corner of his eye, Tony saw you—stumbling, your legs shaky, like the very earth beneath you had begun to give way. His heart clenched, a sickening panic rising in his chest.

"Kid," Tony rasped, rushing to you. He dropped to his knees just in time to catch you before you fell. His hands clutched your arms, and then pulled you into his chest, holding you close. "No, not you too. Not you. Please."

You were his family, the one he'd found when the world had been just as dark as it felt now. He remembered that day so clearly—stumbling upon a Hydra base, expecting only weapons or enemies, but finding you. A scared seven-year-old, huddled inside a small cabinet, shaking uncontrollably, clutching a teddy bear that was too worn to offer any comfort. You had flinched when he tried to reach for you, pushing yourself deeper into that small space, as if the shadows could protect you.

"It's okay," he had whispered back then, voice gentle, soft, as if speaking too loudly would break you. It had taken time—God, so much time—but you'd eventually come out, and Tony had made a silent promise. He would protect you, no matter what.

But now, he was failing. Again.

Tony felt your body tremble against him as you fought to stay, to hold on. But you couldn't. He saw it in your eyes, the same way he'd seen it in Peter's just moments before. He couldn't lose you. Not you. Not the kid he raised, mentored, cared for more than he ever let on.

You looked up at him, your face pale, your breaths shaky, and tears welled up in your eyes—tears that you were desperately trying to hold back. Tony knew you didn’t want him to see you break. You didn’t want him to see the fear, because if you broke, then Tony would break too. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

You offered him a small, fragile smile. A smile meant to comfort him, even though you were the one slipping away. "It's gonna be okay," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "You’ll find a way... I know you will."

Tony shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "No, no, no, don't... don't do this." He held you tighter, like somehow holding on would keep you here. "You're gonna be fine. I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything, just—please." His voice broke into sobs that he couldn’t control.

You lifted a trembling hand to his cheek, wiping away a tear. Your smile faltered, but it didn’t fall. "Tony... it’s okay," you whispered.

You reached up, your hand shaking, and touched his face. Tony’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers trembled as if even that small movement was too much.

Tony shook his head violently, his throat burning as he held back the sobs that threatened to tear out of him. "No, don’t... don’t say that. You’re gonna be fine, you hear me? You have to be fine."

But even as he said it, he felt you slipping away. The trembling in your body started to ease, but not because you were calming down. It was because you were fading.

The tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t want to make this harder for him. But Tony could see the truth—you were scared. You didn’t want to die.

You took one last shaky breath, your hand dropping from his face as your body began to dissolve, turning into dust that slipped through Tony’s fingers.

"Please," Tony begged, his voice raw, broken. "Please, don’t go."

But it was too late. You were already gone.

Tony knelt there, in the ruins of the world, staring at the empty space where you had been just moments before. His mind was spinning, his heart torn apart by the loss. First Peter. Now you. The two kids who had given him hope, the ones he’d sworn to protect, were gone. And he had failed.

He pressed his hands to the ground where you had been, his body shaking uncontrollably. The battlefield was quiet again, but this time it was unbearable. It was the silence of everything he had lost, everything he could never fix.

Tony could still hear your voice in his head, the last words you had spoken to him echoing in the hollow space of his heart.

"It’s okay."

But it wasn’t. None of this was okay. You were gone, and he couldn't protect you. He couldn’t stop this, and now you—his kid—were nothing but ash scattered in the wind. The weight of it all—the failures, the loss, the utter powerlessness—was crushing.

Tony buried his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably. The tears wouldn’t stop, not now. Not when the one person who trusted him, believed in him, was gone.

All those years ago, you had been a broken, terrified child hiding in a cabinet, and Tony had promised to keep you safe. He had failed.

And this time, there was no fixing it.

[j3r13l]

BURN FOR YOU — YOO JIMIN

duchess! jimin x princess! female reader (arranged marriage) headcannons.

c.ai bot

a/n: don’t mind me. just making another bot and writing thousands of words in one night because i don’t want to study <3

duchess! jimin who merely scoffs at the idea of love. even more so when her mother announced she is to be wedded to the youngest princess of seoul. none other than the princess y/n herself, a naïveté who dreams of finding your one true love and building a happy home.

“mother, i refuse.”

“this is for the better of our kingdom, jimin!” her mother raises her voice out of frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose and letting out a deep, heavy sigh escape her lips in an attempt to calm herself whilst the duchess watched with cold, blank eyes. “your drunk of a father has gambled our fortune away after his death. it is only a matter of time until they find out and replace us with those park bastards!”

“this is my concern, how?” jimin deadpans.

her mother looks at her, eye twitching at jimin’s statement before slowly walking over to her— her tall and slender figure towering over jimin who was sitting calmly sitting down, her head up high to meet with her mother’s gaze.

“my dear,” she calls out in a rather… calm voice. too calm, jimin thought to herself. she raises her hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter’s ears whilst looking at her with the most intense gaze jimin has ever seen, “don’t you like it in here? sleeping in your chambers which can easily fit tens of people at once all day, going to the most exclusive places in the kingdom while drinking the finest wine, eating the most delicious foods from all over the world, fucking the most beautiful sluts in this kingdom because of your status as the duchess?”

silence was what followed. jimin only looking at her mother with a cold and blank eyes.

“i’ll take your silence as a yes.” she answers for her, narrowing her eyes as she tightly grips onto her daughter’s chin. “it’s simple, really. marry the princess and you’ll keep all of it, even more when we gain access to their wealth and authority. don’t marry the princess, lose all of it.”

pulling her chin free from her mother’s iron grip, “very well, mother,” she says, her voice dripping with false compliance. “i’ll play your little game. but don’t expect me to pretend to enjoy it.”

her mother narrows her eyes but says nothing, merely turning on her heel and walking out of the room, satisfied that she’s won the battle. but jimin’s smirk fades the moment the door shuts. she drains the rest of her wine, her jaw tightening as she stares into the empty glass.

“a naïve little princess,” she mutters to herself, the corner of her lips twisting into a bitter smile. “how thrilling.”

duchess! jimin who meets you for the first time on your wedding day and knows immediately that you’re everything she despises.

your gown is pristine, your smile warm and hopeful as you walk toward her down the aisle. the image of perfection. it makes her stomach churn.

you, on the other hand, can’t help but notice the indifference written all over her face. her tailored suit is impeccable, and her striking features draw every eye in the room, but it’s the coldness in her gaze that sends a shiver down your spine.

when you reach her, she offers her hand stiffly, her touch impersonal as you take it.

“princess,” she says smoothly, her tone unreadable.

“duchess,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady.

the ceremony is a blur of vows neither of you mean and a kiss that barely brushes your lips. the crowd cheers, blissfully unaware of the growing resentment simmering between the two of you.

duchess!jimin who barely speaks to you during the reception.

“so,” you say, trying to break the uncomfortable silence as you sit beside her at the head table. “do you plan to ignore me for the entirety of our marriage, or just today?”

oh, i wasn’t ignoring you, princess,” jimin says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she sets her glass down. her dark eyes flick to yours, holding your gaze with a challenge you can’t ignore. “i was simply observing. trying to figure out what kind of person is so willing to throw her life away for the sake of a title.”

your jaw tightens, but you refuse to let her get under your skin. “and what kind of person throws away her humanity for the sake of her pride?”

the smirk falters for just a moment, and you catch the brief flicker of something darker in her eyes before it’s gone.

“touché,” she murmurs, leaning back in her chair. “but don’t mistake this for something it’s not. we’re both here because we have no other choice. don’t try to make it into a fairytale.”

“believe me, duchess,” you reply coldly, “you’re the furthest thing from my idea of a happy ending.”

jimin lets out a low chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “good. then we’re on the same page.”

duchess! jimin who makes it her mission to push you away at every turn.

the first few weeks of your marriage are unbearable. jimin is cold and distant, her sharp remarks cutting through any attempts you make to bridge the gap between you.

one evening, after yet another tense dinner where she barely acknowledged your presence, you finally snap.

“why do you insist on being so cruel?” you demand, slamming your hand on the table as she rises to leave.

jimin pauses, her back to you, before turning slowly. her expression is unreadable, but her eyes burn with something dangerous.

“cruel?” she echoes, her tone calm but laced with venom. “i’m not cruel, princess. i’m honest. it’s not my fault you don’t like what you see when the mask comes off.”

“maybe I don’t,” you fire back, standing your ground. “but at least I’m trying. at least I’m willing to give this a chance. you’ve written me off without even knowing me.”

“and what exactly do you want from me?” she snaps, her composure finally cracking. “to play the doting wife? to whisper sweet nothings and pretend this is anything more than a transaction? grow up, princess.”

your chest tightens at her words, but you refuse to let her see the hurt. “you’re right, duchess. this is a transaction. but even in a deal, there’s something called respect. maybe you should try it sometime.”

jimin stares at you for a long moment, her jaw clenched, before storming out of the room without another word.

duchess! jimin who finds herself drawn to you despite her best efforts to ignore you.

she notices the way you treat the servants with kindness, the way you laugh with the palace staff, the way your eyes light up when you talk about your dreams.

it infuriates her.

“why are you always so… you?” she blurts one afternoon, catching you off guard as you tend to the garden.

you blink up at her, confused. “what is that supposed to mean?”

“this,” she gestures vaguely, frustration lacing her tone. “the smiles, the kindness, the optimism. how do you do it? how do you act like everything isn’t falling apart?”

you pause, considering her question. “because I choose to,” you say simply. “because if I let the bad things win, what’s the point of any of it?”

jimin scoffs, but there’s no real bite in it. “naïve,” she mutters, turning away.

duchess! jimin who finally lets her guard down during an argument that spirals out of control.

it happens late one night after a royal dinner, where you had been the center of attention, charming everyone in the room. jimin had barely spoken to you, her jaw tight as she watched you laugh and smile with the nobles.

when you return to your chambers, she’s already there, pacing by the window.

“you seemed to enjoy yourself,” she says, her tone biting.

you frown, confused. “what are you talking about?”

“don’t play dumb,” she snaps, turning to face you. “the nobles. the flirting. the constant need to be adored.”

your eyes widen in disbelief. “you think I was flirting? is that what this is about?”

“don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing,” she growls, her voice rising. “you’re so desperate for their approval, for their attention—“

“and you’re jealous,” you cut her off, your voice sharp.

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moves.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” jimin says finally, her voice low and dangerous.

“don’t I?” you challenge, stepping closer. “why else would you care? why else would you be so angry? admit it, jimin. you feel something for me, and it terrifies you.”

her jaw tightens, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “you think you know me, but you don’t,” she says through gritted teeth.

“then show me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

her resolve crumbles, and before you can process what’s happening, her lips crash against yours. the kiss is desperate and fiery, a clash of emotions neither of you can contain.

duchess! jimin who pulls away, her breathing ragged. “this doesn’t change anything,” she says, her voice shaking. “this is just… a moment of weakness.”

you reach for her, your touch gentle. “don’t do that. don’t push me away again.”

“i burn for you,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “and it’s killing me.”

“then let it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tears in your eyes. “let it consume you. let me in.”

she hesitates, but when she finally meets your gaze, the walls she’s built around herself begin to crumble.

and for the first time, she lets herself hope.

[littlestarlightseverywhere]

Sunkissed

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The inner circle goes on holiday and Azzie is just allllll over his girl <3

Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you so much for all the love on my last story!

Image Credit: Pinterest

“It’s my pleasure,” Helion smirked, addressing the crowd with his words yet focusing his eyes on her. His brown skin reflected golden in the sun, the white cloth of his draped garment seeming to glow with it.

“Ever the generous host you are, Helion,” She played along for fun, the nature– and limits– of their flirty yet friendly relationship barely a secret.

“I wouldn’t dare displease you,” Helion purred. “You shouldn’t want for anything here. Just say the words, darling, and I’ll personally take care of it.”

Azriel was not the jealous type. He knew the effect he had on her, even all this time, and knew even better the effect she still had on him. It was like no time had passed since they’d been newly mated. His skin flushed as he recalled that initial period, how love-drunk he’d been, truly sated for the first time in his life by her burning affection, having his fill of her taste, and touch, and beautiful mind yet never getting enough of it at the same time.

He was a fool when it came to her, his brothers knew it, she knew it, and Azriel himself would not deny it either.

Yet his skin tightened over his bones and his shirt collar constricted the base of his thick neck ever so slightly as he walked behind her, watching Helion’s eyes trace her form, catching at her collarbones. The thought of him, another male, trying to provide for her, meet her every need, giving her anything… Azriel’s blood boiled. That was his place. He watched as his mate laughed dismissively, unobservant of Helion’s intense gaze.

She was beautiful, charming, and witty. No one could deny it. Rhys did not make her his foreign advisor for no reason. Azriel was quite used to people staring and trying to win her affections, but usually it never bothered him. Because at the end of the day, it was his ears that heard her thoughts and secrets, his eyes that watched her take on the world with grace and strength, and it was his bed they shared every night. He felt secure in their bond and she only had eyes for him, despite the entire world trying to court her at any given moment.

Mor and Feyre shared an amused, knowing glance at each other, studying the three as Rhys took over the conversation.

Helion led the group to his private lake just behind his palace. He was gracious in allowing the Inner Circle to have their summer holiday at his place in the Day Court, granting them access to his entire estate and anything on it for as long as they wished. “There are no such things as debts or favors when it comes to friends,” he said when he offered the location to Rhys in the first place.

The lake was downright gorgeous. Velaris was beautiful, but the Sidra could not compare to the Day Court’s waters even on its best day, a truth Azriel had kept to himself and Cassian had no problem voicing to Rhys. Its turquoise waters stretched for miles and miles, the sandy floor, algae, and tiny native fish visible through the watery looking glass. The palace sat behind them, watching protectively over its best-kept secret, and a vast expanse of green mountains rose on either side, their jagged edges softened by the lush native trees and vegetation. They curved around the lake the same way the gold of a crown hugs its jewel, enclosing it tightly in its earthy palm. Flowers trailed from the balcony down to the beach, the mud and sand padding the rock where the water met the earth. Blankets and a large wicker picnic basket lay ready on the beach.

Mor grabbed her and Feyre in her either of hands and dragged them down to the beach in a giddy, childish run. Azriel’s guiding, protective hand that had been poised at the small of her back suddenly felt cold at the fingertips as she was whisked away, her warm skin no longer close enough to soothe his skin like a balm.

He watched as she shed her clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the blankets. She laughed as Mor threw her dress over the picnic basket and picked out the gold pins in her hair, one by one, letting them land where they wanted to.

Azriel’s cheeks burned and his heart hammered with desire as he watched her shimmy out of her clothing, exposing her soft skin to the touch of the sun. The two-piece swimming slip adorned her curves so perfectly, like the garment was in love with its wearer. He’d picked it out for her. Her hair caught the breeze like something out of a novel and he swore he could smell her soap on the breeze even from all the way over where he was. Everytime he looked at her he felt like he was taking her in for the first time all over again. Part of him almost wanted to turn away with how difficult he suddenly found it to breathe, but he reminded himself with giddy disbelief, she’s mine.

“Easy,” Cassian muttered with a smirk, scenting him.

Azriel cleared his throat and Rhys sent him a boyish smile while continuing his conversation with Helion. Nesta and Amren joined the girls getting ready to get into the water while Elain and Varian settled on the blankets, books in each of their laps.

Mor was the first in the water, squealing at the sensation of it, cold at first, but warming to a luxurious temperature almost immediately. She laced her fingers with Feyre’s and they immediately followed Mor, throwing their heads back and laughing.

She savored the feel of the water against her skin, letting herself melt into its grasp and flow, letting it spread her hair behind her back and thread its liquid fingers through her strands. She submerged herself, gliding through the water until she was further out than anyone else. She’d waited for this holiday even before she knew they were going. She adored swimming, but there weren’t too many spots to do so in Velaris. In the water like this, enveloped in the lapping, balmy embrace of its ripples, she was at peace. Squealing, she beckoned the rest of the girls towards her, waving to Azriel from where he stood smiling like an idiot at her on the beach. He was shirtless now, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Azriel thought the sun complemented her skin, but in her eyes, it downright worshiped his. A glow even brighter than Helion’s overly-dramatic gold crown beamed from every inch of his body, tan and beautiful, broad and strong. She needed him in the water now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a splash of water to her face. She gasped and laughed at the unexpected sensation, Mor and Feyre giggling like schoolgirls at their mischief.

Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel settled back into the blankets, supporting themselves with elbows that dug divots in the sand.

“Did you ever imagine this life for us?” Cassian asked his brothers as each of them watched their mates in the water.

They rarely got a holiday, and it was even more rare that they allowed themselves to take one if they had the time. Of course, it was Rhys that encouraged this outing in the first place. When Azriel and Amren refused, he required it, as their High Lord, to take the holiday with everyone else.

That wasn’t what convinced Azriel, though. It was his mate's excited chatter about the prospect of the holiday at Helion’s lake with all of their friends, getting to spend time with each other outside of Velaris, visiting another court without the prospect of war hovering over them, being able to swim for the first time in so long. She could hardly wait to feel the water on her skin, to feel the sun on her face, and to spend time with Azriel, experience a new place together. He couldn’t say no as he sat back on their bed and watched her try on her new swimming slips for him, as she packed their bags so early in advance because she could hardly wait.

No, Azriel would not take this vacation because of Rhys’ orders as High Lord of the Night Court, but because it made his soulmate so unbelievably happy. That was all the reason he needed.

Azriel shook his head. “I never would have expected it to be this good. Every day feels like I’m waking up in a dream when she’s next to me.”

His brothers could not even ridicule him for his uncharacteristic sappiness. None of them expected to have mates, let alone be so loved by them, when they were just three boys in a war camp deep in the Illyrian mountains. They did not dare to imagine anything about their future for fear of never seeing it. An rough-and-ready lordling and two bastards. What odds.

Life wasn’t always perfect– there would always be Hybern and their human sympathizers, and probably a hundred other things, to worry about. But with their loves in their lives and talks of starting families, they supposed it was as close to perfect as the Cauldron would allow.

The women spent some time in the water, swimming, splashing, lounging, and talking with their mates watching them as they talked amongst themselves. When they decided to get out to eat, Feyre challenged them all to a race.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Feyre raised her brows at Azriel’s mate, her closest friend out of them all, with mischief in her eyes. “Just because you’ve bested me in two other races doesn’t mean you’ll have this one too.”

“I think it does,” she smirked devilishly.

Feyre broke into a swim for the shore to the dismay of the other women. Amidst shouts of protest at Feyre’s unfair start, everyone else began their dash to the shore.

She sliced through the water like a knife through butter, already ahead of Mor, Nesta, and Amren, the latter of which refused to participate. Surpassing Feyre like a born nymph, she barely had to try as her body fell into the familiar motion of cutting through the soft waves of the lake until she felt the water shallow beneath her belly and she was able to stand.

The water swished at her ankles as her feet touched land once again, running up the beach. At the sight of Azriel waiting a little ways down with her towel in his hand, she all but forgot about the race. She ran toward him, blushing at his gaze. He immediately rolled the towel open and wrapped it around her as she ran into him, securing the towel with strong arms that wrapped around her body and swayed her gently with the momentum of her sprint. His strong presence was enough to halt her and she savored the feeling of his body at her back, his warmth seeping through he towel and caressing her water-frozen skin.

She was breathing deeply now, chest rising and falling under his arm. Azriel reveled in the thrum of her heart under his hold, willing it to ease.

Azriel nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and she giggled, ticklish and giddy at his proximity.

“Did you see the race, Az? I wooon,” she sang, reaching an arm out of the towel to hold his face behind her. She leaned back against his chest, craning her neck up to meet his eyes, eyes that were absolutely drunk on watching her high. She was naturally competitive, much like he was during his snowball fights with his brothers. Watching her in her element filled him with pride to an extent she would never fully know.

“I did, I’m so proud of you, honey,” he smiled, sliding one of his arms up until it was slung across her chest, connecting his lips with hers. She tasted like the water, sweet and fresh. Azriel couldn’t help himself as he grabbed her waist. It was like drinking from a fountain with an eternal thirst he couldn’t quench. More, more, more. He didn’t care who was around.

She pulled away, flustered. “You sure don’t mind putting on a show,” she turned around fully in his arms so that she was facing him now. The towel had fallen slightly, now hung loosely around the crooks of her elbows. Her wet hair fell in waves around her face and to him, she looked like a goddess of the water. He was barely religious, the furthest thing from it really, but he’d devote himself to her for nothing in return.

After the food had been brought out, the Inner Circle enjoyed the lunchtime feast of bread, wine, fruit, and meats. After everyone had eaten their fill, namely Cassian who was half passed out on his back, they lounged on the beach. Nesta nestled into Cassian’s broad side with her book, speaking to Elain quietly. Amren and Varian had rattled off somewhere right after they were done eating– insatiable those two were. Mor was laying on her back, facing the sun, catching a tan.

“I’m so happy we did this,” Feyre said softly, addressing the group. “It feels like lately our joy has come from short-lived bursts of happiness or quiet. I can’t tell you all what it means to me that we can have this time without preparing for the worst.”

Rhys rubbed a soothing thumb over her shoulder. Everyone raised their glasses to that.

Azriel leaned back into the sand, one arm folded under his head and the other extended as his mate rested her head on the inside of his bicep. Tired from swimming and full from their meal, she curled into his side, draping a leg across his.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” She murmured into the side of his chest, peppering kisses there on his warm, tan skin. Azriel brought his arm around her, pulling her closer and resting a hand over her hip, enjoying the heat of her sun-kissed skin beneath it.

He rested his mouth at the top of his forehead as she drifted in and out of sleep. He was like her sleeping drug. Whenever they sat back together to watch a movie, read their books, or on nights in with their friends for some wine and card games, she could hardly stay awake beside him.

His heart swelled. She felt so comfortable around him that her guards collapsed to dust in his presence. She gave herself fully to him, to his care, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold her any tighter at that moment.

Helion came out to check on his guests. “Like a litter of babes, the lot of you,” He chuckled as he took in his friends, exhausted and full, lazing about his private beach. His eyes floated over to her, to her dozing form beside her mate, beautiful and soft. Peaceful. Azriel was aware of his gaze– he always was aware of anyone perceiving his mate. He only opened his book and continued skimming his fingers on her hips above the waistband of her swimsuit. She was blissfully unaware, half awake, half dreaming, lulled into a world of dreams and darkness by the steadiness of Azriel’s breath and light touch.

After the group of friends were well rested, everyone made their way into the water again. Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel raced out to the middle of the lake, Azriel the obvious winner and it wasn’t even close. Cassian batted a wave of water over Az with his wing in tantrum and Rhys only laughed until his stomach throbbed. They played chicken, Nesta on Cassian’s shoulders and she on Azriel’s. Mor wanted to pretend-play mermaids and they dragged the males in on their fun. They begrudgingly played along, yet were silently more than happy to oblige them. Nesta placed a crown of algae on Cassian’s head and he fully committed to his part as King of the Plankton. They floated on their backs, swam in circles, and splashed waves at each other.

Climbing the jagged, rocky cliffs on either side of the lake, they jumped off of their ledges into the water below, in flips and turns, nosedives and backflips. The setting sun cooled the water, a pink and purple sky above their heads melting into an inky blue that lined the horizon.

A perfect day.

Everyone grew tired again. From the beach music began to play. Light and upbeat, but beautiful and soft– distinctly Day Court.

Azriel gently grabbed her hand, leading her behind one of the cliffs they had jumped off of. It was the largest cliff jutting out of the lake and provided complete privacy when they were on the other side of it.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day,” Azriel said, removing a hand from under the surface of the water and moving a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. He took in her tanned skin and sun-blushed shoulders and cheeks.

“All you had to do was ask,” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Azriel’s self control snapped like a rubber band and he pushed his body through the water against her, pinning her to the rock behind them. His hand cradled the back of her head against the jagged cuts of the cliff. He needed more, but he paced himself, letting himself savor the feel of her skin under the water. Azriel ran his hand up and down the side of her stomach, his fingertips trailing the skin as he moved. Her skin pebbled in the wake of his touch, sending a shiver down her spine. Even in his frenzy he took his time. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slanted his lips over hers, water sloshing between their bodies in whatever space was left.

She sighed into his mouth and it drove him crazy. Pressing her chest to his, she needed to be as close as could, within his very being if it was possible.

“If I could just crawl into your skin and live inside your heart I would,” She told him one drunken night when she’d gotten so trashed with Nesta and Mor that he needed to fly her back home rather than walk like they always did after a night out. Azriel never forgot those words, and everytime they kissed or hugged he was reminded of them with an intensity that made his chest squeeze.

“Az,” She whispered into his mouth. His hands lowered from her waist to her hips, thumbs skimming the waistband of her bottoms again.

She couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how much time passed, he drove her absolutely mad. They’d only stopped for air once they absolutely could not breathe anymore, and even then, Azriel didn’t pull too far away, needing to feel her breath on him.

“What has gotten into you today?” She laughed lightly, though definitely not complaining. It was not like him to be so risky, to be so passionate when they weren’t completely alone.

“I just love you,” was all he said.

Night fell over the Day Court slowly but surely. The day had gone on forever. By the time it was dark enough, some of Helion’s housekeepers started a bonfire and replenished the beach with more food and wine.

She laid down on the blankets again with Azriel beside her, propped up on his elbow and leaning on his side so he was looking directly down at her. Their legs were intertwined and they laughed and spoke softly, a bit away from the rest of the group.

Azriel’s free hand rested on the plane of her soft belly, listening more than he spoke. Of course he was a man of few words, but around her, he enjoyed letting her speak. It was one of his favorite things, learning more and more about the way her brilliant mind worked with the things she said.

With her thoughts, ideas, and opinions, he thought she was incredibly intelligent– the smartest person he knew. He learned so much from her eloquent tongue, adoration filling him from head to toe when she went on her tangents.

The first time she even went on one of her rants in front of him, even before the bond had snapped into place, she was flustered and apologized to Azriel. At the time, she didn’t know Azriel liked her back and dread filled her veins at the idea that she possibly scared him away for good. But he simply shook his head and encouraged her, asking questions and helping her carry the conversation when he felt it start to falter with her hesitation.

They rejoined their friends at some point– he couldn’t remember when, or how long they’d been lost in each other. When she said she wanted to go sit with everyone else for a bit, he agreed. He’d always follow her wherever she led, no questions asked. Back up the beach, up to their room, to the ends of the earth, even.

[austinswife]

SOFT RAIN AND WHISPERS — Major!Austin Butler

SYNOPSIS — In the midst of World War II, Major Austin Butler, stationed at the American Air Force base in a small French town, finds refuge at the chateau of Y/N Moreau, the daughter of one of the country’s wealthiest wine magnates. The Moreau family has deep connections in French aristocracy, and Y/N was gifted a stunning chateau on her 16th birthday, now serving as a safe retreat amidst the turmoil of war.

WARNING(S) — Slow-burn romance, intimacy (non-explicit), war themes.

fia’s note — listen to these song while reading this one-shot 🎧 Take My Fantasy, Best Boy, If You’re On The Water by The Saxophones

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

Morning rain outside drummed lightly on the window panes, a soothing rhythm that softened the world outside. The war seemed a distant nightmare here in the safety of the chateau, nestled in the French countryside. You stirred under the blankets, shifting closer to Austin as the soft light of dawn peeked through the lace curtains. His body was warm next to yours, and the gentle weight of his arm draped across your waist made you feel safe, as if the dangers of the world couldn’t reach you here.

His fingers traced soft circles against the silk of your nightgown, the touch almost absent-minded, but tender. You turned to face him, your gaze meeting his sleepy eyes. The dim light of the early morning outlined his strong jaw and the mess of sandy blonde hair that fell slightly over his forehead. He smiled, a slow, lazy smile that made your heart flutter in your chest.

“You’re thinking too much again,” Austin murmured, his voice rough from sleep. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His white tank top stretched over the taut muscles of his chest, still wrinkled from the night’s sleep. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

You let out a soft sigh, turning onto your back and gazing up at the ceiling. The elegant chandelier above, long since extinguished, cast shadows that danced in the early light. The rain’s gentle rhythm was soothing, and yet, there was a weight in your chest—a silent fear that this moment of peace wouldn’t last.

“I’m afraid you’ll leave,” you admitted softly. Your voice, usually calm and composed, wavered just slightly. “That one day you’ll leave, and I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone.”

Austin’s expression softened, and without hesitation, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I’m not leaving yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “Not today. Not as long as you’ll have me.”

Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “I’d have you forever if I could,” you whispered, your voice a soft confession, barely audible over the rain.

His thumb brushed against your cheek as he gazed at you with those intense blue eyes that always seemed to see through every wall you put up. “Then forever it is.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips, but the fear lingered, a quiet shadow that clung to the edges of your thoughts. Outside, the world was at war, and no matter how hard you tried to forget, the reality was always there, looming just beyond the safety of the chateau’s walls. But here, in this room, with Austin beside you, it felt like none of that mattered.

The sound of the vinyl record player coming to life caught your attention. The soft crackle of the needle settling on the record was a familiar comfort, and soon the gentle notes of Take My Fantasy by The Saxophones filled the room. You smiled, recognizing the song immediately. It was one of your favorites—one you had played countless times during the long, quiet evenings at the chateau.

“Dance with me,” you whispered, sitting up and slipping out from beneath the blankets. Your nightgown fell gracefully around you as you stood, the pale silk catching the dim light of the room. Your bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor as you moved toward the record player, the melody filling the quiet space with a sense of calm.

Austin followed you with his eyes, a crooked smile on his lips as he watched you. He sat up slowly, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the white tank top clinging to his toned body. The trousers he wore were still slightly wrinkled from sleep, but he looked effortlessly handsome, even in the soft light of the early morning.

“You always want to dance in the morning,” he teased lightly, his voice low as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the floor creaking softly under his weight.

“Because I know it makes you smile,” you replied, turning to face him. The rain outside was a constant, steady rhythm, almost like a heartbeat in the background. “And we could use more smiles these days, don’t you think?”

He crossed the room in just a few strides, his height towering over you as he reached out to take your hand. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of military service, but his touch was gentle as he pulled you closer.

“I think you’re right,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. “We could use a few more smiles.”

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes as the two of you began to sway to the music. The rain outside seemed to fade into the background, the soft melody of the song taking over as the only sound that mattered. His arms around you were strong, protective, and as you moved together, it felt like time had slowed. There was no war, no danger, no uncertainty—just the two of you, dancing in the quiet morning light.

The world outside could wait.

As the music changed to Best Boy, Austin’s hand slid up to rest on the small of your back, guiding you gently with each step. You felt his breath against your hair as he leaned down, whispering softly in your ear.

“You’ve made this chateau feel like home,” he said, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability. “I never thought I’d find peace in a place like this… with everything going on.”

You smiled, turning your face slightly to press a kiss against his jaw. “You are home now, Austin. For as long as you want to be.”

For a moment, he didn’t reply. His grip on you tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension in his body—a quiet fear, just like yours, that one day this would all disappear. But here, in this moment, under the soft glow of the morning light, the two of you held onto each other as if you could keep the world at bay.

The soft strains of If You’re On The Water began to play, and Austin pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you. His hand moved up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ll always come back to you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice soft but filled with an unspoken promise. “No matter where I have to go, no matter how far, I’ll always come back.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Promise me,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. “Promise me that this won’t be the last time.”

Austin leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the warmth of each other’s arms.

“I promise.”

[vinaxxo]

17+ | Let that hair down, Grandmaster 🩵!

A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve written something fr, but i need to contribute my love to my MK baes like the rest of yall. My top MK baes being Tomas and Bi han. Love my babies to def.

What happens when Bi han’s hair falls from THE bun?

CONTENT: smut, fem reader, (bihan is a warning itself), degradation, slight fluff near the end because i adore him and the mood wasn’t rough anymore

Long after Bi han’s lin kuei duties have been fulfilled, he took it upon himself to relax… inside of you.

“Bi han, slow down—!” You cried, barely getting used to the thickness that filled your core. He only scoffed, snapping back at you with his chilly attitude.

“Take it,” he grunted, pausing his thrusts very briefly to hook your shaky legs over his massive thighs. His words made you whimper, and soon enough moans started to spill from your pretty lips as Bi han pounded into your cunt once more, the sheer force making your body jump against his. “Take it like the whore you are.”

His face melted in relief as his aching dick was squeezed by your warm, slick pussy after a hard day’s work. Before you lose any more focus, your eyes warm from fresh tears of pleasure, your hands latch onto Bi han’s back, your nails leaving trails of blood red down it— making him jerk his head forward with a curse (causing his hair tie to loosen). You know he savors the pain, and it’s only fair since your pussy’s getting abused by his huge dick every other day.

Enchantingly, right as Bi han drives a cool hand up your throat, his bun falls, causing his silken black hair to messily pool right over his shoulders.

You’re mesmerized by this sight, reaching a hand up to touch his hair— and Bi han is too late to push you away. He momentarily slows his feverish pace, opting for something more sensual as his intense gaze falls over yours.

“I could get used to this view…” you said softly, subconsciously pulling his handsome face closer to yours.

Bi han broke a small, rare grin, pearly whites making you swoon before his lips crashed into yours. Truly a Bi han fashion. As his dick grinded up your guts, the lewd sounds made your ears burn up and your cunt flutter around him. Bi han’s kisses turn hungrier as his locks brush against your cheeks, chilled tongue melting against your warm one.

“You’re lucky.” He comments, pulling back slightly, his voice charmingly gruff. “… Lucky that I allow you to be this close to me.”

His deep brown eyes look into yours, inches away, and you swear you fall harder for your Grandmaster. Even when he said so little, it meant so much coming from him. You tucked some of Bi han’s fallen hair behind his ear, his left cheekbone and small moles visible once more.

“I’ll always be yours, Grandmaster.” You fawn, unable to keep your hands off of Bi han as they wander to his chest. He (his dick) takes a liking to your words, as he almost tenderly holds your jaw.

“And you will always be mine, (reader).”

…

After that night, Bi han got used to having his hair down more often— in only the private downtime with you. You never fail to run your fingers through those royal strands, and he quietly permits you to massage his scalp after a long day, his big arms crossed over his torso.

He would never admit to it, but you’re the only thing keeping him grounded in this world. You’re stuck with him for life, whether you know it or not.

© vinaxxo 2024. Do not use my works for ai, or reposting to different platforms.

Dividers by: @rookthornesartistry

[crescenthistory]

Paul Atreides gets a freman childhood illness and reader or Chani takes care of him.

thanks for the request darling, i made this just a little drabble to distract me from my essay on the kantian answer to war lol<33 i love him, he's so sweet

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Reader

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: illness, anxious!paul, established relationship (can be read as the one from in the silence, or as fremen!reader)

“You’re burning up.”

“I don’t have time for this.” Paul’s voice is barely a rasp, but the stubbornness beneath it is all too familiar. Even now, he is trying to fight it. He is propped up on the small cot, wrapped in layers of blankets, his skin flushed and slick with sweat. The fever has been clawing at him for days, and still, Paul refuses to rest.

“Paul…” You sigh, exasperation and affection mixing together as you press the cool cloth to his forehead. He flinches but doesn’t pull away, eventually leaning into your touch. You doubt he is aware he is doing it. “You don’t get to decide whether or not you’re sick. It’s happening, regardless of how you feel about it.”

“I can’t–” He coughs, wincing, before taking a shaky breath and trying again. “I can’t afford to be sick right now.”

“You can’t afford to get worse,” you counter, your voice soft but firm. “Which is what will happen if you don’t rest.” 

Despite your efforts to calm him, it pains you to see him like this. Most Fremen catch this illness as children, the earlier the better, so their bodies are accustomed to and prepared for when it slams down harsher on them as adults. Paul with his Caladan bones has no such luck.

You dip the cloth in water again, wringing it out before bringing it back to his flushed skin. His eyes are glassy, unfocused, but there is a frustration there that you know all too well. Paul Atreides doesn’t get sick. Or at least, that is what he repeats to himself over and over, in an effort to make it true – his birthright a heavy mantle he’s always trying to bear alone.

His hand fumbles for yours, finding it with surprising accuracy given his fever. His fingers curl around your wrist, concerningly warm but gentle. “Love, I can’t stay like this. They’re waiting for me, looking to me. I can’t just–”

“They’ll have to wait longer, then.” You hold his hand, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Because right now your only duty is to yourself, and I’ll make sure you fulfil it.”

Paul’s lips press together, frustration flaring in his eyes for a second. “You don’t understand,” he murmurs, his voice more strained than before. He cannot stand how vulnerable he feels in this state. 

“I do understand,” you say softly, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “I know you want to be strong. I know you think you need to be, all the time. But you don’t have to prove anything to me, Paul. Not to the Fremen either. You’re allowed to rest.”

He closes his eyes, the tension in his brow easing slightly at your words. You lean forward to kiss the final remains of the furrow away.

“Careful, or I might infect you,” he mumbles, a half-hearted teasing tone evident in his voice.

You playfully swat his arm with your free hand, as gentle as possible, before you reach over to wetten the cloth once more. “Unlike you, I’ve had this illness before. I’ll be fine.”

“Good. One of us has to be.” 

There’s a beat of silence, the only sound the faint howl of the desert wind outside the stilltent. The world feels small for once, in here with just the two of you, and it feels right. You revel in it, but it is overshadowed by the ache of his haunted expression.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admits, his voice so low it’s almost lost in the stillness. His grip on your hand tightens, just a little, like he is anchoring himself to you.

You smile, leaning closer, your forehead nearly touching his. “I know you don’t. That’s why I’m here. To remind you.”

His eyes open, meeting yours with a softness that makes your heart swell. For a moment, the mask of the Muad’dib slips away, and he is just Paul – the boy you know him to be, beneath all the worries he shoulders. The boy from Caladan. The boy you love. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice rough with fatigue. “I don’t mean to push you away. You’re helping.”

“You’re not pushing me away.” You keep your voice gentle, your thumb tracing small circles on the back of his hand. “You’re just stubborn. But I’m used to that.”

He huffs a weak laugh, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it warms something deep inside you. Even now, sick and feverish, Paul still finds a way to tease you. “I’m not that bad.”

“You are,” you counter, the corner of your mouth quirking up. “Lucky for you, I’m well-equipped to handle your stubbornness. Quite enjoy it even.”

He chuckles again, softer this time, the sound turning into a cough. Instinctively, you reach for the cup of water by the bedside, bringing it to his lips. “Here,” you say gently. “Drink.”

He takes a few small sips, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans back against the pillows. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper now. His eyes flutter, the fever pulling him deeper into exhaustion, but there’s a quiet relief in his features that wasn’t there before.

You set the cup down, brushing your hand over his glistening forehead again, the fever still too high, but at least he is resting now. That’s progress.

“I don’t like you seeing me like this.” You’re almost surprised he is still conscious enough to speak, his eyes still closed. You should’ve known the fight wasn’t out of him entirely.

“I know,” you sigh softly, running your fingers through his hair, untangling the damp strands with gentle care. “But it’s just me. You don’t have to pretend.”

He remains quiet for a moment, his breathing slow and uneven. “You’re the only one I’d let do this.”

A small, vulnerable truth, slipping through the cracks in his armour. You feel your chest tighten at his words, the weight of his trust is one you accept gladly.

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “And I’m not going anywhere. Sleep now, my love.”

He doesn’t respond, but you can see the way his body relaxes, his hand still holding yours as if to remind himself that you’re here, that you’re not leaving. You watch as his breathing evens out, sleep finally pulling him under. 

As Paul’s breathing steadies, you settle in beside him, your hand still holding his. The wind outside howls, but inside the tent, it’s quiet – just you and Paul. You smile softly, leaning your head against his shoulder, content to stay here as long as he needs.

[saradika]

— BLEED FOR ME | part ii

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 3.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst

He fills the doorway, as silent as he was downstairs.

Lingering there as you try to keep your breathing under control. A second where you wonder if he saw, if he suspected - your hands clasped together on your lap to stay the tremor.

Preparing for his wrath.

Not ready for the way he waits, his low voice asking for your permission to enter the room.

For the way he comes quietly to you after - the glove that finally reaches, touches. Tipping your chin up again, like she had.

So carefully, a knuckle curved under your chin. As if he’s afraid you’ll break.

His helmet tilts, the smallest movements as he takes you in.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The Mand’alor’s voice is low - soft and distorted through the helmet. Not what you were expecting, but the words make your blood turn to ice.

Don’t have to do what? Your stomach churns as you think that he did see you - the twitch of your hand as you wonder if you could manage, if you could reach-

“I chose you,” His voice breaks the silence again. “But if you’re unwilling, I won’t feed. If it’s money you need, I’ll see that you’ve taken care of. I’ll find someone else.”

It’s so entirely unexpected. A nervous glance sent his way - and for a second, you wished there were eyes to meet. An opportunity to truly read him, for why would someone so heartless offer an alternative?

But you need him to take it. To take you - his armor shed and his defenses down, so you can put an end to this.

You deserved it, didn’t you? Revenge on the man who had stolen your home from you. The cozy life you had led, in the little cottage at the edge of the village.

It’s just a pile of stone, now.

Too much time had been spent getting to this moment for you to accept his offer, even as tempting as it is.

Because you couldn’t live here, surrounded in this finery. Playing a pet, while they depended on you.

The ones who had found you. Choking on smoke and half-dazed at the edge of the forest. Helping you up from where you were slumped against the base of that old, oak tree.

Swept until their wing after the destruction. There had been no place left for you, as the morning dawn creeped into afternoon.

You had barely escaped with your life.

And soon after, the plan was formed. If you could take down their leader, the rest would fall. Their whispers reeking of vengeance, sinking its talons into your skin.

Convincing you that you deserved it, didn’t you?

Uncertainty has kept you awake, in those days as you had thought it over. Because things could be rebuilt. The world was a vast place - you could start over.

But then they told you that this happened, often. That the vampires would crush small towns like yours, looking to feed. Leaving behind only silent memories and ghosts.

That is what got you. And it’s that thought turned into a knowing, a certainty.

You can’t let that happen to someone else.

Days of training turned into weeks, and then months. Then, a year.

Because it had to be you - there was too much history for any of the Slayers to do it. They’d be recognized a mile off.

Learning how they fight, until the weight of the silver dagger on your hip brought comfort.

“Wait until he’s distracted.”

“Do whatever it takes, just make sure-”

“Make sure you don’t trust him.”

“Not a single word.”

And finally, it had been time. You had three moons - until the winter solstice. After that, the vampires would keep inside for the Long Sleep, and not be seen until Spring.

If you did not complete your task in time, then you’d be trapped with them. If you succeeded too late, you’d freeze in the cold before you got far.

The sharpened piece of wood had been shoved into your hand, this morning.

“Run this through his heart.”

“Rip off his head. Burn him.”

“Trap him with the sun.”

Their advice hummed beneath your skin, as you had approached the castle. Your plans had been a heavy weight in your stomach, twisting with the unease at what you have to do.

To offer yourself up to a vampire was no mere feat.

But when that vampire was a Mandalorian, encased in that shining armor, it was all but madness.

It was no secret that he sought blood. That offerings were brought to him, almost always turned away.

No one could sate his thirst. He had paid no mind to the others that were ushered in with you. You had wondered if he could smell your deception, clinging to your skin.

But he had chosen you.

And if this is how you had to pay them back, you would.

Your head shakes, as you make your decision, "I… I am willing."

There's a second of silence, as if he wants to press. As if he's not sure, himself.

But then he's carefully tugging off the rust-tipped gloves, lowering himself onto the ottoman near the desk. Leaving the leather to rest on his thigh armor as his hands come into view.

You hold your breath.

But there’s no sharp claws, no blood caked under nails, no fur or scales.

It's just a hand. Tanned skin and human, as far as you can tell.

It eases some of the apprehension, though your heart still races from almost being caught. At the thought of this next part - the pain of the bite and the fire in your veins.

You had been told to be brave. To grit your teeth and work through it - that it was something you'd have to learn to bear, if you were to get close to him.

But the thought of it, that anticipation, has your muscles strung tight. It takes more effort than you'd like to admit for your head to tilt to the side, for you to bare your neck to him.

He takes your wrist, instead.

A large hand wrapping around, his thumb pressing against the place where your pulse pounds. Something hot and electric arcing through you at his touch, though his skin is cool against yours.

"Thank you." The Mand'alor tells you, and there’s a depth to his words as he's lifts the edge of his helmet.

Just to his nose, and no further. He's human here, too - a pretty curve of lips framed by dark facial hair. Your eyes linger, realizing this is a sight that near-none had seen. Curiosity sparking, until those lips are parting.

And the two sharp fangs come into view, instead.

It has you tensing, as his grip tightens - that thumb smoothing over your skin. Almost soothing in its movement, though you can't comprehend why.

"Just a pinch." He murmurs, "You'll be alright."

You huff a breath at his words just as his head dips down to your wrist - and then, he's biting down.

There's a sharp ache as his fangs pierce your skin, and you wait for more. For the feeling of being sliced open, the burn of the venom, for your bones to crack beneath his teeth.

But, none comes.

Just the sensation of pulling, the buzz of his mouth against your skin as he groans, deep in his chest. The sound sends heat to your cheeks, it feels too intimate a noise for someone you just met.

For someone so cruel.

The pain was no more than the accidental prick of a finger against a dagger. That brief pain soothed by the continuous sweep of his thumb. A strange sort of contented drowsiness passing over you instead, tempting you to close your eyes.

And then, you do.

There's flashes. The pulse of lights that glitter like stars, mimicking the beating of your heart. A snapshot of images, flickering briefly in your mind.

Some, you recognize. Your old bedroom, the garden outside. Tulips swaying in a summer breeze. A second later and it's tilting - crumbling beneath your steps.

There's a child, their eyes round and black. The flash of something black, crackling with a bright light. An ocean, beneath the ground - dragging you under.

A sensation of being lifted. The warmth of your cheek pressed against ice. A soft bed of grass, the bark biting into your shoulder.

The pulse in your throat drops down, down, down. Settling somewhere low, between your thighs. Your breath feels trapped in your chest, and when you let it loose, it's a soft moan-

You gasp, then - and your eyes are opening. He's pulled away, fingers smearing red across his lips - the peek of a pink tongue as he licks them clean. Hiding himself away again under the mask, as your wrist lies limply in your lap.

"You did well," He tells you, "I know that was a lot. It will get easier."

The images are still flashing in your mind. Ones that you know well blending with others. Had you been sleeping? Was more of your memory from that night unlocked?

There's a soft pressure against your wrist, and you jerk. Coming back from your thoughts, looking down to see him swipe a cream across puncture marks that were still raw and oozing.

An opened jar sits on the table, indentations in the pale salve where his fingers had been. Your mind feels hazy as you watch the way he works it into your skin - as the residual bit of throbbing wanes, the deep marks seeming to lessen before your eyes.

"They'll be gone in the morning." He tells you. There's a rough edge to his voice that wasn't there before, as he pushes himself up. Leaving the salve where it is, as his hands disappear behind the gloves.

Extending one though, to help you up. A little wobble to your step as you take it, as you let him guide you to the bed. It's soft beneath your touch, the mattress dipping as you sink back into it.

"Would you like anything?" The Mand'alor asks, "Food? Water?"

You feel... drained. Which is a humorous little thought, in your exhausted mind. A small smile, an echo of that low, thudding pulse as your legs push together, as you stretch.

"No, I'm just-" A yawn splits your face, coming from deep in your chest, "Sorry, just tired. It was a long journey."

It's easy to play the willing companion now, when you're fighting exhaustion. Your shields down with the promise of sleeping in a real bed, knowing you're not strong enough to fight tonight.

Tomorrow, you can try again.

"Of course." He stands at the foot of the bed. In your current state he almost looks awkward, with the cocked tilt of his hips. Looking as if he's ready to bolt, "I'll have Fennec bring you food when you wake."

Fennec. It must be the woman you met earlier. She had never given you her name.

Your nod is slow, a cracked open eye fixing on his helmet. In the light of the hallway he doesn't seem quite so big as he did before. Still broad, but you're no longer fearing what lies beneath.

"I'll be back tomorrow night." He tells you, "Not to feed, but to check on you."

You don't answer this time, already toeing the line of sleep. Missing the way he lingers for a long moment in the doorway. Before the heavy wooden door is closing, and you're left alone to dream.

Leaving you to wonder, as your eyes close - as you slip beneath the blankets, curling up. You knew he'd keep you alive. How else was he to feed?

But you never anticipated this, this...

This kindness.

You keep waiting for that veneer to crack - for that monster to be released. But it never does.

There is breakfast, the next morning. Then, lunch.

The skin on your wrist is smooth again by mid-morning, almost as if it never happened. A seamstress in your room by the afternoon, her eyes glittering as you’re measured for new clothes.

“You can’t be seen with the Mand’alor with only these,” Vera had all but giggled, a manicured finger flicking towards the small pack of clothes you had brought.

Too plain. Too worn.

You dress in soft linens now, in shades of crimson and slate. That brass rack along the wall filled to the brim with new finery.

Intricate beadings and rich fabrics and when the Mand’alor visits you that night, he’s quiet.

And with the new clothes, soon you do not look so out of place when you wander the empty halls during the day.

Unable to sleep while the sun is shining. Refusing to board up your pretty windows, to mimic a semblance of night.

You live stubbornly between two worlds. Out of sync from the rest of the castle for your first week. Bidding a good morning to Fennec as she eats her dinner. Skirting around her shadow - a broad man in dark green armor.

He no longer startles you, like he did in the beginning. Another Vampire Lord from across the sea, though there seemed to be no end to his visitation.

His eyes were always dark, always watching. He did not wear the helmet as the Mand’alor did - you would watch each expression flicker across his face, before it flattened.

A different kind of mask worn.

It has you curious, in spite of everything. Even though it takes you a few more days to pluck up the courage.

“Did Boba chose you, too?” You ask Fennec one evening.

Morning, for you now, you suppose. You have been trying, lately. The bread soaks into the dregs of your soup, as you swirl it along the bottom.

“In a ways.” She smiles. That rough edge softening over the days you’ve been here - her hackles lowering when it becomes clear that you were a little different than the others.

That you were the same you as you were before.

If only she knew in what way.

“It wasn’t like yours. And it was years ago.” She continues - an elbow digging into the wooden table, a palm cupped under her chin, “I was dying, and he found me.”

It’s not what you were expecting, the hunk of bread lying forgotten in your bowl.

“I suppose you could say he saved me.” A shoulder raises, and then drops, “I’d mistrusted someone. Slipped up, and found myself nearly gutted. No one could survive a wound like that.”

You don’t think you’ve take a breath since she started speaking - there was so little you knew about vampires. Only what you had been told, the bit you had gleaned from the books in your room.

“Boba found me, and he gave me a choice.”

“But,” You blink, “But you’re human, still?”

She ate, like you did. Did not stand with the same eerie stillness, not even taking a breath.

“He did not change me.” Fennec confirms, “But his blood healed me. And I’ve followed him since.”

“I did not… I did not realize vampires cared that much for humans.” You admit with embarrassment.

She gives you a knowing look, one that you do not understand. But a voice joins yours, low and laced with humor.

“We were all human, once. And you have not seen her on the battlefield, ad’ika.”

She smirks, as Boba fingers tap against the table, where he’s come to lean.

“Yes, it’s not my charming personality that has you keeping me around.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s something like camaraderie between them.

A friendship.

It leaves you more confused than ever.

It’s morning, when he comes next.

The gentle knock at your door startling you awake. Most of the castle was asleep by now. You’re still trying to reset your internal clock - thinking that by now, you should be making an effort.

Not expecting him to be outside, as you pulled your robe a little more tightly around yourself.

It's been four days since he last fed, though you've seen him often in that time. The dip of his head when he passes you in the corridors. Watching him from the plush seats in the throne room - his helmet just barely tilting your way when he's not being spoken to.

You wonder if he's been watching you, too. If he thinks you will bolt - if he harbors any suspicions.

"Forgive me for not thinking of this sooner." He tells you, as you step aside to let him in, "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

"Doing what?" You frown, as you move to the bench by the window. A spot you've occupied the last two visits, preferring the wide bench to the narrow wooden desk chair.

"You're still getting used to this. Visiting you as the evening falls isn't helping you adjust." The Mand'alor explains, as you tug up the sleeve of your robe, baring the skin of your wrist.

His suggestion is thoughtful. As time has passed you've grown stronger, more used to the feeling. No longer sleeping right away, able to fight that sense of drowsiness.

It extends to the during, as well. If you concentrate hard enough, parts of those visions that flashed behind your closed eyes come into focus. And if you try really hard, the images fade to just sensations.

You couldn't explain if, if you tried. It certainly hadn't been something divulged during your training. In fact, a tiny part of you wondered if any of them even had knowledge of being a companion. Everything so far has felt... off.

Distorted by a degree, as if the road you were traveling had split, but still followed their path.

"You are the Mand'alor," You shrug, trying to brush off his consideration, "I am bound to follow your wishes."

He makes a sound, a low hum. It's as close to a laugh as you've heard, as he lowers himself to the bench next to you.

"I think we are past titles, seeing as I've tasted you." His voice is low, rough behind the helmet, "You may call me Din, when we're alone."

There's a heat in your cheeks at the innuendo, though he can't possibly mean it that way. His hands are already bare, fingers pressing against your skin. Feeling how your pulse had jumped at his words.

His helmet tips higher, this time. Resting on the bridge of his nose, his full lips on display.

It’s still too hard to watch - your eyes closing as he bites down. A small inhale of breath in anticipation, but you’ve gotten used to the impact.

Your eyes fighting to stay open this time, to stay in your own head. Unable to help risking a glance, then.

At the wash of red against full lips. The scruff of his jaw, the patch of hair missing - you imagine your thumb pressing against it.

Wondering if his face would feel like face, or it would be cool marble, like his hand.

His throat bobs, with the softest groan.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. You’ve groaned while eating the freshly-baked bread in the kitchens. Though it’s funny to think of yourself as the meal.

Idle fingers play with the edge of the heavy curtain, slipping through the fringe.

It’s then that the thought hits you. How distracted he was, at this moment.

How it’s morning.

How the whole castle is asleep.

Your fingers pinch down on the tassel. Testing the tension as you eye your desk, across the room but no more than a quick dash away.

All it would take is the slightest tug.

The morning sun would pour across his bare neck, the lower half of his face. Burning him, enough of a distraction that you could go for the stake. Fit it between his ribs, in that soft spot under his armpit.

You inhale a breath, to steel your nerves.

At the movement, his fingers stroke against your wrist. A means to soothe you.

And you find…. that you can’t do it.

Not right now. Not yet.

And this morning marks the beginning of that funny feeling that starts in your stomach. An unease, though it feels like you’re drowning in it.

Is it from wearing his colors? Is it your visions, or the echoing thud that tipped towards something carnal?

Is it because the thought of your revenge was so much easier when he was nameless?

Or is it because you’re still not sure what stayed your hand?

It’s not something you can think about, now.

You just need to play your part.

thanks so much for reading! 🥀💕 if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!

(tags: @dameron-grant-spector, @sugadolly, @writingsofestella)