#turns out bones have pain nerves

[estherlover60]

Crazy thought. What if being aromantic is like being a skeleton. And when you experience romantic attraction it's like gaining muscle, blood, etc. to your body. So a lot of aromantics are fine being a dope skeleton and dont want to be a full fledge body. But what if some, like me, want that addition of the tightening of muscles and the rush of blood when your near someone your romantically attracted to. But you just don't know how romance fricken works so you try and touch others to feel it and it just doesn't feel like how it's supposed to

[dulcento]

# CHEWBACCA ?!

๑ sum. ceo of the HPE ( hairy pussy eaters ) club: TOJI FUSHIGURO

content ∿ warnings◞ fem. reader, established relationship, explicit content, foul language, feminine pet names, cunnilingus, reader’s got a bush ( duh ), dirty talk, one pussy spank, mating press, whore used once

wc. 1k

lola’s ☆ note. …..this was supposed to be a drabble 🌚

“no.”

your denial falls on deaf ears, toji’s stout fingers latching onto your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the couch. “babe!” your pitch heightens as you snap your hardcover book shut, swatting his hand with it. toji flinches, letting go of your hips like they were on fire. “the hell?” he shakes his hand dramatically as if trying to propel the pangs right from his bones.

“hmph, serves you right,” you huff, snootiness lacing your tone, tilting your chin high, determined to maintain some semblance of composure. toji exhales a long-suffering huff, resting his cheek against your outstretched inner thigh, indigo irises squinting up at you. “what’s goin’ on, doll?” he murmurs, his voice low, brimming with curiosity. he knows something’s up. you’re never one to turn down the holy trinity— slurps, suckles, and laps —from the man before you. unless, of course, aunt flo makes her rude appearance. but judging by the lack of deserted dove dark chocolate wrappers and your atypical pout, he’s certain your rejection is rooted entirely in something else.

“nothing’s ‘goin’ on’,” you mimic, deflecting with a biting tone. toji’s scarred lips curl into a smirk, his amusement thinly veiled. “yeah? then why am i still talking to you and not your pussy?” seduction drips from his tongue, his hands mapping out the curve of your waist, settling on the plush swell of your hips. You ignore the shiver whizzing up your spine, swallowing back his effect on you. instead, you spit, “keep trying me, and you won’t talk to my pussy again.” a low chuckle rumbles in his chest, deep and unshaken, as if your feeble attempt at a threat only further serves as entertainment for him.

“oh girl, you wouldn’t last a day without my tongue fucking this perfect pussy,” toji emphasized his assertion with a harsh flick to your clothed bundle of nerves, relishing in your startled gasp. cute. as your eyes begin to settle into a sharp glare, it diminishes as toji inflicts another flick to your steadily erecting pearl. “ah!” you cry, savoring the delicious pain his rough touch imposed on your covered sensitivity. toji’s smirk turns cheshire, gazing upon the desire coating your pupils, turning them glossy.

“now hush, and lemme eat,” toji, with the quickness of flash, rips your lacy thong at the seam, flinging the shredded fabric to the side, exposing your hairy cunt to his starving orbs. wait… hair? his raven brow raises, finger pads tenderly spreading your legs, which have snapped shut like a clam. toji’s blown stare zeros in on your bush, the hairs soaked in your tacky essence, curling slightly.

an inferno spreads across your cheeks as the silence stretches on. and right there, barren to the cool air circulating in the shared living room, is why you turned down toji’s unrelenting advances. any titillating verbiage withers on his tongue, the muscle feeling overgrown, overcoming with the feral need to taste you.

“i… i didn’t get a wax this month,” you confess, embarrassment latching onto your tongue, licking each syllable you utter. “so, i get if you—” a thunderous smack! echoes through the room, your body jolting at the sudden, painful sensation descended upon your throbbing nub. as toji pulls his hand back from your pussy, sticky arousal strings create a lewd connection, locking you together.

“don’t talk, woman,” the heel of toji’s palm grounded deeply into your clit, circular motions urging your pedicured toes to curl in the air. “the only girl that should be talkin’ to me, is this whore of a pussy you got here,” toji lowers his handsome face, eye level to the ‘girl’ in question, “spread her f’me,” his sizable hands cup the bends of your knees, pressing the caps into the perky flesh of your tits, ably folding you like clean sheets.

slicing your digit through the crevice of your pussy, parting your unruly pubes, toji’s warm, moistened tongue darts from between his lips, lapping at the slick woven into your short and curlies. as your honeyed nectar tangos with his taste buds, toji curses under his breath, “fuck,” causing erotic butterflies to flutter in your tummy. “toj, ‘s nasty,” you whine, your hips bucking, clinging onto the subtle tickling of your strands brushing your labia. oh, how you’re an inherent contradiction.

“jus’ how i like your pussy,” toji winks, his tongue slithering from your now clean pubes to your stiff button, circling the bud before engulfing the rigid pearl into his hot cavern. toji’s lips encapsulate your clit, sucking fiercely, as his head moves back and forth, back and forth, back and— “fuck! ngh, hah,” you mewled, your manicured phalanges threading into his dark tresses, shifting his hair away from his forehead.

the sheer intensity of his movements floods you, sending your back arching against the couch cushions. a relentless focus burns brightly in his dilated pupils, leaving not a shred of uncertainty— he is by no means finished with you. toji’s thumbs usurp yours, pulling back the skin of your clit, snapping his tongue against the bundle of nerves in quick succession.

“such a g-good fucking t-tongue, shiiit,” you stutter, your voice trembling with insatiable hunger. toji beams at your praise, driving him to devour you with unabashed urgency. from hasty figure eights being precisely drawn, to eager, desire-filled kisses, no part of your sopping heat is left bare by his unabated lust.

it’s too much— he’s too much. your palm presses upon his damp forehead, a faint, desperate effort to push him away as the blissful coil of your climax tightens in your loins. “haah~ wait… tojiii! don’t—” too late. your needy cries fall into an abyss, toji being too far gone to recognize the way your body convulses, your climax hitting you like a freight train. between your melodic chorus of pornographic music and the soft caress of your pubes on his shaven face, there was no way he was going to stop.

as your pussy flutters, akin to wings on a butterfly, toji swiftly inserts two digits into your rapidly pulsating cunt, reveling in the effect he has on your body. separating his lips from your pearl with a wet pop! toji’s perma-smirk is already etched onto his expression. “keep this pussy hairy for me, doll. it tastes better this way.”

© all rights reserved to dulcento, 2024

[girlkisser13]

diet mountain dew

"you’re no good for me" "but baby, i want you, i want you, i want you"

pairings: klaus mikaelson x human fem!reader

warnings/tags: smut (18+), blood kink, blood sharing, unprotected sex (practice safe sex guys), creampie, needy klaus.

summary: you let klaus feed on you.

you'd expected him to be hungry. you just hadn't realized how ravenous he was, nor what drinking blood did to him.

"f-fuck, ah— c-careful," you gasped.

your voice echoed in the empty room, and his pleasurable grunts echoed with it. it was so dark that you could barely see a thing. you winced, again, from the strange new sensations surging through your body.

"ah— c-careful, klaus, please" you squeaked, it was the only sound that could escape your throat as he clamped your shoulder in his jaw. your neck was soaked, smeared in spit and blood, a leftover gift from when he had searched for the safest spot to drink.

he'd settled on the spot between your collarbone and neck, and there his teeth had sunk in.

with his fangs pierced right down to the bone and his lips bruising your skin, he continued to carefully suck your blood out and into his mouth. it felt like heaven, warm and wet sliding down his throat. to you it was a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.

"a-ah... is—is it, okay?" you whimpered.

klaus let out a low moan in response.

you couldn't move. you were clamped in his jaw, the jaw of a predator designed to keep its prey still, and his body was pinning yours to the cold wood of the floor.

to any passerby you would have looked terrifying. his body was obscured in the dark, appearing as just a hulking, bloody shadow, merging and distorting the outline of your own form; the visage of a monster in the night, consuming the body of a frightened human.

but that wasn't how you saw it. no, you were in the thralls of absolute delight.

one of his hands were on your waist, his fingers carefully drawing you up until you were held taut beneath his body, and the other hand was feverishly groping your tits.

he had torn your dress to feed and then tore a little further, leaving your skin bare right down to your ribs. he was squeezing, stroking, his thumb desperately massaging your nipple. he wanted to hear your whimpers, your soft jolts when he overstimulated that sensitive spot.

you felt him sink down between your legs, his hardened bulge thick and round as it nudged at your bare thigh. he was softly grinding it up against your panties.

you'd never do this, never. this wasn't like you at all. but you were doing it now.

you were mewled as he dry-humped your little body.

your breath was ragged, the soft puffs of condensation from your lips turned a ghostly white by the pale light.

feeding had always been a euphoric experience for him. but now, with you, it had become a full body orgasmic experience, feeding every positive stimulus in his brain and body.

every nerve in his body was on fire in the best way. his body was pulsing, pumping. his arms were covered in goosebumps, his dark hair standing on end, and his cock was painfully erect beneath his pants.

he needed relief. he needed more.

"mmm... mmm," his muffled groans got louder as he continued to feed.

his conscious brain was fighting those deep, vampiric urges, the need to indulge in pleasure no matter the consequences, but his subconcious was primal.

if he had his way he'd drain everything, slowly, all while pumping between your legs into your pretty little cunt, but he couldn't allow that.

you were a sweet, naïve thing, you'd just let him take you up here. your whimpers were heaven, but your softness was too pure for him to fully ruin.

so he forced himself to break a part from you.

he withdrew his fangs and pulled back, revealing the purple, bruised skin of your shoulder. he licked the wound clean before forcing himself away.

"please, please, if you—if you give me your wrist, i—i'll be done, and—"

klaus paused to pant, his lips still stained red. you watched your own blood drip down his chin.

"and, if i could... have you, in another way, it may help to, calm my urges" he said, his voice husky and dark. you watched his eyes glimmer a bright gold. "may i have you?"

"yes," you instinctively blurted, he lunged forward and kissed you. his lips were hard, rough, and you could taste the metallic sting of blood on them. when he pulled back he looked overjoyed.

"good. good. come here, love," he ordered.

you jolted as he dragged your body forward. he carefully tore a hole through your dress and panties with his bare hands.

you shuddered as the cold air hit your bare and slick-coated pussy, but klaus didn't leave you bare for long.

he roughly manhandled you onto the ground before stripping out his suit, allowing his already erect cock to fall down hard on your clit. the sight caused a small, surprised noise to escape your throat, one that he relished.

he was slow, deliberately distracting you with his cock as he raised your wrist to his mouth. he kept you captivated as he carefully slid it inch by inch down your swollen clit, letting you feel every inch.

the pleasure of sinking both his teeth and his cock into you at once was enough to make him physically shake.

with a soft grunt he penetrated both.

your words were turned to gibberish as he pushed his cock in deep, until his pelvis was perfectly squished up against you. the moment your blood hit his throat he started to pump.

you were inside him, and he was inside you. on that filthy, cold floor, you were his.

he started to push his cock in tandem with his teeth.

as his fangs gently shifted beneath the skin, as his lips sucked and bruised, his fat cock gently slipped in and out of your cunt. for such a furious feeder he was a surprisingly gentle lover.

he was terrifyingly strong, that much was clear up close. he bent your thighs until they ached, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he held you in place, and with each push you could feel the power he was holding back.

you felt him pumping, drawing out your precious blood while his cock ravaged you from inside. each delicious slip, each pulsing throb, every time you felt his cock twitching for attention against your creamy walls, it was unbearable.

you were whining, your heavy breathes producing less and less ghostly condensation. klaus was panting furiously with each thrust, his breath condensing like smoke as he huffed through his curled nose. he was lost in the pleasure, the urge, the need.

and between the tightness, the heat, the copious oozing slick squelching and pooling around his bare skin and dripping off his balls as they smacked against your ass, mixed with the sound of you whining and the fresh blood in his body, he couldn't last any longer.

with a single, muffled groan, klaus came inside of you. his blue eyes rolled back and his body began to buck, smacking your hips until they went numb.

just as he felt your hot blood filling his mouth you felt his thick seed pooling and squishing its way into your cunt, filling every available space. it started to seep out as he continued to hump your limp body, now hanging in sweat, hot pearly strings between his pelvis and your inner thighs.

he pumped inside you until he was utterly spent, his own head now hazy and light, and at last he released you. your wrist fell limp to the floor.

klaus coyly wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist before brushing your forehead. "are—are you alright?"

the relief he felt when you shakily nodded was unmatched.

"thank you," he murmured, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "you were... delicious."

[quarterlifekitty]

The guys with a girlfriend who honestly.. kind of scares them

In different ways of course, but there’s still the underlying theme of her being rather unsettling

- @murderkittyz

I want you to know that this has been living in my mind. I love writing reader characters that are weird af and quite honestly unsettling

To be honest, writing Nikolai was really hard for this one, and I’m still not totally satisfied by it. I think he’s too willing to match your freak.

cw: some graphic descriptions of violence (not enacted, just threats/movie scenes etc)

Gaz is freaked out by how much you like the dark. You scare the shit out of him all the time because he’ll come home, thinking you’re not home because no lights are on in the house, and you’re so quiet— he is not proud to admit how many times he’s screamed when you suddenly said hi from a spot in the dark. And how whenever you get up in the middle of the night, you don’t turn the lights on. He asks you why, and you just say you don’t need them. Freaky.

There have been a handful of times where you were truly, extremely angry at Soap. And he almost pissed himself every single time because of how scary you get. Not because you scream or shake or slap his chest or anything, but because you don’t do any of it. Outside, you’re calm, you’re smiling. But it’s how you talk to him like he’s a child. “It’s okay. I’m just very, very angry at you right now”. It puts him on fucking edge. It creates this tension like you’re about to do something, that you’re gonna get back at him somehow in some way he’ll never see coming, but you don’t do anything. Absolutely fries his nerves.

Ghost is scared by how easily you tone switch, partially because he’s not really able to do so. The way you can be talking about someone from the base and say “he’s such a fucking prick bastard. I wanna rip off his balls and shove them down his throat far enough that he chokes”. And then the next day, you’ll greet the same guy like he’s an old friend. Extremely polite, pleasant, happy. It reminds Simon that he only sees the real you because you allow him that privilege.

Price is scared by your good memory. He’s used to being the one who remembers, the one who’s completely on top of things, the one who knows everything needed to know about everyone. But he’ll mention a colleague that you met once, for 10 minutes, years ago and you’ll ask “Is he still with Martha? She wanted to adopt a dog with him, a Siberian husky, and he seemed so scared of the commitment”. That’s scary. Makes him feel like he has a blind spot. Makes him wonder what you remember about him that even he doesn’t recall.

König is a difficult man to disgust and to scare. He’s seen a lot of things, and he himself is rather unsettling. But he’s scared and disgusted by some of your taste in movies. Things with long, painful torture scenes. All of the blood, flaying of skin, needles, ripping bones from flesh. It’s not so much that you enjoy these movies, but how you enjoy them. You lean against him, but not because you’re scared. You laugh in a way that you never do outside of watching a gorey scene, of someone crying on the floor with broken limbs. He shudders to imagine what you’d be like if you had his job.

Nikolai is unsettled by some of the fantasies you share with him, and how you convey them. Not things that you could really enact, just fantasies. “The other day I thought about being a mermaid— and you being a pirate that captured me to cut me up and sell my parts. But when you were about to cut me open you saw my cunt and decided to keep me as a fuckdoll instead, and fingered me right there with the butcher knife still on the table”. And you say it pretty nonchalantly. He’s honored that you trust him with these inner thoughts, and usually they turn him on completely, but it does creep him out just a little.

[girlokwhatever]

strap smut with emily engstler? 👀

*₊˚୧༯.ೃ࿐✩₊˚.⋆☾₊✧ make you feel good,,

emily engstler x fem!reader (18+)

“emily.. that’s like, a lot.”

you express your weariness once you catch sight of the strap sitting beside your girlfriend on the bed. the two of you had been making out for what felt like hours, moaning and whining into each other’s mouths. you’d been sat on her lap, grinding helplessly into her as she guided your hips back and forth.

you decided you’d give in and let her use the strap on you, considering she’s been asking occasionally for the past few weeks. she was never pushy and always patient so you decided to try it out. once you saw it though, your subtle nerves started to grow into something stronger.

“your ex never fucked you? hm?” she attaches her lips to your jaw, kissing along the bone as you whimper shamelessly. you feel her smirk against your skin when you let out a shaky breath, feeling the need to grip onto her shoulders.

“they did but.. it was much smaller,”

she laughs at that, momentarily pausing her attack on your neck. she circles her thumbs on your hip as she pulls you impossibly closer, closing the gap between your lips. her kiss is hot and sloppy, her tongue meshing with your own once she manages to get it between your lips.

your girlfriend sits up, dropping your body onto the bed so you’re laying on your back with her fitting perfectly between your legs. she manages to never break the kiss, even as she lifts your shirt and unclips your bra. holding both your tits in her hand, she pinches just to feel the way your body jolts against hers.

“yeah? i’ll take care of you baby, don’t worry.”

she pulls away from you to strip, quickly tugging her sweatpants and boxer shorts down her legs. your anticipation was growing just by looking at her, watching her thighs slot themselves under your own. she reaches over you to grab the strap and your eyes followed her movements.

fuck, there’s no way that’s fitting inside you.

her fingers could stretch you out like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, effortlessly making you arch your back and moan her name. if that was only two or three fingers, you had no idea how you were going to manage more.

your mind quickly wanders elsewhere at the feeling of emily’s hands on your waist, pulling you further over her thighs. she’s massaging your skin because she knows. she can sense your nerves as if they were her own.

she kisses your collarbone and gently wraps a large hand around your throat. her other hand roams towards your underwear and she rubs two fingers over the dampness forming there. it makes your breath hitch in her ear, encouraging her to apply more pressure. you feel so sensitive to her touch, shamelessly moaning at the feeling of her body surrounding your own.

“you ready baby?” you nod, her hand coming up to cup your face as she kisses you gently.

your underwear is being pulled off your body quickly as emily runs her thumb over your wet folds, pushing between them to thrust a single finger into you. it makes the grip you have on her tighten, needing something to ground yourself due to the overwhelming pleasure.

within seconds she’s adding another finger, making a scissoring motion as she thrusts them into you. your arousal coats both her digits as they continue to split you open. your girlfriend feels intoxicated on the sound of your moans, losing patience as she desperately fights the urge to fuck you senseless.

emily pulls away, rubbing the slick onto the strap and savoring the rest for herself. she guides the silicone through your slick as you watch, propping yourself up on your elbows.

once she’s satisfied, she pushes in slowly, watching the tip of her strap disappear inside your slick walls. it turns her on so fucking much to see your eyes squeeze shut, letting your mouth fall open with a breathless moan. the feeling balances on the line between pain and pleasure as she pushes further into you, legs spread and shaky.

“doing so good baby, halfway there.”

“only halfway?!”

she kisses your worry away, somehow managing to slip the last few inches in before she pulls away. immediately, you moan out a loud ‘fuck’ and dig your nails into her skin. you’ve never felt so full in your life, not even with four of your girlfriends fingers buried deep inside you.

you have to adjust and emily knows that, giving you a few shallow thrusts before deciding you’re ready. her thrusts are quick and deep, both of her hands glued to your waist as she pulls you in. after letting go of her, your hands gravitate to your tits, cupping and supporting them as your head spins.

“you look s’pretty baby, feel good?”

you let out some incoherent mumble, inaudibly babbling about how good you feel and how deep she is. between your moans and her own, she can’t hear you. she dips her head down to yours, grabbing your chin and swiping her lips against your swollen ones.

“speak up,”

“yeah- yes, fuck! it’s so good em.”

“good,”

emily thinks she might finish just looking at you. back arched, eyes watery, fingers gripping the bed sheets as you call out her name. she swears her strap is a real extension of herself, able to feel you squeeze around the silicone. your girlfriend looks down and sees the way your pussy sucks her in, not missing your slick dripping onto the bed.

“wanna know how good you feel, tell me.”

“oh fuucck, s’good. never been fucked s’good before emily- fuck.”

emily leans down, sucking hickeys on your neck and thrusting into you simultaneously. one of her hands finds your clit, rubbing sloppy figure-eights on your throbbing bud. your legs wrap around her as they shake uncontrollably. the pain of being stretched is long forgotten as she hits your g-spot, legs and eyes clamping shut as the feeling in your stomach threatens to tip over the edge.

“gonna fucking cum- please em.”

she says nothing, too focused on making you feel good. when you let out the most pornographic moan either of you have ever heard, she knows you’re finished.

seconds later you’re clawing at her back, crying out obscenities as you cum around her. she slows down her thrusts as you come down from your high completely blissed out. your drop your thighs, already feeling the ache between them from emily’s fast pace.

when she finally pulls out of you, your slick creates strings of arousal between you. she dips her fingers into your slick to taste you; your taste alone is enough to drive her crazy all over again. she refrains though, the sight of you laid flat beneath her a clear sign that you’re fucked out.

“still think it’s too much?”

“shut up.”

*₊˚୧༯.ೃ࿐✩₊˚.⋆☾₊✧

for anon and @foreingersgod my bby 🤭

i hope everyone enjoys this!!

[killerelysia]

Bound by Tears, Held by Love- Solivan Brugmansia x Yan! G.N Reader (Smut!)

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!-

Words: 16000

Genre: Yandere- Reader is same from the Sol series I wrote!!

(Reader is G.N)-(This one-shot is nsfw!)

Summary : After a long day, For some reason, Sol didn't come to class today. You missed him terribly! You meet him again? After a nice bath with him ? Will he you make feel better? <3

TW/CW: Mentions of marking, Manipulation, Slight pet-play, Dirty talks, Yandere Y/n and Solivan Brugmansia , Toxic relationship, Unhealthy relationship, Edging turned overstimulation, Suggestive, Manipulation, obsessive behavior, unhealthy relationships/feelings, Clingy, Manipulation, Jealous, Both Reader and Sol are submissive-dominant at one point each, oral sex, rough handling, and marking/branding with bites. It may also touch on themes of possessiveness, dominance.

In short,

Content Warning: This one-shot will contain explicit sexual themes, graphic descriptions of intimate acts, and strong language. It may not be suitable for all audiences.

Please proceed with caution if these triggers could cause distress. If you experience any discomfort during our exchange, feel free to pause or end the roleplay at your discretion.

EXTRA: I DIDNT WRITE SMUT FOR A LONG TIME ITS SO CRINGE SOBI WANNA DIE

The day had started like any other, but it quickly spiraled into a mess you hadn't expected. Sol wasn’t at university today. You’d noticed right away—the lack of his subtle smiles, the absence of his quiet presence trailing just a little too close for comfort. It wasn’t until you received a text from him, right as you arrived, that the weight of his absence truly hit.

“Busy today. Don’t wait for me. Be good, pumpkin.”

The message had felt colder than usual, even if he added his usual nickname for you. There wasn’t time to dwell on it, though, because Deryl had immediately intercepted you, going on about how you needed to talk to Crowe. Something about sorting things out, making things right. But you couldn’t—didn’t. Crowe was always so understanding, so kind, and deep down, you felt like you didn’t deserve to lean on him anymore.

Instead, you spent time with Hyugo, grateful for the distraction. His bubbly energy kept things light, even as you carried the weight of your emotions silently. He’d thanked you again for helping him keep his family off his back, allowing him to do what he loved without their interference. Hyugo was a good soul, and you were glad you could be there for him. But as the hours passed, he too had to leave, off to his mysterious errands.

This part of lore is locked <3

Alone now, you wandered aimlessly, the campus feeling too big and too empty without Sol. You thought about your friendship with Crowe, about how things had unfolded. You hadn’t meant to hurt Sol, but it was clear now that your closeness with Crowe had struck a nerve. Sol had always been possessive in his quiet, brooding way, and you’d been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice. He will kill him.

If he kills Crowe.

You would kill him.

You felt like a terrible person. Guilty. Torn. You’d never meant to make him jealous or sad, but you were delusional about the whole situation. You’d let your feelings and uncertainties cloud your judgment. And now, you were left with this gnawing ache, the realization that you’d hurt the one person who always tried so hard to be there for you.

The sky opened up, rain pouring down in heavy sheets. At first, you welcomed it—maybe it would cleanse the suffocating guilt weighing on your chest. But then the tears started, mingling with the rain as they slid down your cheeks. The world around you blurred, and you were thankful no one could see you like this.

The rain might have hidden your tears, but it couldn’t hide the pain. Not from yourself.

The rain fell like a curtain of sorrow, soaking through to the bone, but you barely felt it. Each step homeward was heavy, burdened by a tempest within. The air was thick with the smell of rain on pavement, a melancholy symphony of muted taps and sighs. Your clothes clung to your skin, hair plastered against your face, as if the storm itself sought to keep you captive to your despair.

From the shadows, unseen by your drenched and wandering gaze, Crowe lingered. His dark eyes followed your figure, his usual calm replaced by something raw and unspoken. Beside him, Deryl nudged his arm, his voice low and insistent, “Go. Give it to them. Say something.”

Brittney and Jess, ever the voices of gentle encouragement, echoed Deryl’s sentiment. Crowe exhaled, the weight of their words pushing him toward resolve. He took the umbrella in hand, its promise of shelter feeling heavier than its frame. Slowly, he stepped forward, his polished shoes splashing through shallow puddles.

Yet he stopped.

It wasn’t hesitation that froze him, but the sight that awaited him just ahead. You had paused, your head bowed, lashes fluttering closed against the rain’s assault. A moment of peace amidst the chaos. And then, as if conjured by some unspoken wish, there he stood—Sol.

His silhouette emerged from the haze of rain, an umbrella poised like an offering, a silent guardian come to reclaim his place by your side. Your eyes opened, catching sight of him, and Crowe saw it—the transformation. The way your sorrow melted into joy, the way your lips curved into something radiant, unburdened.

A laugh escaped you, light and unrestrained, and before Crowe could comprehend it, you had flung yourself into Sol’s arms. The man caught you as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his embrace firm yet tender, his hand cradling the back of your head as if you were something precious.

Crowe’s breath caught. For a moment, his grip on the umbrella tightened, knuckles pale against its dark handle. But then, as your laughter rang out again, he forced himself to smile. A smile forged from steel, brittle at its edges, but sincere in its core. You were happy. That was enough. It had to be enough.

You were happy with Mr Brugmansia.

Sol’s gaze lifted then, catching sight of Crowe standing just beyond your bubble of bliss. Sol’s eyes were cold, darkened by the storm, and Crowe felt the weight of his disdain like a physical blow. But Crowe, ever the gentleman, merely inclined his head, a gesture of quiet acknowledgment.

Sol, however, looked away, his jaw tight. To him, Crowe was a specter, a name he hated to utter—Ichabod, the shadow that lingered too close to you for comfort. Sol held you tighter, burying his face in your damp hair as if to remind himself, and you, who truly held your heart.

And so, Crowe turned, his shoes splashing once more through the puddles as he retreated into the rain. The umbrella remained unopened in his hand, its purpose unfulfilled. He carried it as a memento of a chance unclaimed, a reminder of the moment he realized the truth.

You were someone else’s.

But as Crowe disappeared into the storm, the sound of your laughter lingered, like the faintest chime of a distant bell. And for that, he smiled once more, his heart both heavy and light.

He was happy, you were..happy.

The rain cascaded around you, creating a private world where the rest of the universe ceased to exist. You squealed in delight, clutching Sol tighter, your wet clothes making the embrace all the more intimate. Sol’s faint smile deepened, though his cheeks flushed a soft pink that reached to the tips of his ears.

“Did you miss me that much?” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers lightly brushing his damp hair from his face. "Of course I missed you! What kind of question is that?" you teased, your tone playful yet edged with sincerity.

Sol’s blush deepened, and he turned his face away, his free hand gripping the umbrella handle tightly. “I... I didn’t mean to stay away. I... If you’re mad, I—” He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly as his gaze found yours again. There was something almost desperate in the way his soft orange eyes searched yours, as though afraid he'd ruined something precious.

“Pumpkin, how... How would I make it up to you?” he asked, the pet name spilling from his lips with a rawness that made your heart flutter.

You couldn’t help it. His flustered expression, his genuine guilt—it was all so endearing. Before he could ramble further, you wrapped your arms around him again, burying your face in his chest. His heart thundered beneath your ear, and you smiled against him.

“You don’t have to make anything up, silly,” you whispered, your voice muffled but laced with affection. Tilting your head up, you pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, lingering just enough to feel him stiffen in surprise. “I’m just so happy to see you, Sol. That’s all that matters.”

The kiss made him freeze for a moment, his wide eyes darting to meet yours. Then, as if the realization of your closeness hit him all at once, he turned away again, his ears burning. “Y-You’re going to kill me,” he muttered, though his lips curved into a shaky smile.

But you weren’t done yet. Your mischievous streak took over, and you decided to lean into his adoration just a little more. With a playful pout, you clasped your hands behind your back and tilted your head, letting the rain streak down your face.

“You know,” you said, your voice teasing, “I could still be mad. Maybe you need to try a little harder to make me forgive you…”

Sol’s eyes snapped back to you, and for a split second, something flickered in his gaze—possessive, intense, and entirely Sol. His blush didn’t fade, but his grip on the umbrella tightened as he leaned slightly closer, his wet hair casting shadows over his face.

“What would it take, pumpkin?” he asked, his voice lower, almost velvety, as if he were daring you to push him further.

Your heart skipped a beat, but instead of backing down, you stepped closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. With a playful laugh, you brushed your fingers against his chest, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, but instead of backing down, you stepped closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. With a playful laugh, you brushed your fingers against his chest, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“Hm… Maybe I’ll tell you if you promise not to disappear on me again,” you said coyly.

Sol’s expression softened, his gaze melting into something utterly smitten. “I promise,” he murmured, the sincerity in his voice making your chest tighten.

For a moment, the rain and the world around you disappeared again, leaving only the two of you standing there, drenched but completely lost in each other. Sol reached out, tucking a strand of wet hair behind your ear, his touch featherlight. His lips parted as though to speak, but instead, he just smiled—soft, adoring, and completely yours.

The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle by the time you and Sol began your walk home together. You clung to him, your arms looped around one of his, leaning so close your head brushed the curve of his neck. Sol stiffened for a moment, his breath hitching audibly, but he didn’t move away. If anything, he seemed to relax into your touch, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the blush creeping up his cheeks.

You could feel his pulse quicken under your cheek, and it made your heart flutter. He liked this—you knew he did. The way his fingers tightened ever so slightly on the umbrella handle gave him away. Sol might have been soft-spoken and shy, but there was no hiding how much he adored you.

“You know…” you began, your voice playful and light as you tilted your head to glance up at him. “You’re really cute when you blush like that.”

Sol’s steps faltered, and he let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I-I’m not…” he murmured, his voice trailing off as he tried to glance at you but failed to meet your gaze. His blush deepened, and he looked away, biting his lip.

You leaned in closer, your cheek brushing against his damp collarbone as you smiled mischievously. “Oh, but you are,” you teased, your voice dropping to a whisper. “And I think you like when I say it.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he let out a shaky breath, his free hand twitching at his side as though he wanted to hold you closer but didn’t quite dare to.

The idea of pushing him further made your heart race, not out of cruelty but because you loved seeing this side of him—the side that was so completely wrapped around you, so utterly devoted and vulnerable. And if you were honest, you liked knowing just how deeply he wanted you, how much he was willing to unravel for you.

“Hey, Sol?” you said suddenly, your voice light and cheerful as though the tension from moments ago had evaporated.

“Hm?” he hummed, glancing at you with those soft, doe-like eyes, still tinted with hesitation.

“Let’s hang out at your place,” you said brightly, tugging on his arm like a child asking for a treat. “We’ve never done that before, right? And it’s only fair since you already know my house so well…”

Your grin widened at the way his eyes widened, his face going from pink to a deep crimson in an instant. He opened his mouth to say something—probably an attempt to deny or explain his little habit of keeping tabs on you—but all that came out was a soft, incoherent sound as he averted his gaze again.

You giggled, delighted by his reaction, and grabbed his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. “It’s fine, Sol,” you said, your voice teasing but reassuring. “I don’t mind. Actually, I think it’s kind of sweet.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. His grip on your hand tightened, as though afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, swinging his hand slightly as you walked. “You care about me so much. I like that about you. You’re always thinking about me, even when I don’t know it.”

His steps slowed, and he glanced at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. For a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he just smiled—a small, soft smile that held a hint of something deeper, something darker.

You felt your heart race, and the realization hit you like a jolt of electricity: you wanted this. You wanted his obsession, his unrelenting need to be near you, to protect you, to make you his. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world.

As you reached the edge of the neighborhood, you tugged on his hand again, pulling him along as you skipped ahead. “Come on, Sol! Don’t look so serious,” you said with a laugh, turning to grin at him. “I’m happy to be with you. Isn’t that enough?”

He blinked, his expression softening as his blush returned. “Y-Yeah,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s more than enough.”

But you could see it in his eyes—the unspoken promise, the depth of his feelings.

Sol wasn’t just happy to be with you; he was complete with you.

You love that about him don't you?

Maybe god loves you to keep out of your delusional thoughts.

Suddenly,

The sound of the car speeding by echoed through the street, its tires splashing through a puddle with reckless abandon. Before you could even react, mud splashed across your clothes, the brown sludge staining your uniform. A scream escaped you, frustration and annoyance bubbling up as you wiped at your drenched clothing.

"FUCK YOU, CAR DRIVER!" you shouted, your voice carrying through the rain, though your words didn’t seem to make any difference to the speeding vehicle.

You huffed, feeling a little defeated, and looked down at your ruined clothes. "Ugh, this was my main one," you muttered to yourself, trying to rub at the stains, but it was no use. Your frustration didn’t last long, though, because Sol was already by your side, his worried gaze soft and focused on you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly concerned, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes that made you pause.

You looked up at him, still damp from the rain and the mud, and his lips were curving into a grin that made you roll your eyes. "What now?" you snapped, shaking your arms in frustration, but it only made him laugh even more.

His laugh was soft and melodic, the kind of sound that made your heart flutter despite the annoyance you were feeling. "You're so cute when you're mad," he said, wiping a tear from his eye as he tried to suppress his laughter.

Your face heated up at his words, and before you could even stop yourself, you let out a loud, flustered kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa that was far too loud for the public setting. You nearly died from embarrassment, the sound escaping your lips before you could catch it.

But before you could even think about what was happening, you found yourself leaping at Sol, your hands cupping his face as you kissed him right in the middle of the street, the rain still coming down around you.

His surprised gasp was the only thing you heard before you melted into him, your lips moving against his with a newfound urgency. The entire world around you disappeared, and all you could think about was him—his warmth, his sweetness, the way he smelled like rain and something uniquely him.

Sol, though still caught off guard, didn't pull away. Instead, he seemed to fall into the kiss with you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you closer. He was blushing furiously, his hands trembling slightly as he held you against him.

"You're so cute…" he muttered between kisses, his voice strained with emotion as he kept his hands tightly on you.

You pulled away for a brief second to catch your breath, your chest heaving as you looked at him. His face was still flushed, but the joy in his eyes made your heart race.

"I can’t help it," you whispered, a little breathless from the kiss. "You're just too cute, Sol."

Sol’s smile was so soft, so genuine, and in that moment....

You both walked into his apartment, the warmth from the inside contrasted sharply with the cold, damp air clinging to your clothes. You could feel the wet fabric clinging to your skin, making you wince slightly, but your attention was focused entirely on Sol. You couldn't help but apologize for the mess you'd made. "I'm sorry about ruining your apartment," you murmured softly, trying to keep your voice light.

Sol looked at you, his expression softening, and with a little tilt of his head, he replied, "It's fine, pumpkin," his voice gentle but filled with warmth. "I’ll make some soup for you. Go take a bath and relax." He paused, clearly concerned for your well-being.

But you shook your head quickly, stubborn as ever. "No, I’m fine. I don’t need it." You huffed, folding your arms in a little pout, looking at him with a half-hearted glare.

Sol raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your refusal. "Are you sure? You’re wet, too." He glanced down at you and then his own drenched clothes, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. "It’s not a good idea to stay like this."

You hesitated for a moment, then an idea popped into your head. Smirking mischievously, you stepped closer to him. "I’m not the only one who’s wet." You tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it just enough to expose the tight muscles beneath.

Sol was caught off guard, stumbling forward slightly as the shirt pulled and he nearly fell into you. His face was suddenly inches from your chest, and his breath hitched, caught in a mix of surprise and something much more heated. You held him close, your arms wrapping around him, the warmth of your body soothing the chill that still lingered on his skin.

He was so cute in that moment, face flushed and body stiff, but still allowing you to hold him. He almost whined, the softness of his voice barely a whisper as he murmured, “Y-You’re… so close…” His chest rose and fell with every shaky breath he took, clearly affected by how close you were.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, feeling a sense of triumph as he melted into your touch. He was usually so calm, so composed, but now, he was so vulnerable. It was almost as if you held the power to break down his walls completely. The way he whimpered, the way his face flushed with embarrassment—he was so cute.

"You're so adorable, Sol," you whispered into his ear, squeezing him tighter. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes fluttered shut, a small, contented sigh escaping his lips. "I… I know," he murmured faintly, his voice soft but full of warmth. "You’re mine…"

You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss his forehead.

You could feel the tension between you and Sol, the air thick with an intensity that was both intoxicating and thrilling. His shyness, his hesitation—everything about him right now was exactly how you wanted him to be. The way he leaned into your touch, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the way his eyes sparkled with confusion and admiration—it was all so perfect. Your heart raced, your thoughts dizzying with the thought of him.

You smiled softly, your gaze locking onto his as you saw the way his pupils dilated, his breath quickening ever so slightly. There was a flicker in his eyes, something almost desperate, and that only made you want to drive him wild with even more affection. You needed to make him fall harder.

Leaning forward, you brushed your lips against his cheek softly, just a light kiss, then moved to his other cheek, and his jaw, kissing him in soft, slow motions, letting the intensity of each kiss linger. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, his pulse quickening in a way that only spurred your actions further.

His breath hitched, a tiny whimper escaping his lips as you pulled away for just a moment. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated with a mixture of longing and hesitation, and you couldn’t help but smile, the thrill of seeing him like this making your heart race.

"I think you like this, don’t you?" you whispered, teasing him as you gently cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingertips. You kissed him again, this time on his lips, more fervently than before. Your lips moved against his with a feverish hunger, wanting to consume every ounce of him.

He couldn’t stop himself from groaning softly into the kiss, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you even closer, his body trembling. His fingers flexed with barely contained desire, but it wasn’t just desire—it was obsession. You could see it in the way his grip tightened, in the way he held onto you like you were the only thing that mattered in this world.

Sol was obsessed—you knew it, and now he was helpless to hide it.

With every kiss you planted on his face, you felt him unravel just a little more. He was no longer the stoic, controlled man you had known. He was yours, body and soul. And you, oh, you were going to make sure he stayed that way.

His face flushed even more, his expression dazed, his eyes half-lidded with a love so deep, it almost seemed like it was suffocating him. His breathing was shallow, and his lips trembled as he tried to form words, but they only came out as a soft, desperate mumble, "Y-You’re... everything. Don’t leave me… please."

Your lips curled into a slow smile, satisfied with how easily he was slipping into your grasp. You kissed him once more, this time lingering on his lips a little longer, before pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. Those eyes—those sweet, heart-shaped eyes—were all for you. Completely for you.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sol,” you murmured against his lips. “You’re mine. And I’ll never let you go. I’ll make sure of that.”

His grip on you tightened, his heart pounding as he pulled you into a desperate kiss once more.

You smiled softly, knowing you had him right where you wanted him—lost in his obsession, lost in you. And there was no going back now.

The bathroom was warm, steam curling in the air and soft droplets of water trickling down from the walls. You sat on the edge of the tub, a towel loosely draped around your body, watching Sol as he leaned back into the shallow water. His hair clung to his forehead, his cheeks faintly pink from the heat, and his shoulders glistened with droplets. For once, the usually put-together Sol looked vulnerable, stripped bare in more ways than one.

Your eyes wandered to his neck—the spot where his choker usually rested. Without it, the faint bruises and marks stood out on his skin Body, and your heart gave a quiet lurch. They were like shadows of something darker, and while you had questions—so many questions—you held them back. Sol was complex, his past layered with secrets, and you knew better than to push. What mattered wasn’t what the bruises meant, but that they were his. They were a part of him, and you adored every piece of Sol, scars and all.

Sol shifted under your gaze, his movements subtle but telling. He had noticed you looking. His fingers flexed against the tub’s edge, his posture tightening slightly as though he were bracing himself. “What?” he murmured, his voice quiet but tinged with nervousness. “You’ve been staring.”

You tilted your head and smiled, your expression soft and reassuring. “Just admiring you,” you said simply, your tone light but warm enough to wash away any tension that might’ve been building.

He huffed, averting his eyes, his face turning red. “Admiring?” He sounded skeptical, almost incredulous. “I look like a mess.”

You stood, your towel swishing softly as you approached the tub. “You always say that,” you teased gently, kneeling beside him. “And yet, somehow, you keep being wrong.”

He didn’t reply, though you caught the way his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. His eyes darted to yours briefly, searching, before quickly looking away again. That was just like him—always reluctant to let you see how much your words affected him.

Your gaze fell to his body again. The bruises were darker up close, scattered unevenly along his skin. Some were fading, others still there, and your heart ached at the thought of what might’ve caused them. But as much as you hated the idea of him being hurt, you refused to let it overshadow the truth: bruises or not, Sol was beautiful. Every mark on his skin, every imperfection, every flaw—they were all his.

Reaching out slowly, you let your fingertips brush against his neck, featherlight. Sol tensed immediately, his eyes snapping to yours in alarm. “What are you—”

You silenced him with a kiss, your lips pressing softly against the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t about stopping his words; it was about showing him that there was nothing to fear. Your lips moved to his cheek, then his jaw, each kiss tender and unhurried. And then, finally, you kissed his neck, right over..

Don't talk about it? It would hurt him.

Sol jolted, a sharp gasp escaping him as his hand flew up to your shoulder, not to push you away but to steady himself. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in shock, and you could feel the way his body trembled slightly under your touch. “W-What are you doing?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, shaky with something that wasn’t quite fear but wasn’t quite anything else either.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kissed another bruise, and then another, your lips trailing softly along his neck. Each time, his reaction was the same—a quiet hitch of breath, a faint shiver, a look in his eyes that was equal parts bewildered and entranced. He didn’t stop you, though. If anything, his grip on your shoulder tightened, as if anchoring himself to you.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, and you smiled. It wasn’t a teasing smile, nor was it one of pity. It was simply you, looking at him with all the warmth and love you could muster. “You’re beautiful, Sol,” you said softly, your voice steady and sincere. “Every part of you.”

His face crumpled slightly, his expression caught between disbelief and something far more vulnerable. “You... don’t care?” he asked, his voice so small it was almost a whisper.

You frowned, tilting your head. “Care about what?”

“The bruises, The-” he said, his hand moving to cover his neck instinctively. “They’re ugly, aren’t they? They make me look...”

“Human,” you finished for him, cutting off whatever self-deprecating thought was about to leave his lips. You reached out, gently prying his hand away from his neck and holding it in yours. “They make you look human. And I love that. I love you. Bruises, scars, everything. It's you Sol."

He stared at you, his eyes wide and glassy, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Then, slowly, his lips curved into the faintest smile—a real one, not the awkward, forced grins he sometimes used to deflect. This smile was soft, genuine, and so filled with emotion that it made your chest ache.

“You’re... unbelievable,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He shook his head, his wet hair clinging to his forehead, and let out a soft laugh. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” you asked, your tone playful as you leaned in closer.

“Make me fall for you all over again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him, your chest swelling with so much love it felt like it might burst. Then, without a word, you leaned in and kissed him again, your lips moving against his with a tenderness that spoke louder than any words ever could.

Sol melted into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. When you finally pulled away, his eyes were hazy, his expression dazed but utterly content.

You leaned down, your breath ghosting over his skin, and kissed one softly. Sol tensed beneath you, his muscles twitching under your touch, and you smiled to yourself. He was so easy to unravel, and you loved it.

Your lips moved lower, trailing over the bruises with deliberate care, each kiss a whisper of devotion. But your movements weren’t entirely selfless—there was a dark satisfaction in watching him squirm, in hearing the soft gasps and shaky breaths he couldn’t suppress. You wanted him to need you, to crave you, to be as lost in you as you were in him.

“Y-You’re—ah—doing this on purpose,” Sol stammered, his voice trembling as his hand gripped the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist. His face was flushed, his breath uneven, and you could see the way he was struggling to hold himself together.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kissed another bruise, just above his hip, and felt the way his body shivered in response. Your mind was swimming with thoughts—dark, possessive thoughts about how much you wanted him to belong to you entirely. Not just his body, but his mind, his heart, his soul. You wanted to consume him, to make him forget anything else existed but you.

But then, suddenly, he moved. Before you could react, Sol sat up and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. The abruptness of it snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there, stunned, as he buried his face against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice muffled but heavy with emotion. “Thank you for... accepting me.”

His words hit you like a wave, washing over the darker corners of your mind and leaving something softer in their wake. You blinked, your hands instinctively moving to rest against his back as his grip on you tightened. He was trembling slightly, and you realized that this wasn’t just a hug—it was a lifeline.

“I... I’ve always hated these,” Sol admitted, his voice quiet but raw. “The bruises, the scars... Every bruise was worth it. I thought... I thought when you see them would think I was... " His voice cracked on the last word, and you felt your chest tighten painfully.

You didn’t say anything, but your arms tightened around him, your hand moving in slow, soothing circles over his back. He sighed, the sound shaky but relieved, and pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy, his expression vulnerable in a way that made your heart ache.

“But you don’t see me like that,” he continued, his voice steadier now. “You don’t treat me like I’m... less because of them. And that means more to me than I can ever say.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You’d always known Sol had his own darkness, his own pain, but hearing it laid bare like this was almost too much. And yet, at the same time, it made you love him even more—not just the parts of him that were easy to love, but the parts that were messy and complicated and broken.

But that scared you. Because as much as you loved his obsessive side, as much as you reveled in the way he clung to you, you were terrified of falling for him completely. Fully. You weren’t sure you could handle that—weren’t sure what it would mean if you did.

Sol was watching you, his gaze searching, and you forced yourself to smile, leaning in to kiss his ear softly. The reaction was instant—he gasped, his body jerking slightly as his hands tightened on your waist. “Y-You can’t just—” he started, but his words were cut off as you kissed him again, this time lower, just below his ear.

“You’re so easy to kill with affection.” you murmured, your voice low but tinged with teasing affection. His cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, and you couldn’t help but smile.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sound in the room the faint drip of water from the faucet. Then, quietly, you mumbled, “Thank you.”

Sol blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?” he asked, his tone soft but curious.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, and smiled again. “Thank you for existing,” you said simply. And then, before he could respond, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, cutting off any words he might’ve tried to say.

Sol didn’t speak again after that. He didn’t need to. The way he held you, the way he looked at you—

The bathwater rippled softly as you guided Sol to sit down in front of you, his towel still loosely draped around his waist. He obeyed without hesitation, his long hair cascading down his back like a silken curtain. His trust in you was absolute, and it made your heart race in the quiet intimacy of the moment. The thought of him being so compliant, so willing to let you care for him, stirred something darkly possessive within you.

With a gentleness that belied the turmoil in your chest, you reached for the shampoo, pouring a generous amount into your hands before running your fingers through his damp hair. Sol sighed softly at the sensation, leaning into your touch as you worked the lather through his locks. His hair was thick and slightly tangled from the water, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you relished every second of it—each tangle you smoothed out felt like another piece of him you were unraveling, another part of him that was undeniably yours.

Your fingers massaged his scalp, his body relaxed further, his shoulders slumping slightly as a soft sigh escaped his lips. The sound was so sweet, so achingly tender, that it sent a thrill through you. You leaned forward without thinking, pressing a kiss to his forehead. His skin was warm beneath your lips, and he made a small, almost contented noise in response. It was domestic in a way you hadn’t expected, and the realization made your chest tighten.

You could feel your thoughts beginning to spiral again, the possessiveness bubbling up as you watched him sit there so obediently, so sweetly. Sol wasn’t just letting you care for him—he was surrendering to you completely, trusting you in a way that no one else ever had. And God, how you loved it. The sight of him like this, vulnerable and utterly at your mercy, made something primal and obsessive stir deep within you.

He was yours. He had to be. No one else could ever see him like this, touch him like this. You wouldn’t allow it.

“Sol,” you murmured, your voice low and husky as you continued to work the shampoo through his hair. He hummed in response, tilting his head slightly to the side as if to give you better access. The gesture was so unthinking, so natural, that it made your breath hitch.

“You’re perfect like this,” you said softly, almost to yourself. He didn’t respond, but the slight flush that crept up the back of his neck told you he’d heard. You leaned down again, pressing another kiss to the crown of his head before rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. The water ran down his back in rivulets, and you couldn’t resist trailing your fingers along the path it made, watching as his skin shivered under your touch.

“You’re spoiling me,” Sol said after a moment, his voice quiet but tinged with affection.

“You deserve it,” you replied simply, reaching for the conditioner. You poured some into your hands before running your fingers through his hair again, taking your time as you worked it in. Sol sighed softly, the sound so content and trusting that it made your chest ache.

It felt almost too good to be true, this moment with him. You’d always loved his obsessive devotion to you, the way he clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. But now, sitting here with him, washing his hair and hearing the soft sounds of his breathing, you realized something terrifying: you weren’t just obsessed with him. You loved him. Fully, completely, and with a depth that scared you.

You reached for the soap, lathering it in your hands as you gestured for Sol to sit still. His body glistened with water under the soft light of the bathroom, and as you began to wash him, your fingers trailing over his shoulders, he let out a soft sigh. His head tilted slightly, his long hair cascading over one side as if to give you better access.

"Relax," you murmured, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. He obeyed immediately, his body pliant under your touch. The sight of him like this—his skin warm and damp, his eyes fluttering shut—sent a quiet thrill through you. You’d never tire of how easily he surrendered to you, how completely he trusted you.

Your hands glided down his arms, the lather spreading as you worked it over his skin. His breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as if he were falling into a trance. You took your time, letting your fingers explore every curve and line of his body, as though committing it all to memory. When your hands brushed over his chest, you felt the soft hitch in his breath, the faint quiver of his muscles beneath your touch.

"Sol," you teased, your voice soft but playful. "Are you falling asleep on me?"

"N-No," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes remained closed, and a faint blush crept up his neck.

You chuckled, the sound low and intimate as your hands trailed lower, over his ribs and toward his stomach. His body shivered under your touch, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at how responsive he was to you. Sol was like putty in your hands, utterly enchanted by your touch.

But just as you let your fingers glide over the taut planes of his stomach, spreading the lather in slow, deliberate circles, his eyes shot open. The spell broke, and he blinked at you as if he’d just realized what was happening.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and something softer, something deeper.

You grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you leaned in closer. "What?" you asked innocently, your hands still trailing over his skin. "I’m just making sure you’re clean."

His blush deepened, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck as he averted his gaze. "Y-You’re too good at this," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

You laughed softly, the sound warm and teasing as you reached up to cup his face. "Sol," you murmured, your voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. "You’re adorable."

His eyes flicked back to yours, wide and uncertain, and for a moment, he looked so vulnerable, so utterly disarmed, that your heart skipped a beat. But then the mischievous glint returned to your eyes, and you leaned in, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of his nose.

He let out a startled noise, his blush deepening even further as he stared at you, utterly flustered. "W-What was that for?" he asked, his voice high-pitched and incredulous.

You shrugged, a sly smile curling your lips as you reached for the water to rinse him off. "Just because," you replied simply.

The water cascaded over his skin, washing away the soap as your hands followed the trail of the water. He shivered again, his body instinctively leaning into your touch despite his obvious embarrassment. When you were finished, you grabbed a towel and began patting him dry, taking your time as you worked your way from his shoulders down to his arms and chest.

Sol squirmed slightly under your touch, his blush still burning brightly as he mumbled, "You’re treating me like a kid."

You grinned, tilting your head to the side as you looked at him. "Oh? Is that so?" you teased, patting his cheeks with the towel.

"Stop!" he protested, his voice flustered as he tried to swat your hands away.

But you didn’t stop. Instead, you leaned in closer, your smile turning downright mischievous as you patted his face even more, the towel brushing against his warm, flushed skin. "You’re too cute when you’re embarrassed, Sol," you said, your voice full of teasing affection.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands as he mumbled, "You’re impossible."

You laughed, the sound light and genuine as you ruffled his hair with the towel. "And you’re spoiled," you shot back, your tone playful but fond.

When you finally pulled back, letting him breathe, you noticed how he avoided your gaze, his blush still firmly in place. He looked so sweet, so utterly flustered, that you couldn’t resist leaning in one last time, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

The air was warm after the bath, the scent of lavender soap lingering as Sol wrapped a towel around himself and turned toward you. His damp hair clung to his neck and shoulders, his expression soft as he stepped closer and, without warning, pulled you into a hug. The embrace was firm, grounding, and for a moment, you melted into his arms.

Before you could do anything more—tease him, pull him closer, or whisper something playful—he scooped you up and dropped you gently onto the bed. Your body bounced slightly against the mattress, and you looked up at him, smirking.

"You’re bold," you teased, reaching for him instinctively. Your hands brushed his wrist as you tried to tug him down toward you, but he hesitated, stepping back. The way his ears turned red betrayed him, though.

You sighed softly, letting your hands fall to your sides. "Alright, alright," you murmured, slipping off the bed and heading to grab some clothes. You rifled through the pile of garments he had stolen—or rather, borrowed—during his… more obsessive days, you found a hoodie of yours that you recognized instantly. It was one of your favorites, worn and soft, and it smelled faintly of detergent and something uniquely Sol.

It was obvious he had cleaned it meticulously, almost reverently. That thought alone sent a small shiver through you as you pulled it over your head. It hung loose and comfortable, perfectly worn in. You smiled, shaking your head softly. Of course, he’d take care of it so well. Sol, with all his odd little habits and quirks, always had a way of surprising you.

Beneath the hoodie, you slipped into your undergarments, feeling comfortable enough in the privacy of his room. Though you spotted pants folded neatly nearby, you ignored them. You were decent enough, and the hoodie covered what it needed to.

The room was cozy, his scent mingling with the fresh linen and faint hints of candle wax. You flopped onto the bed, burying your face in his pillow. It smelled so much like him that it made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for. Your arms curled around it instinctively, hugging it close as you let yourself relax.

Sol excused himself to dress, leaving you momentarily alone. Your eyes wandered, they landed on the walls. Among the minimalist decorations were posters of classic horror stories—The Headless Horseman and a strikingly eerie illustration inspired by the Grimm brothers' fairy tales.

You smiled softly. Of course, Sol would have a taste for horror fiction. There was something so fitting about it, considering how quiet and unassuming he could be, yet with that darker edge lurking beneath his calm demeanor. You liked it. More than that, you liked that it was such a unique part of him.

When Sol returned, his hair still damp but neatly combed, his gaze immediately darted toward you. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of you sprawled on his bed, his pillow hugged tightly to your chest, wearing his hoodie.

"Uh… I-I can make some soup," he stammered, his voice awkward and shy. His eyes flicked away from you as though looking directly at you was too much. "If… you want something warm."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, grinning mischievously. "That sounds nice," you replied, your voice light. Then, you noticed his gaze drop briefly before he looked away again, his blush deepening.

"If you need pants, I… I could give you a pair," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You laughed softly, sitting up and adjusting the hoodie. "I’ve got undergarments on," you said, winking at him. "I’m not naked, Sol."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as though trying to compose himself. "You’re impossible," he muttered, but his lips curved into the faintest of smiles.

Instead of heading for the kitchen, he sat down beside you on the bed, his shoulders tense. His gaze flicked to the posters on the wall as if trying to avoid meeting your eyes.

"You seem tired," he said softly, his voice quieter now.

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before deciding to ask. "The posters," you said, nodding toward the wall. "You like horror fiction?"

He froze slightly, his lips parting as though he wasn’t sure how to respond. Then, with a soft sigh, he nodded. "Yeah. It’s… something I’ve always liked," he admitted.

You smiled, leaning against the headboard. "I already knew," you said casually, your tone light.

His head snapped toward you, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"Don’t worry," you continued, your voice calm and reassuring. "I’ve stalked you too, Sol."

"Oh, I keep..."

You shifted closer to him, your smile softening. "I still can’t believe we’re together," you said quietly, almost as if speaking the words to yourself. "It feels… like a dream."

Sol’s gaze flicked toward you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he looked away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. But then, he smiled—a small, shy smile that made your heart ache.

Without thinking, you reached for him, pulling him into a hug. His head rested against your chest, and you let your fingers trail through his damp hair.

"You’re too sweet," you murmured, your voice teasing but filled with affection.

He didn’t say anything, but the way he melted into your embrace told you everything you needed to know.

You began to toy with his hair, gathering it into your hands and tying it into a loose ponytail. The strands were silky and soft between your fingers, and you couldn’t resist brushing them aside to press a kiss to his forehead.

"Why do you like me?" he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were silent, your hands stilling in his hair. Then, you smiled, your lips curving into something soft and tender.

"It doesn’t matter," you said simply, leaning down to press another kiss to his forehead.

He looked up at you, his eyes wide and searching, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he smiled.

Sol settled against you, the closeness between you became almost unbearable. His head rested on your chest, the soft rise and fall of your breathing syncing as though you were two halves of a whole. Slowly, his hand reached out, brushing against yours tentatively at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed this level of intimacy.

But when your fingers curled instinctively around his, his hesitation melted. His hand tightened around yours, his thumb brushing softly against your knuckles in a silent reassurance. His warmth radiated into you, and you couldn’t help but sigh softly.

Then, without a word, he shifted slightly. His legs intertwined with yours, his movements slow and careful as if testing the waters. The heat of his skin against yours sent a shiver up your spine, and you had to bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

"Sol," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He looked up at you, his eyes soft yet intense, his expression unreadable. His head tilted slightly, and before you could say anything else, he leaned closer. His forehead rested against yours, his damp hair falling slightly over his face.

The way he looked at you, so full of quiet devotion, made your heart race. Your breaths mingled, and the air between you felt thick with something unspoken.

"Is this okay?" he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a breath.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink into the moment.

His hand tightened slightly around yours, and his leg shifted, pressing more firmly against yours. The closeness was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t help the soft noise that escaped your lips—a quiet, almost inaudible moan that you couldn’t suppress.

Sol froze for a moment, his eyes wide as he pulled back slightly to look at you. His face was flushed, his lips parted in surprise.

"Did you just—?" he began, his voice tinged with both surprise and embarrassment.

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly averted your gaze, trying to brush it off. "Don’t get too cocky," you muttered, your voice laced with playful annoyance.

But he didn’t let it go. A small, mischievous smile tugged at his lips, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Was that because of me?"

"What was that sound?" he asked softly, as if he wasn’t sure whether it was intentional or not, but he was enjoying the effect it had on you.

Your heart raced, and you almost cursed yourself for how easily he could reduce you to a mess of emotions. You bit your lip, trying to keep quiet, but it was becoming harder by the second.

His hand slid down to your neck, gently pressing against the sensitive skin there. His thumb stroked over your pulse point, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

Sol's eyes widened slightly as your breath hitched, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Is that… making you nervous?" he asked, voice dripping with mischief.

You turned your head to the side, avoiding his gaze, but his fingers remained on your neck, steadying you. You felt the tension between you, the way his presence seemed to wrap around you like a gentle, but inescapable, force.

His chuckle rumbled softly in his chest, and you could feel it against your skin as he leaned in once more. "You’re cute when you try to hide it," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

Another involuntary noise slipped from your lips—a soft whimper that you couldn’t control.

Sol’s smirk deepened, and he pulled back just enough to catch your eye. "So sensitive," he murmured, almost like a revelation. "I didn’t think I’d get you this flustered so easily."

Your face flushed with embarrassment, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away from him. You were stuck in a whirlwind of emotions, of desires you didn’t want to face. It was so easy for him to turn your insides into a tangled mess with just a few touches, a few words.

He leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to your ear, then your jaw, trailing down to your neck. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, and it made your heart beat faster. With every movement, he pushed you closer to the edge of restraint, knowing just how far to go before pulling back.

"You’re making it hard for me to resist," he whispered, his voice low and filled with longing. "But I think you like this, don’t you?"

"Sol…" you breathed, and you couldn’t help but sound desperate. You hated how easily he had you on the edge, how quickly he could make you lose control of yourself.

He smiled softly, sensing the change in your tone. "You’re mine," he said, his voice just above a whisper, but it felt like a declaration. His words wrapped around you, and the possessiveness in his voice made your heart race even more.

You couldn’t find words, couldn’t fight the overwhelming desire that was building between you both. You could feel his pulse quicken, his breath becoming more erratic, and you knew that you were both slipping further into something you couldn’t pull back from.

Sol’s hand slid down your back, pulling you closer once more. You gasped, the closeness of your bodies making everything feel more intense, more urgent. You could feel his lips on your skin again, each kiss deeper than the last.

Sol's fingers danced along your spine, sending tingles through your body with each light caress. He leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting over your ear as he whispered, "I'm going to make you feel so good, Pumpkin."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you let out a soft moan, arching into his touch. Sol chuckled, the vibrations causing your sensitive skin to prickle with delight. "Like that, huh?" he teased, nipping playfully at your earlobe.

His other hand came up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards his. Your lips met in a slow, sensual kiss, tongues dancing together in a heated dance. Sol's hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your hips and thighs before sliding up under your hoodie to explore the smooth expanse of your stomach.

"Ah-"

Sol's fingers trailed lower, dipping beneath the hem of your skirt to brush against the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. He smiled against your mouth, feeling your muscles tense in anticipation. "Patience, my dear," he cooed, his breath hot against your skin.

Slowly, deliberately, his hand crept higher, until his fingertips grazed the damp fabric of your panties. You cried out, your hips jerking involuntarily as electric pleasure zapped through you. Sol's eyes darkened with lust at the sound of your desperation, and he pressed a final, teasing kiss to your lips before pulling back.

"Shh, relax," he soothed, his voice low and husky. "Let me take care of you." With a deft motion, he teases your sex, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

Sol's eyes gleamed with wicked intent as He raked over your exposed sex, drinking in the sight of your exposed..... Without warning, He dipped between your thighs, spreading you open further for their exploration.

"Ahhh!" you gasped, back arching off the bed as their skilled fingers found your most sensitive spots. They stroke? circled? applying just the right amount of pressure to send waves of ecstasy crashing through you.

Sol's free hand slid up your body to palm one of your chest, rolling the nipple between his fingers as they continued their relentless assault on your clit. The dual sensations were almost too much to bear, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge of a precipice, desperate for release.

"You're so responsive," Sol murmured, their voice a husky growl of approval. "I can't wait to see you come undone."

Sol groaned, his fingers faltering in their delicious torment of your clit as you suddenly turned the tables, your small hands wrapping around his neck and pulling him down into a searing kiss. Your tongue dueled with theirs, a playful dominance asserting itself even as your laughter bubbled up from within you.

When you finally broke the kiss, panting and grinning up at Sol, there was a mischievous glint in your eye. "Did you have fun, hmm?" you teased, your fingers trailing down his chest to wrap around the thick length of his erection. Sol's breath hitched, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch.

"Oh, I think it's time we even the score," you giggled, giving his cock a squeeze that made him grunt. Your hands moved with frantic energy, stroking and twisting, exploring every inch of his heated flesh.

Sol's eyes rolled back in bliss as your skilled hands worked their magic, coaxing his member to full, throbbing hardness. Each stroke sent jolts of electric pleasure coursing through his veins, making him tremble with anticipation.

Your fingers danced along the sensitive underside, teasing the frenulum until it twitched beneath your touch. Then, with a wicked grin, you wrapped your thumb around the head, applying just the right amount of pressure to make him see stars. Sol's hips jerked erratically, seeking more of your tantalizing friction.

Lost in the haze of lust, he tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging gently as he guided your mouth closer to his aching cock. "Please," he begged, his voice husky with need. "I want to feel those sweet lips around me."

Despite Sol's pleas, you continued to deny him direct contact, instead focusing on tormenting his neck with tender bites and languid kisses. His whimpering only seemed to encourage you, fueling the fire burning within.

With a particularly sharp nip to his jugular, you murmured against his skin, "Not yet, my love. We're going to take this nice and slow." Your hot breath ghosted over his pulse point, causing it to race further out of control.

Sol's body tensed, straining for release even as he knew it was futile. The combination of your teasing touch and maddening kisses had him teetering on the edge, desperate for more. But you remained resolute, determined to draw out his pleasure until he was writhing in ecstasy.

Sol's breath came in ragged gasps as you toyed with him, your fingers tracing patterns along the shaft of his cock while your lips left a trail of love bites across his throat. Each delicate touch and nip sent shockwaves of desire rippling through him, threatening to shatter his composure.

"Please, Pumpkin," he whimpered, his voice cracking with desperation. "I can't… I need…"

But you simply chuckled, the vibrations humming against his skin as you peppered his neck with open-mouthed kisses. Your hand slid lower, cupping the heavy weight of his balls and rolling them gently between your fingers.

Sol's knees nearly buckled at the sensation, his mind clouding with pleasure.

Sol's body shook like a leaf in a storm as you expertly manipulated his most sensitive areas. The gentle caress of your fingers against his testicles sent waves of euphoria crashing over him, each passing second drawing him closer to the brink of climax.

"Y/n…" he groaned, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close… Don't stop, please…"

Despite his urgent pleas, you continued to tease and torment him, refusing to grant him the release he so desperately craved. Your fingers tightened around his balls, applying just the right amount of pressure to keep him hovering on the precipice of orgasm.

Sol's hips bucked wildly, seeking friction anywhere he could get it. His cock throbbed in your grasp, the head a deep, pulsating purple as it strained towards your palm.

With a sudden, decisive movement, you pulled your hand away from Sol's aching cock, leaving him bereft and shaking with unfulfilled need. He let out a strangled cry, his body arching off the bed as if trying to follow the path of your retreating fingers.

"No, wait!" Sol pleaded, his voice raw with desperation. "Don't stop now, please!"

But you merely smiled enigmatically, your gaze locked onto his tortured expression. Slowly, deliberately, you began to remove your clothes, revealing inch after inch of creamy, unblemished skin.

Sol's eyes widened, drinking in the sight of your naked form. His gaze lingered, the gentle curve of your waist, and the tantalizing hint of your sex peeking out from between your thighs.

Sol watched, transfixed, you slipped out of your remaining garments, leaving yourself bare and beautiful before him. His breath caught in his throat at the breathtaking sight, and he couldn't help but drool slightly in anticipation.

But instead of closing the distance and indulging in the carnal delights offered, you suddenly adopted a playful, domineering tone. "Now, pet, it's time for your punishment," you declared, a wicked gleam in your eye.

Without warning, you grasped Sol's wrists and pinned them above his head, holding him in place with an iron grip. "Be a good boy and accept what's coming to you," you cooed, your voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Leaning in close, you whispered hotly against his ear, "Good boy, Sol. Such a naughty, needy little pup, aren't you?"

Sol's eyes widened in confusion and frustration as you giggled, the sound like music to his ears despite the torment you were inflicting upon him. "What…what are you doing?" he stammered, his chest heaving with exertion.

Just as he thought you might finally give in to his desperate needs, you leaned down and wrapped your fingers around his throbbing cock once more. Sol's back arched off the bed, a guttural moan escaping his lips as your warm touch enveloped him.

But then, you spoke, your voice low and commanding. "Remember, pet, you're not allowed to cum. Not until I say so."

Sol's mind reeled, struggling to comprehend the twisted game you were playing. His body, however, responded instinctively, already tensing and preparing for the inevitable release.

Sol's world tilted on its axis as your plush lips closed around the head of his cock, your tongue darting out to lick the sensitive underside. He cried out, his fingers digging into the sheets as he fought the urge to thrust deeper into the heavenly warmth of your mouth.

"P-pumpkin, oh god, yes!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper. "More, please, I need…"

But even as the plea left his lips, you pulled back, denying him the intense pleasure he so desperately craved. Your lips hovered just inches from his aching flesh, and you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Not yet, pet," you purred, your breath ghosting over his sensitive tip. "We're going to take this slow and savor every moment."

With a sly smile, you resumed your sensual assault on Sol's cock, lavishing attention on the throbbing length with your lips, tongue, and teeth. Each kiss, each lap of your tongue, sent jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, driving him closer to the edge.

Your hands roamed his body, exploring every contour and crevice with a hungry curiosity. Fingers danced across his nipples, tweaking and tugging until they pebbled beneath your touch. Lower still, you traced the lines of his abs, dipping into his navel before continuing downward to tease the sensitive skin behind his balls.

Sol's moans grew louder, more desperate, as you worked him over with skillful precision. His hips bucked reflexively, seeking more of your tantalizing touches, but you held firm, maintaining control over the pace of his pleasure.

"Please, Y/n, I can't… It's too much," he begged, his voice breaking on a sob. "Hurry, make me cum, I need it so badly!"

Sol's entire being was consumed by the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. His muscles clenched and released in rhythmic spasms, searching for purchase as his mind fogged with lust. Whimpers and gasps spilled from his lips, punctuating the air with his desperate need for release.

Despite his impassioned pleas, you continued your deliberate, torturous pace. Your mouth slid up and down his shaft, coating it in saliva as you hummed a seductive melody against his sensitive skin. Meanwhile, your fingers pressed insistently against his virgin hole, coaxing it open ever so slightly.

Sol's vision blurred, his senses overwhelmed by the dual stimuli.

Just as Sol was about to surrender to the impending orgasm, you abruptly ceased all contact, leaving him aching and empty. He whined in protest, his hips jerking erratically as he struggled to process the sudden withdrawal of pleasure.

"No, no, no!" you chided gently, your voice a soothing balm amidst the turmoil. "Not yet, my love. We have to hold it for me, okay?"

Sol's gaze snapped to yours, desperation etched across his features. "But why?...." he asked, his words slurring together in his haste to understand.

You reached out, cupping his cheek tenderly. "Because I want to see how far we can push ourselves, darling. How deep our love can go when we're willing to explore the darkest, most forbidden corners of desire."

With a sultry smirk, you returned to worshipping Sol's cock, your lips sealing around the swollen head once more. He groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair as you began to suckle him with renewed vigor.

Your tongue swirled around the sensitive crown, lapping up the precum that had begun to leak in response to your teasing. The taste of his arousal filled your mouth, a heady elixir that only served to heighten your own desire.

You bobbed your head along his length, your free hand resumed its exploration of Sol's body. Fingers trailed down his stomach, circling his navel before delving lower to stroke the delicate skin behind his testicles.

Sol's thighs trembled, his legs falling open wider in invitation.

Sol's body was a living, breathing flame, every inch of him burning with need as you continued to worship his cock with your skilled mouth. Your lips and tongue worked in perfect harmony, drawing out moans and whimpers of pure bliss from his tortured soul.

The sensation of your fingers dancing across his skin, tracing patterns of pleasure, only added fuel to the inferno raging within him. His hips rocked involuntarily, seeking more of your tantalizing touch, even as he struggled to maintain control over his rapidly unraveling composure.

"fuck, your mouth feels incredible," Sol gasped, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his climax. "I don't know how much longer I can… Ahh, god, yes, just like that!"

Sol's cries of pleasure echoed through the room, a symphony of desperation and need. His body shook like a leaf, every muscle tensed and coiled as he teetered on the precipice of ecstasy. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his vision blurring with the intensity of his emotions.

"Oh, please, I can't… I'm going to…!" he wailed, his voice high-pitched and trembling. The pitiful sounds of his sobs and whimpers mingled with the wet slap of your lips on his cock, creating a perverse harmony of lust and anguish.

"Now, Sol, give it to me," you commanded softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Cum for me, my love."

At your words, Sol's control shattered. With a hoarse cry, he exploded, his hot seed spurting into your eagerly waiting mouth. You swallowed every drop, relishing the salty-sweet taste of his release as it coated your tongue.

Sol's orgasm subsided, you released his softening cock from your lips with a gentle pop. A shiver ran through you at the sight of his spent form, his chest heaving with exertion. Almost imperceptibly, a whimper escaped your own lips, a sound of raw, unbridled desire that seemed to come from the very depths of your being.

Sol stared at you in awe, his glazed eyes drinking in the sight of your cum-streaked lips and flushed cheeks. A soft, dazed murmur escaped his lips as he tried to process the intensity of what had just transpired between you.

"That was… incredible," he breathed, his voice shaky and laced with wonder. "Seeing you take my cum like that, smiling at me with your mouth still full of it…"

He trailed off, his gaze fixating on your tongue as it lazily licked across your lower lip, cleaning away the remnants of his essence. The erotic display sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through Sol's veins, leaving him feeling weak and utterly spent.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the bed, his body limp and pliant beneath the covers.

Sol lay there, lost in the aftermath of his intense climax, you crawled onto the bed beside him, your movements slow and sensual. You leaned in close, your warm breath ghosting across his skin as you whispered huskily in his ear.

Your hand drifted down his torso, tracing the contours of his abdomen before dipping lower to brush against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Sol's eyelids fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips as he surrendered to your touch.

Sol's senses were overwhelmed by the intoxicating aroma of your skin, the scent of your very essence enveloping him like a comforting embrace. It was a fragrance unlike anything else, a unique blend that spoke directly to his soul, igniting a primal hunger within him.

His nostrils flared, drawing in deeper breaths as he inhaled the heady musk. It was a smell that made his heart race, his pulse pound, and his loins throb with desperate need. This was the scent of his soulmate, the one thing capable of reducing him to a panting, whimpering mess.

Sol groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Your smell is driving me crazy. I need to bury my face in you, to lose myself in it forever."

With a wicked grin, you pressed closer, allowing Sol to breathe in your scent more deeply. His hands instinctively reached for you, eager to pull you flush against his heated body, but you deftly evaded his grasp, trailing your fingers along his skin instead.

In an instant, you found yourself on your back, Sol looming above you with a triumphant glint in his eye. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, holding you in place as he towered over your prone form.

"What did you expect, Ame?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "After the way you tormented me today, leaving me a sobbing, cum-drunk mess, you thought you could escape retribution?"

Sol's free hand slid down your stomach, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping lower, seeking the heat between your thighs. You shivered, a gasp escaping your lips his touch sending jolts of electricity through your nervous system.

"You deserve this, every tease and taunt coming back tenfold,"

Your eyes widened in shock. You squirmed beneath him, trying to wriggle free from his grip, but he held fast, his gaze burning into yours with a fierce intensity.

"No, wait!" you stammered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I just…got carried away, okay? It wasn't supposed to lead to this!"

Sol's expression softened slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he listened to your frantic protests. He released your wrists, allowing you to move, but only to slide his hand further up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher in the process.

"Oh, I think it's exactly what you wanted," he countered, his tone gentle yet persuasive.

"Don't try to deny it, Pumpkin," Sol murmured, his fingers brushing against the damp lace of your panties. "Your body's reaction tells a different story. You're just as desperate for this as I am."

Without waiting for a response, Sol leaned down, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh. Each tender touch sent sparks racing up your spine, leaving you quivering and aching for more.

"Sol…" you whimpered, your hips bucking involuntarily as his warm breath ghosted over your most intimate area. The sudden onslaught of sensations had your mind reeling, thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.

"It's not fair, I swear!" you managed to gasp out between moans, even as your body betrayed your words, arching into Sol's ministrations. "We were just…playing around, having fun! This isn't part of the game!"

Despite your protests, your fingers threaded through Sol's hair, urging him closer, silently begging for more of that exquisite torture. The conflicting emotions warring within you - guilt, excitement, need - created a dizzying cocktail that left you breathless and helpless beneath his skilled touch.

Sol chuckled darkly, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine as he continued his sensual assault. "Oh, but it feels so good, doesn't it?" he purred, his tongue darting out to taste your essence, savoring the tangy sweetness of your arousal.

You cried out, your back bowing off the bed as Sol worked you open, claiming you as his own.

"That's it, " he coaxed, his voice a seductive rumble. "Let me in, let me make you mine."

You felt your mind clouding, thoughts fragmenting into nothingness. All that remained was the intense pleasure coursing through your veins, the overwhelming urge to surrender completely to the man dominating your body.

"Y-yes, Sol, please," you begged, your voice barely recognizable, consumed by a possessive fervor. "Make me yours, fill me up, mark me as your own!"

In your haze, you couldn't bear the thought of anyone else experiencing Sol's touch, his passion. The very idea sent a surge of jealous rage through your bloodstream, fueling your desperation to claim him just as fiercely.

"I'm yours, only yours," you declared, your nails raking down Sol's back as you pulled him closer, crushing your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

Sol groaned into the kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with wild abandon as he drove his fingers deeper, hitting that sweet spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids. Your body convulsed, a scream tearing from your throat as the first wave of your climax crashed over you.

But Sol wasn't done yet. He withdrew his fingers, leaving you empty and aching, before replacing them with his thick cock. With a single powerful thrust, he buried himself to your aching hole, stretching you wide around his girth.

"Ahhh fuck, you feel incredible," he rasped, his hips beginning to piston in and out at a relentless pace. "So tight, so perfect. Mine."

he pounded into you, Sol's hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his territory.

"Please, Sol, harder!" you pleaded, your voice ragged with desire and something deeper, more primal. "Fill me up, make me yours forever!"

With a guttural growl, Sol obliged, his thrusts becoming brutal and unrelenting as he chased his own release. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your cries of ecstasy.

Just as Sol's movements became erratic, signaling his impending climax, he paused, his cock still buried deep within you. He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his intense gaze.

You were lost in the throes of passion, your body writhing beneath Sol's, when his movements suddenly halted. Confused, you opened your eyes to find him staring intently at you, his piercing gaze searching your features.

"Y/n.." he prompted, his voice low and urgent. "Will we make a good family, together always?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with meaning, until the shrill ring of a phone shattered the moment. Sol cursed under his breath, pulling out of you and reaching for the device on the nightstand.

You watched, bewildered, as he answered the call, his expression darkening with each passing second. His jaw clenched, and a vein pulsed in his temple, betraying his growing anger.

"Who is it?" you finally managed to ask, though you already suspected the answer based on Sol's reaction.

Sol ended the call abruptly, tossing the phone aside with a snarl. He turned to you, his eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive light.

"Crowe," he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Thinks he can just call here, now? After everything? Didn't you stop talking to him? Why is he bothering you..?"

Before you could respond, Sol's lips crashed against your neck, biting down hard enough to draw blood. You gasped, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you as he claimed you once more.

Sol's jealousy was palpable, a living thing that wrapped around you both, squeezing tight. In that moment, you reveled in it, in the knowledge that Crowe's interference had sparked such a raw, primal reaction in your lover.

"You're mine," Sol growled against your skin, his teeth scraping lightly over the wound he'd inflicted.

Sol's grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you close, his hot breath fanning over your ear. "He thinks he can have you, after all this time? After everything I've done for you?"

His voice was a low, menacing purr, laced with dark promise. You could practically feel the obsessive hunger radiating off him, the sheer intensity of his desire to keep you, to possess you utterly.

"Hmmm? Only you of course! But you're jealous thats so cute!!"

Sol's eyes flashed with a dangerous light at your teasing words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue invading, staking his claim.

When he broke away, his lips curled into a smirk, a hint of fang visible. "Cute? You think my jealousy is cute?"

His hand slid up your ribcage, fingers closing around your throat in a gentle but unmistakable grasp. "I'll show you cute," he purred, leaning in close. "I'll worship every inch of you, until you're begging me to stop."

Sol's breath washed over your face, You felt yourself melting into his touch, your body responding eagerly to his dark promises.

Sol cupped your cheeks, but his eyes never left yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart race. "You want my obsession," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "You want to be consumed by it, to feel like you're the only thing that matters in this world?"

Without waiting for a response, he captured your lips again, kissing you with a ferocity that stole your breath. His hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere at once, claiming every curve and contour as his own.

Sol's teeth scraped against your bottom lip, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. He explored your mouth with renewed urgency, as if trying to map every inch of you, to memorize the taste and feel of you.

Breaking the kiss, Sol pressed his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged.

Sol's eyes gleamed with a manic intensity, a crazed devotion that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against yours as he spoke in a fervent whisper.

"I love you, I love you so much it hurts. Every breath I take is for you, every heartbeat, every thought." His hands framed your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a tender reverence that belied the wildness in his gaze.

"You're my everything, my reason for existing. Without you, there's nothing. No purpose, no joy, no life." Sol's voice cracked, emotion raw and exposed. "I'd do anything for you, kill anyone who tries to take you from me and I'm yours, forever and always."

Sol's declaration hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his all-consuming love. He pulled back slightly, his fingers trailing down your neck, leaving a path of tingling heat in their wake.

With that, Sol's mouth descended upon yours once more, kissing you with a desperate hunger. His hands roamed your body, kneading your flesh, claiming you as his own.

Sol's gaze drifted down to your exposed neck, his eyes darkening with primal desire. Without hesitation, he leaned in, his teeth grazing the tender skin before sinking in just enough to leave a mark. A claim, a brand, a promise of possession.

He repeated this ritual along your collarbone and shoulder, each nip and suckle punctuating his devotion. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, a mix of pleasure and trepidation as you felt his love etched into your flesh.

Finally, Sol's attention turned to your inner thigh, his mouth seeking out the delicate skin just above your knee. He nuzzled and kissed the area, his tongue darting out to taste the saltiness of your sweat before closing his lips around the tender flesh and sucking gently.

Before you could react, Sol shifted positions, pinning you beneath him. He ground his hips against yours, the thick length of his cock...

Without warning, he pushed forward, breaching your tight entrance with a single, forceful thrust. You cried out, shocked by the sudden intrusion, your body struggling to accommodate his girth.

Sol didn't pause, not even for a moment. He began to move, his powerful thrusts driving him deeper into your willing depths. The burn was intense, but you welcomed it, reveling in the feeling of being so thoroughly possessed.

"Fuck, You feel so good"

"Sol, you keep teasing me- This isn't fair.." you wailed, tears of pleasure streaming down your face as Sol continued to pound into you with ruthless abandon. Each brutal thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy through your body, your walls clenching around his invading length.

Despite your protests, you couldn't deny the intense arousal building within you. Your moans grew louder, more wanton, as your body surrendered to the overwhelming sensations.

Sol's hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he drove himself deeper, chasing his release. "Fair? Life isn't fair, Ame," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "But I'll make you mine, completely, irrevocably. And you'll love every minute of it."

His words ignited a fire within you

Sol's thrusts grew more erratic, his hips snapping forward with a primal urgency as he chased his impending orgasm.

With a guttural roar, he buried himself to the hilt, his seed erupting deep within your quivering passage. The sensation of him filling you, marking you as his, sent you spiraling further into rapture.

Sol quickly adjusted your position, flipping you onto your stomach and pulling your hips back to present yourself to him. He settled between your spread thighs, the head of his still-hard cock nudging insistently at your dripping entrance.

Without preamble, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful thrust. A low groan escaped him as he savored the tight heat enveloping his length, your inner walls clinging to him like a velvet vice.

He began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each stroke driving him impossibly farther into your core. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, punctuated by your muffled moans and gasps.

Sol's hands roamed your back, fingernails digging into your flesh as he claimed you, owning every inch of you.

With a gentleness that contrasted with his earlier passion, Sol's movements became languid and measured. He savoring each slide of his engorged length within your welcoming warmth, relishing the way your slick channel adapted to his shape.

He rocked slowly into you, Sol's fingertips traced tantalizing patterns along your spine, sending shivers down your nerves. His breath tickled your ear, his murmurs of affection weaving a spell of tranquility around you.

"Don't tense up," he cooed, his tone soothing. "Just relax and let me in. I promise I'll take care of you, make it good for you."

His hips undulated in a sensual rhythm, the subtle grind of his pelvis against your buttocks sparking pleasant friction.

With a final, brutal thrust, Sol buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he released a torrent of hot semen deep inside you. Your body clenched around him, milking his shaft for every last drop as you both trembled on the brink of ecstasy.

Sol pulled out of you with a wet squelch, his spent cock glistening with your combined fluids. He turned you over, his hands roaming your curves possessively as he positioned himself between your thighs once more.

"Again," he growled, his eyes blazing with unquenchable hunger. "I won't stop until you're screaming my name and begging for mercy."

With that, he plunged back into your waiting heat, his renewed erection stretching you open once more. Your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles locking at the small of his back as you met his thrusts with equal fervor.

"Ahhh, yes!" you cried out, your nails digging into Sol's shoulders as he pounded into you with unrelenting ferocity. "Harder, Sol, please!"

A high-pitched keen tore from your throat as Sol's precise aim sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your entire being. Your inner walls fluttered and clenched around his pistoning cock, trying desperately to draw him in deeper.

Sol's response was to redouble his efforts, fucking you with a wild abandon that bordered on feral. The sound of skin slapping against skin and your wanton moans created a filthy cacophony that only served to spur him on.

With a final, earth-shattering thrust, Sol buried himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing violently as he emptied himself inside you once more.

With a playful smirk, you reached up to toy with the delicate silver studs piercing Sol's nipples. Your fingers danced across the metal, tracing the ridges and points, sending sparks of pleasure shooting straight to his already sensitive cock.

"Mmm, do you like that?" you purred, your breath hot against his chest as you leaned in close. "Feeling my touch on your pretty piercings?"

Sol let out a low groan, his hips bucking involuntarily as your teasing fingers sent jolts of electricity coursing through his body. "Pumpkin-," he gasped, his voice thick with need. "Keep doing that and I might just come again."

Sol's eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping his lips as you continued to torment his sensitive nipples with your clever fingers. The combination of your touch and the gentle tugging on the piercings proved to be his undoing.

"I can't…fuck, I'm gonna…" he warned, his words trailing off into a strangled cry as his orgasm hit him like a freight train.

His cock jerked and spasmed, painting your stomach with streaks of hot cum as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over him. You watched, mesmerized, as Sol came undone in your arms, his body shaking with the force of his release.

When the aftershocks finally subsided, Sol collapsed against you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "That was…incredible,"

.........After some time.

The aftermath of your shared intimacy left Sol visibly glowing, his cheeks tinted with a gentle pink hue that added to his already endearing expression. He nestled his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contentedly as his arms looped tightly around you. His touch was firm yet tender, a silent plea to stay close.

"You're so good to me," he murmured against your skin, his voice soft and dripping with affection.

You smiled, your fingers gently threading through his damp hair, brushing away any lingering strands clinging to his forehead. His vulnerability in moments like this was a stark contrast to the teasing and reserved Sol you’d come to adore. Here, he was open, raw, and so utterly lovable it made your chest ache.

“I love you like this, Sol,” you whispered, pressing a feather-light kiss to his temple. His arms tightened slightly around you in response, and you could feel his heart racing against yours.

Still wrapped in his warmth, you coaxed him to lay back, sitting beside him on the bed. “Let me take care of you,” you offered with a mischievous smile that made his blush deepen. He tried to glance away, but you caught his face gently, guiding his gaze back to yours.

"You always take such good care of me," he murmured, his tone laced with shyness.

As you began tending to him, your touch was deliberate and soft, showing your affection with every small gesture. You wiped his face with a warm cloth, pressing soft kisses to his forehead and cheeks after each gentle stroke. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into every touch, his lips parting slightly with a breathy sigh.

“You’re glowing,” you teased, earning a soft chuckle from him.

He opened his eyes slightly, still hazy with warmth and affection. “That’s because of you,” he replied earnestly, making your cheeks flush.

You shifted, positioning yourself to better reach him. He lay still, watching you with an almost reverent gaze as you kissed his shoulder, letting your lips linger to reassure him without words. You traced the outline of his arm with your fingers before pulling him closer.

“You’re perfect,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. The sincerity in your tone made his eyes widen before he hid his face in your chest, groaning softly.

“Stop saying things like that,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but undeniably affectionate.

“Why?” you teased, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Because you know it’s true?”

He groaned again, this time hiding his reddened ears. “Because you’re going to spoil me.”

“I already do,” you replied without missing a beat. “And I’m not stopping anytime soon.”

He let out a soft laugh, his body finally relaxing completely against yours. You took the opportunity to pull him back onto the bed, cradling him as you traced lazy patterns along his back. His breathing slowed, and for a moment, the world outside of your shared space didn’t matter.

Sol was practically glowing, his usual composed demeanor entirely replaced by something softer, something utterly endearing. A wide, boyish grin spread across his face as he buried himself into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. His warmth radiated against you, his breaths slow and content as he nuzzled closer.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. You could feel the slight curve of his smile pressing against you, making your chest tighten with affection.

“Look who’s talking,” you teased gently, running your fingers through his hair. It was soft to the touch, and he leaned into your hand like a cat seeking affection. “You’re practically burning up.”

“That’s your fault,” he shot back playfully, his cheeks darkening despite the confident tone. He shifted to look up at you, his glowing smile giving way to something more bashful as his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips. “You make me like this.”

You couldn’t help but smile, your hand cupping his cheek as you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Good,” you whispered against his skin, savoring the way he shivered at your words. “I like you like this.”

The comment made his ears flush bright red, and he hid his face in your neck again, letting out a muffled groan. “You’re unfair,” he mumbled, though you could feel his grin widening against your skin.

“Me? Unfair?” you replied, feigning innocence as you trailed your hands down his back in slow, soothing motions. “You’re the one clinging to me like this.”

“Because I don’t want to let go,” he admitted softly, his vulnerability catching you off guard. He tilted his head just enough to look at you, his half-lidded gaze brimming with affection. “I feel safe like this. With you.”

Your heart swelled, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips. It wasn’t hurried or passionate, but something slower, deeper—full of all the unspoken emotions you couldn’t put into words. When you pulled away, his grin was even wider, his expression utterly smitten.

“See?” you said softly, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “You’re glowing.”

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, but the way he hid his face against your chest again betrayed how much he loved hearing it.

You chuckled, cradling him as he melted further into your arms. “That’s because it’s true.” Your hands resumed their gentle path along his back, tracing small circles that made him sigh in pure contentment.

After a small bath, You had to pull Sol. He said he didn't mind being covered..in whatever. You pushed him to the bathroom.

Sol was focused on the soup, carefully stirring the pot with a steady hand. The steam curled up around his face, his usual sharp features softened in the kitchen’s warm glow. You sat on the counter nearby, swinging your legs lightly as you watched him with a mischievous grin. He looked so domestic like this, a stark contrast to his usual composed self, and you couldn’t help but want to mess with him just a little.

Leaning forward, you reached out and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His hand froze mid-stir, his body stiffening for a moment as his ears turned red. “W-What are you doing?” he mumbled, not looking at you but clearly flustered.

“Nothing,” you replied innocently, already leaning in again. This time, you aimed for his jaw, letting your lips linger just long enough to make him squirm.

“Y/N…” he said quietly, his voice shaky but lacking any real resistance. He finally turned his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours, wide and full of embarrassment. “I’m cooking.”

“I can see that,” you teased, your grin widening as you kissed the corner of his mouth. “But you’re also very kissable right now.”

He flinched again, his grip on the spoon tightening as he tried to keep his composure. “You’re not making this easy,” he muttered under his breath, though his lips twitched upward in a small, shy smile.

You chuckled, leaning back slightly to give him a moment of reprieve. “Need anything?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you played with the hem of your shirt.

“Pepper,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He still wasn’t looking at you directly, but the blush on his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“Pepper, huh?” you repeated with a smirk. Hopping off the counter, you made your way to the spice rack, grabbing the pepper and handing it to him with a flourish. “Anything else, Chef Sol?”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took the pepper from you. “You’re too much,” he said, but there was no malice in his tone. If anything, he sounded amused, even fond.

“Too much for you to handle?” you teased, leaning closer once more. This time, you kissed the shell of his ear, your breath warm against his skin. He shivered, his hand faltering as he almost dropped the pepper.

“Y/N…” he whispered, his voice somewhere between a warning and a plea. “I need to finish this.”

“Fine, fine,” you said, stepping back with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll behave. For now.”

The kitchen was filled with the comforting scent of the soup, the two of you sitting at the table, sipping from your bowls. The warmth of the meal matched the warmth between you both, and as you took a small spoonful, you couldn’t help but smile at the taste.

“This is really good,” you said, eyes bright as you looked over at Sol. He glanced up at you, a soft smile on his lips, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, gazing at you more than the food.

His face was still flushed, his dark eyes following your every movement. He looked so content in the moment, so at peace, and it made your heart flutter.

“You’re smiling,” you said playfully, raising an eyebrow. “I think you’re happy about my approval.”

He shifted his gaze slightly, his cheeks still rosy as he lowered his spoon. "I'm happy you like it," he said softly, his voice just barely above a whisper. "I wanted to make it perfect for you."

You couldn’t help but beam at him, warmth spreading through your chest. "You always go out of your way for me," you teased, “I think that’s pretty cute.”

The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had a chance to stop them, but they felt right. You leaned in, setting your bowl down as you placed a hand over his on the table. "You know, we should just get married," you said with a playful smirk, tilting your head slightly. "We should just be together forever. Don't you think?"

Sol froze for a moment, his eyes going wide, before his gaze flicked away. His cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and you could see his fingers twitch slightly where they rested on the table. "What... what?" he stammered, clearly flustered but not outright rejecting the idea. "W-We don't have to—"

"No, no!" You laughed, teasing him further. "I was just joking. But, wouldn't it be fun?" You winked, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "I can already imagine us together forever, making soup for each other, and you cooking for me every night."

His face was so red now, his expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and something else—something deeper that he wasn’t quite ready to admit. “I... I didn’t mean to... I wasn’t...” His words stumbled over themselves, and you could tell he was too flustered to finish his sentence.

But, seeing him like that made you feel a warmth deep in your heart. You couldn’t help but smile more, your eyes softening as you looked at him. "You’re so cute," you said gently, your voice full of affection. "You know that, right?"

Sol finally looked up at you, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he tried to compose himself. "I’m not cute," he muttered, still trying to look away, but his smile betrayed him.

"Yes, you are," you replied, leaning in just a little closer, your voice soft and loving. "You’re ridiculously cute, Sol."

His breath caught for a moment, his cheeks still burning with embarrassment as he finally managed to meet your gaze. “You’re the one who’s... making me feel like this,” he mumbled, shaking his head in a failed attempt to hide his smile. “I’m not used to this...”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling your heart swell with affection for him. "It’s okay," you whispered, your voice low and soothing. "I think you're perfect just the way you are."

Sol’s blush didn’t fade, but there was a small, shy grin tugging at his lips as he looked at you. "You're making me all mushy," he admitted, his voice a little more tender than before.

A rush of warmth spread through your chest at his words, and you couldn’t stop the smile that broke out across your face. "I think I’m already there," you whispered back, your heart racing as you reached over to hold his hand, feeling the softness of his skin under yours.

You thought teasing him, pushing him just a little further, might reveal that obsession lurking beneath Sol's shy demeanor. Maybe you'd catch a glimpse of his desperation, his possessiveness—the part of him that craved you so deeply it bordered on uncontainable. Instead, what you saw was a smile.

Not just any smile. It was as bright as the sun, as if the entire weight of the world had lifted off his shoulders. His eyes shimmered, brimming with emotion, and before you could even process it, he was crying.

“You’re…” his voice cracked, trembling with overwhelming sincerity. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His words hit you like a bolt of lightning. For a moment, your heart froze, and your yandere-like thoughts—the need to possess him, to keep him yours and only yours—shattered into something else entirely. Something soft. Something pure.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over faster than you could stop them. A choked sob escaped your throat as you lunged forward, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

“Sol…” you whimpered, burying your face into his chest as you began to cry in earnest. The tears wouldn’t stop. You were overwhelmed—by his words, his vulnerability, his love. All of it crashed into you at once, leaving you raw and open in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Hey, hey,” Sol stammered, startled by your reaction. He wrapped his arms around you instinctively, holding you close as his own tears quietly slipped down his cheeks. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” His voice was soft, full of concern, and he rubbed small circles on your back as you clung to him.

You couldn’t answer right away, too caught up in the storm of emotions swirling inside you. All you could do was clutch him tighter, sobbing into his shirt as he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice muffled and shaky. “I… I don’t know. I just… I’m so happy, Sol. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice firm but tender. He pulled back just enough to tilt your face up to meet his gaze, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears. His eyes were red-rimmed, but they shone with a love so pure it took your breath away. “You deserve everything, everything, and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

His words made you cry harder, and he only hugged you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head as you both stayed there, locked in each other’s embrace. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek, grounding you, soothing you.

“I love you,” you finally whispered, the words slipping out between quiet sobs. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I love you too,” he murmured, his voice filled with so much raw emotion that it sent a shiver down your spine. “More than anything. You’re my everything.”

The two of you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, holding each other as your tears slowly dried....

It's up to you to think if you want to love him.

I hope you know "Me"- me?

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Series Summary; Silco tells a new story to a curious Jinx.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

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Silco's office door closes when Sevika takes her leave, his dual eyes stare indifferently into the wooden entrance.

Briefly resting his face on his hand so he can rub at his cheek bone. He flickers his irritation to the paper in front of him, reading through the documents neatly arranged on his desk. Flipping through it–His lengthy fingers daintaly holding up each page before letting them fall back in place.

Through habit he moves his chair to the left of the desk, opening up the middle drawer, taking out a small compact box, shutting the thing closed and placing the wooden box on the side of the desk, aiming to not dirty the papers. He opens the humidor, four expensive cigars lay neatly inside. Taking one of the sticks and the straight cutters, he fixes the cigar between his fingers and brings the sheers to the front and slides the stick in between the blades, and shuts the guillotine. 

SNAP!

He rolls back and turns the chair to face the large window, so that the green light that pours into the room which not only illuminates the furniture, but the kingpin as well–highlighting his features. His good eye blends with the light, the seafoam green melting away a stark contrast from the damaged one. The green clashes against the bright angry orange, the toxic waters of the Undercity fully displayed on the left of his face, the hard horrors of his youth.

Finally, he slips his hand into his vest. His delicate fingers glided over the finely knitted fabric of his striped burgundy shirt before delving into the soft contours of the breast pocket. With a practiced motion, his digits deftly retrieve a small, rectangular item. Something cold to the touch against his fingertips, the metal texture bumpy and slightly damaged. 

It's a lighter. Gray and metallic with a fancy lace eloping it–vines and roses, perfectly crafted to be comfortable to hold while simultaneously being bold and beautiful even with scratches and dents along the body. Silco caressed the carvings with the pad of his thumb. Specifically a scratchy name on the front of it. Until he was holding it properly, he extended it enough to flick the small thing open and ignite it.

The flame dances dimly, alone. Slico rolls the cigar in his fingers and hovers it over the fire, lighting the end of it. Flicking the lighter closed, he takes a long drag of the cigar. Savoring the smoke he inhales, holding the earthy smoke in his mouth. Not letting it fester for too long he puffs it out. 

Above him is an audible creaking followed by a loud thunk behind him, just then he felt his eye send a sharp pain throughout his face. He takes another drag, hoping that it eases his nerves. It does not. Huffing it out he turns the chair to face the girl sitting impatiently on his desk. Strews of papers now scattered about. Screw organization.

"You have impeccable timing," Jinx smiles and tilts her head side to side while lazily whipping the end of one of her braids of hair in a swirling motion. Jinx then scoots forward. The papers crumpled under her butt make the scooting easier, some falling off the edge. She places her feet in between Silcos spread legs, planting them firmly in place and with most of her leg strength she easily moves the chair with the bemused kingpin closer to the desk. The chair creaked as she did so. Jinx blows a raspberry and guiltily giggles. 

"Pfft- yeah just the best of timing, heh" She snatches the device out of the top drawer. Moving her legs she turns the chair to the right to pull him even closer, the armrest bumps roughly into the desk. Jinx plops her legs on top of his kicking her feet under the other armrest. The kingpin throughout this doesn't seem bothered, used to his daughter's theatrics. 

"You mustn't spy on me when I'm in a meeting" Silco narrows his eye at her, no actual malice in his expression. He positions the cigar away, so she doesn't smell it when he gently places it in the ashtray, not snubbing it out.

"Wasn't spying — just watching Ms. Righty" Jinx chuckles at her own morbid nickname, and drapes her forearm on Silcos head, as she leans on the chair. The device occasionally tapped against his temple. The blue-haired girl whines about being bored and how Sevika won't let her on jobs. Calling his right-hand an ogre that isn't cool or fun–but is, however, currently green as Jinx had shot her with paintballs. The reason why Sevika was fuming in his office not too long ago. Silco listens, nodding his head along to her rambles in a tired fatherly way. In his right hand he fidgets with the lighter. The glint reflecting off the window light brings the small thing to Jinx's attention. Abruptly stopping in the middle of her rant, watercolor eyes flickering at the silver most importantly at the poorly written name on the front of it.

"Watch'ya got there?" She hitches her leg up on the arm of the chair and rests her tilting head on her knee, unblinking eyes stare at the item in his hand. Silco unclenches the lighter and grips it with his fingers slowly handing it to the curious baby blue. She quickly picks the thing out of his grasp after dropping the device on the table with a low clank. She brings the lighter closer to her face, so she can fix on the smudged words, muttering under her breath "is that a 'a' or an 'b' or maybe a-?" she would've gone through the entire alphabet if Silco had not said her name to pull her out of her thoughts.

"What does this say, can you tell me?" Frantic, she moves the light far away from her face, dramatically turning her head to the patient kingpin, his hands hanging loosely between his thighs humming in a low tune, debating on entertaining her offbeat curiosity.

"Aww' c'mon I'm dying of boredom here!" Jinx flails around her spot before falling onto her back with her arms spread out on the desk, her head is to the left looking at the metal rectangle with a pout. Twirling it with her pink and blue nails. Silco sighs, looking at his suddenly sad daughter–he knows she's just playing him, he caves anyways. Not without teaching about bartering, when a certain stinging sensation occurs. The nerves of his left eye spread out to his scarred side, eating away at him.

"Administer my medicine, then I'll think about it" Jinx pouts, but hands him the lighter anyway. Grabbing the device that was left on the table. "Finnee-" Grumbling, she moves forward so she's close to his face and places the contraption over his eye. She waits, eyes flickering from the button on top to his bad eye. When her gaze finally looks at the good eye, she presses the button. Instantly, he shoots forward, straining in his seat as Jinx still holds onto his jaw. He tightens his grip on the light. The dose of shimmer elopes his eye–the red widening before shrinking back to an orange. The purple substance fighting away at the toxins left behind, a single shimmer tear runs down his scarred cheek. 

"Done! Now, tell me!" Jinx haphazardly drops the medical device on the desk, again. Pulling up her legs on the arm, so she can rest her head on knees, and dig her colorful nails into her muted maroon pants. She puts most of her body weight on the side of the chair, making it dip only slightly. Waiting for her father to catch his breath and follow up on his end of the bargain. Slicking his salt and pepper hair back, he leans into the chair. Adjusting his sitting and wiping away the tear before answering her.

"It reads Lady." 

"Why does it say that and why do you have something that says that and why is it so badly written?-" He sighs, still rubbing at the now disappeared shimmer. Jinx's questioning doesn't throw him off, his eyes narrow in amusement. "Will it ease your curious need about my youth if I told you it was from an old friend?" Jinx gives him a weird look.

"I thought you said we shouldn't hold onto the past and blah blah blah" Jinx begins to flap her hand in a talking motion. He grabs her wrist, making her look him in the eye. His face was serious.

"We shouldn't hold onto the past and let it consume us." He says sternly, letting her go when she begrudgingly nods. Jinx notices a fondness lit in his eye, as he then gestures to the lighter in his hand. The flame, as quickly as it appeared, dims away.

"That is more or less something nostalgic, a keepsake out of appreciation" Jinx looks at him then the lighter, then back at him. "For who?" Jinx asks. Silco smirks.

"An old friend"

"UGHHH" She dramatically flops down again, crossing her arms. Jinx begins to spin Silco, moving her legs accordingly, in an attempt at a punishment for making vague remarks. Silco lets her for only a moment, stopping her when he's fully faced in front of her by taking the leg off the armrest and letting it drop to the floor next to the other. Silco hums in thought.

"It was...from a past love of mine" From her sitting position, Jinx snaps her head up. Her attention gained back. She's not perturbed by this new information, her curiosity only grows. "Hehehe, you fancied someone?" She giggles, hunching over. Her hands either side of her thighs gripping the edge of the desk and kicking her hanging feet.

"Mhm, I did..." As memories of the past flood his mind, he forcefully wrestles himself from saying ‘I do’ . The past should linger in the past, and in the palm of his hand like a burdensome weight. Despite this, his thumb still circles around the lighter. In response, Jinx visibly slouched, her frown growing more pronounced.

"What happened?" Jinx knows now that this friend is no longer here, someone who was once close to her father–she began thinking. Her gaze flicks restless between Silco’s eyes, her hands fidgeting as they cling together. Her thumb incessantly rubs against her palm, creating a raw spot on her skin. Sensing the tension, Silco quietly places his hand on her knee, tenderly tracing comforting lines with his fingertips to ease her away from the rhythmic rubbing and her own reminiscing. 

He knows Jinx would ask non-stop about this subject, as if she were still the 12 year old that he took in years ago. Even if he did indulge Jinx in her possible endless quest of nagging him til’ he complies. He would have no idea where to begin, he’s sure that his late-companion would tell it differently, albeit dramatically. Jinx has learned through his lectures of betrayal, perhaps one on loyalty might have the same effect. 

"What happened to most Zaunites during the revolutionary years-" Silco lifts his head smoothly, his gaze hardening with growing anger. Behind the pride he feels for his expanding nation, he holds a knife to the throat of the ‘Nation of Progress’ Silco’s thoughts travel back to his last moment with her, realizing the irony that lies within the nickname of Piltover. With a cool deliberateness, Sico carefully considers his next words as he looks at his daughter. Who is seated with uncharacteristic patience. 

The cigar in the tray burns, forgotten. "-Perishing with no name under the cold gold-plated boot of Piltover"

[atlabeth]

i crumble completely (when you cry)

pairing: sebastian sallow x fem ravenclaw reader

summary: there's only one way to get into salazar slytherin's scriptorium.

a/n: hogwarts legacy was 70% off, i bought it and it's good but not good enough in all the ways that matter so im fixing it for myself. no i dont know why this is where my inspo is when i have so much unfinished stuff but just go with it

wc: 2.1k

warning(s): angst but hurt/comfort angst! a more in depth scriptorium scene so crucio is used but this is from seb's pov so lighter descriptions of all that fun stuff

“Ominis, you have to.”

“I’m not doing it!” he exclaimed. “What do you not get?”

“Would you rather die here?” Sebastian spat. “Because if you don’t, that’s what will happen. And I’ve become rather fond of my life over these past few minutes.” 

“I refuse to use dark magic,” Ominis seethed. “You of all people should understand, Sebastian!” 

“I don’t understand why you’d let us die instead of casting one spell!”

He barked an incredulous laugh. “It is not just one spell! God, you—”

“Can you do it?” 

Sebastian’s anger faltered for a moment when you spoke up, and he frowned when he saw you were looking at him. “What?” 

“Can you do it?” you repeated. “Can you cast the curse?” 

“I—” His mouth fell open and shut as he looked between you and Ominis, before they finally settled on you. “—I think so. Not well, but—”

“Then you can do it,” you said. “Cast it on me, and we’ll be out of this mess.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened as he said your name in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!”

You stared at him. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Ominis cut in. “I know what it feels like—you’re not putting yourself through that. We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.” You gestured at the letters on the ground, his aunt’s last mark on the world. “You’ve got the answer right here, and a willing victim. What are you waiting for?”

Sebastian grimaced. “Calling yourself a victim isn’t helping.”

“The only reason you’re willing is because you don’t know what you’re signing up for.” Ominis’s blank gaze pointed at the ground, but his sharp words hit you all the same. “It’s unimaginable, excruciating pain. Every one of your nerves exploding, your bones being crushed to dust, your blood turning to fire. You will never forget what it feels like.”

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the chill settling over you. “Well, it’s either that or we sit around here until we die.”

“Even if he wanted to—”

“Which I don’t!” Sebastian cut in. 

“He would have to really mean it,” Ominis finished. 

“Again, which I don’t!” he exclaimed. 

“That just means it won’t hurt as much,” you said. “Should take away some of your reservations.”

Sebastian huffed. “There is something wrong with you.”

“And you were all for this when it would be Ominis casting it on me?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I— I figured he would cast it on me!” His eyes widened. “I— I could teach it to you, and you could cast it on me!”

“Will the two of you stop bickering?” Ominis asked. “It’s not making this any better.” 

“Of course,” you nodded. “Sebastian will cast the Cruciatus Curse on me, and we’ll be out of here. Okay?” 

Sebastian stared at you, your steely gaze having already met his. You’d always been stubborn, unyielding—he’d known it since you bested him in a duel in your first ever meeting. 

Ravenclaw hardheadedness, he figured. Always assuming you knew best (you usually did), that you were right (you usually were), that you could handle whatever ended up in your path (you usually could). 

And here you were, standing right in front of him, those determined eyes unwavering as you practically begged him to cast an Unforgivable Curse on you. 

Did you know that he wasn’t even sure he could cast it on you? Not just because it was near unthinkable, but because he had no idea if he could scrounge up enough ill will towards you to even partially want to hurt you. 

Did you know that you were the reason he’d started doing better in classes? That, no matter how much he complained about your study sessions together, that he could have been doing something much more productive, he treasured every moment with you? 

Did you even know that the mere thought of causing you pain made him want to retch? That, yes, he may very well choose death over imparting the torture curse on you? 

Did you even know how he felt about you? 

Sebastian pulled his wand out his robes, his grip tightening in an effort to stop his hand from shaking. “You’re sure about this.” 

You nodded. “It won’t leave any physical wounds. It’ll be over sooner than you know it.” 

He huffed as he glanced away. “You shouldn’t be the one reassuring me.” 

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged. “Just… buy me a pint of butterbeer when we get out of here. Then we’ll be square.” 

“You’re not exactly aiming high,” Sebastian said wryly. 

You smiled. “My mum always told me it was the simple things. Now, do it before I lose my nerve.” 

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, once, twice, three times as he adjusted his hold on his wand. He closed his eyes as he tried to remember the wand movement, but instead, he saw your face. 

The first time he met you, when you embarrassed him in front of the whole class by beating him ina duel. When you asked him to take you to Hogsmeade for the first time, and you ended up taking down a troll—how beautiful you looked with the glow of exertion beneath your skin, when you turned to him with the widest (and maybe first) smile he’d ever seen from you in the wake of your efforts. 

How could he do something like this to you?

He pushed the doubt down. There was no other way. You wanted him to do it—wanted him to save them all from a very boring, very preventable death. 

Something in the scriptorium could save Anne. That was worth anything. 

Sebastian took in a deep breath. He brought forth every negative thought—the goblin that cursed his sister, his housemates that believed in nothing but blood purity, his uncle that refused to believe in him, refused to even try to save Anne. 

None of it to do with you, who had done nothing but support him since you helped him up from the ground after pummeling him into it, but he tried to project it onto you anyways. 

He raised his wand. 

He opened his eyes—your gaze hadn’t moved. They showed no fear, no anger, no emotion at all but steely determination. 

“Crucio!” 

Red light arced from his wand to your body. You crumpled to your knees the instant the spell reached you, skull-splintering screams echoing throughout the small room as the curse wrapped its way around you. 

Your scarf fell from your neck, your robes pooled around you, your knees and palms scraped the stone as you tried to support yourself in any way. Your agonized wails were deafening, and Sebastian nearly lost it right then and there, nausea rising in his throat. Ominis’s blank, widened gaze fell on the wall, his hands clenched into fists as he fought to keep his expression even. 

You were one of the strongest people Sebastian knew. Always infallible, always so smart, so level headed in the face of his impulsivity. Naturally gifted at magic, and somehow willing to tolerate him. And he’d been forced to reduce you to this. 

But it worked. Your screams of pure torment unlocked something in Salazar Slytherin’s sick design, and the door of tortured faces pulsed with red energy before sliding into the stone. 

Sebastian rushed over the moment the door started to open, his wand falling from his grasp in his haste and his eyes wide with fear and concern. He went to touch you, but stopped just before he could—he didn’t want to hurt you more. Your entire body rose and fell with your beleaguered breaths as you rolled on your side, your every movement labored. 

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “I— I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

You couldn’t respond, the pain still arcing its way through your body despite the curse being done. You inhaled sharply as your eyes screwed shut, and you nodded. 

“You’re clearly not okay.” The slight waver in Ominis’s voice betrayed his unaffected stature. “That was remarkably stupid.”

“Ominis—” Sebastian started, but you shook your head. 

“It worked,” you interrupted as you lifted a shaky hand to point at the now revealed scriptorium. “Couldn’t… couldn’t be too stupid… could it?”

“There is something wrong with you,” he whispered. You could only manage a pained laugh at his words. 

Sebastian stayed there with you as you fought through the last few convulsions—he said nothing when you grabbed his hand, bit back his wince when you squeezed tighter than a vice. After what you just went through, he could bear something so small. 

Your breathing was still labored when he finally helped you up. Your legs nearly collapsed beneath you, but he kept you upright. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, desperate to reassure you. “You— you’re okay.”

“I told you I would be,” you said. 

“You did,” he conceded. “I keep forgetting you’re always right.” 

He got the slightest smile from you at that. Sebastian glanced over when he heard footsteps, and he saw Ominis approaching. His whole body still held a tenseness, but he was sure it was for a different reason this time. 

“…You took that well,” he finally said, and he held out your scarf. 

Again, another laugh and another wince. “I really didn’t. But thank you.” 

You reached for the scarf, but Sebastian got to it first. He gently draped it around your neck, taking special care to keep the Ravenclaw emblem in the front. You had a lot of pride in your house. 

“How’s that?” he asked softly. 

“Perfect,” you nodded. “Thank you.” 

He nodded too, and Ominis cleared his throat. Sebastian turned back to him, his cheeks tinted slightly pink. Ominis held his wand, and he took it back before shoving it back into his robes. Casting any sort of spell felt dirtied right now. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I… I’m sorry about all this.” 

“…Thank you,” Ominis echoed. “Let’s just get out of here before any more of Slytherin’s tricks find us.” 

“No arguments here,” you mumbled. 

Ominis walked in, and though your eyes followed him, you lingered back with Sebastian. He still supported you, one of his arms interlocked with yours. A part of him was worried that you would collapse again the second he stepped away. He could feel your chilled skin even through your robes—no wonder you always wore your scarf. You ran colder than a mermaid. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sebastian said quietly. 

“You already said that.” 

“Because it’s true,” he said. “These curses are unforgivable for a reason. You never should have had to go through this.” 

“Well, I forgive you,” you said. “We had no choice, and I asked you to do it. And,” you gave him a wry look, “it didn’t hurt that much, so you clearly didn’t mean it.” 

He couldn’t even laugh at that—he kept hearing your piercing screams, agony beyond all reason. He would surely hear them for weeks to come in his sleep, see your prone form every time he closed his eyes. 

He felt you nudge him in the side. “Hey. Perk up. I’m okay. Besides,” you gave him a sideways smile, “Rowena would be proud. Anything in the name of knowledge, eh?” 

That got the slightest of smiles out of him, and he shook his head. “There’s—” 

“Something wrong with me, I know. That’s the third time today.” You tilted your head towards the scriptorium. “Now, shall we get what we suffered for?” 

Sebastian nodded, and the two of you walked in, him still supporting you. Ominis had already made his way up the stairs—he really did want to get out as soon as possible. You had your wand in your free hand and had already murmured a quick Revelio, eyes darting around in an effort to unearth any secrets. 

“That brain of yours never stops, does it?” 

Your lips quirked. “Never.” 

Another beat of silence as you searched the alcoves together. He couldn’t help but watch you—you were a Ravenclaw in her natural habitat. Your brow creased just so, your pretty features honed to a single point of focus, cycling through all your thoughts at breakneck speed despite what you just went through. It made his heart swell with something he couldn’t quite name, right beside a gnawing hole filled with guilt.  

“I really do owe you a pint,” Sebastian murmured.  

You laughed. Lighter, this time, and with only the slightest grimace. “Make that two.” 

A smile crossed his lips without him even thinking. Sebastian was so glad he had you in his life—he was only sorry he had to wait until fifth year. 

“Deal.”

[swordgrace]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — RISK OF GETTING CAUGHT.

⤿ pairings: (S1) jon snow x fem!reader

⤿ word count: 3.4K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), public sex, risk of getting caught, experienced reader, sub!jon, reader is definitely more dominant, heavy kissing, teasing, mild praise kink, cunnilingus, oral sex (fem!rec), p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, descriptions of cum, soft ending

⤿ note: lowkey I churned this out pretty quick, this was so so fun to write! honestly this is also dedicated to @dipperscavern , a lot of their jon snow content fuels my inspo for him, so thank you!

“You’ve got to be mad.”

Jon Snow’s bewildered, sour Northern timbre rattled throughout the stables, twisted with palpable uncertainty as you led him back toward bales of hay. His stomach was coiled into knots — knots of excitement, but nerves seemed to prevail.

Ever the honorable one, he often cautioned you against these hasty, secret meetings you orchestrated. A sliver of him thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of it all, the thrill of being with you between corridors and in darkness.

Trysts like these were exceedingly dangerous — if any question came into being regarding your virtue or his honor, Eddard would have his head for it, and you would be scorned.

“Yet you willingly partake,” A quip as sharp as a longsword dug into his side, prompting him to huff in response. “If this is madness to you, Jon, you have not yet lived a life.”

“Here, of all places?” Jon countered, tone bordering along exasperation and subtle excitement. The stables weren’t exactly the most conventional place to couple, but your options were thin. He feared someone stumbling upon the both of you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you peered at your brooding paramour through a half-lidded gaze, head canting to one side. “Here, of all places.” You parroted, tone dripping with amusement.

Gods, you were such a temptress.

It was difficult to resist you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, the hem of your dress shamelessly steeped in several inches of mud. Even the Northern chill could not ice his bones in your presence, as warm as the sands of Dorne.

The both of you were caught within the throes of youthful affection and what he called it, love. It pained him all the more to consider the Night’s Watch when he had you at his side.

“You do not have to follow me, Jon,” You countered, one hand twined with his, steering the doe-eyed boy back into the stables, enough for partial concealment. This was as reckless as it seemed — but you cared little for it. “You can always turn around.”

A pleading groan rippled from his throat, yet Jon relented, chasing after you like a wolf nipping at your heels. “What happens if we’re discovered? Your brother would take my head for this.” He murmured.

The thought of Jory Cassel dismantling his head from his shoulders was a gruesome thought — but not before Eddard Stark got to him first. Jon shuddered, dark brows creased with permanent frustration.

“Gods, you worry like an old crone,” Your bubbling laughter made his chest stir with warmth, the sensation spreading toward his stomach. “Why, you don’t trust me?” You suggested.

With furrowed brows, Jon’s countenance told a different story, one of incessant fear and boyish nerves, ones that only flourished in your presence. He seemed to accept defeat. “I do trust you.” He insisted.

Inching closer, you pressed a palm against his chest, nail picking at the finely-crafted leather. “We don’t have long,” You murmured, tone betraying your playful facade. “I wish it weren’t always like this.”

Jon exhaled, a somewhat trembling noise that finally evened out as moments ticked by. He reached to cup your jaw, calloused thumb soothingly stroking at your cheek. “Someday, it won’t be. I promise.”

The constant sneaking around had become exhausting — Jon was shocked that no one had discovered you yet. Even then, as much as he fought against brash decisions like these, it was all you had, and he would seize the moment.

With a cheshire smile, you rocked up upon your toes to kiss Jon, reveling in the sensation of his weeks-old stubble scratching your skin. You enjoyed his rugged appearance more than that of a freshly-shaved boy.

Sometimes you forgot that he was nine-and-ten, more a man now than boy — but that was who you’d fallen in-love with, the boy. Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.

He could’ve been anything and nothing, and your feelings wouldn’t have changed. A bastard or not, Jon meant more to you than most. He was kinder, not spoiled or surly, yet still protective when it mattered most.

Jon very nearly buckled beneath the saccharine warmth of your mouth, absorbing every scrap of heat from you. Gods, you were the first woman he’d ever touched, ever laid with — he hoped that you would be the very last.

Your experience before he truly became your lover never soured him to you — in fact, it made him jealous. If Jon had it his way, he would’ve been your first for everything, but there was no use in dwelling in the past.

Fortune favored him, knowing that he had you now. His hands, initially hesitant, finally made their perch against the swell of your hips. The lovely outline of your body molded itself to his palms as you kissed him, digits toying with his dark curls.

“You could change your mind,” Your softened voice drifted between the both of you. “About me.” It was a gentle sigh in between kisses, your countenance becoming a touch melancholy.

A look of complete and utter shock made residence upon Jon’s features, lips agape at such a statement. “I wouldn’t,” He insisted, hooking an arm around your hips. “You know that I wouldn’t.”

Jon knew your being like the scrawlings of a map — every fine line, every landscape, the valleys and dips of your heart. You knew him just as much, and you knew that he was certain about you. It gave you comfort, placating reassurance in the face of insecurities.

It brought you solace to know that Jon intended on being with you, even if your union was somewhat unconventional. It was a love whispered between corridors — stolen glances, a yearning that transcended duty, touching behind hay bales.

“Good,” Your assertion made his belly erupt with fire, stoked by your constant teasing and prodding. Jon savored it nonetheless, even if it did make his features burn with scarlet. “Are you blushing?”

Seven Hells — Jon nearly tossed you into the hay for your inquiry. He huffed, playfully pinching the pliant part of your haunch. “No,” He grumbled, silently commiserating over your observant nature. “But you don’t make it any better.”

With a laugh as bright as the first inkling of springtime, it prompted Jon to smile too, even if it was threadbare. A comfortable silence drifted between you both, simmering with a thinly-veiled tension, wreathed in desire.

Desire was a perilous thing, especially for Jon.

He was still somewhat clumsy during your lovemaking, inexperience glimmering through, but he was an adept learner. Jon thoroughly enjoyed learning your body as one would learn to wield a broadsword.

The ardor that glistened within your hues made his heart pound like a hammer against an anvil, steel to be molded by your capable hands. He was often the more subservient one in your union, not that he minded it.

Jon seemed content to become lost within your gaze, reduced to a mere pup. Swallowing the growing lump within his throat, he bent to kiss you, disarmingly gentle as he squeezed at your hips.

A beat fluttered between the both of you; love blossomed, yet lust flourished like a swiftly-spreading fire. Soft fingers found their purchase against the nape of his neck, preening through his dark curls.

Beams of a dying sun pooled in from the gaps in the wood, painting your features with burnished gold. It was nearly dusk, and the castle would be settling — Jon’s incessant worrying began to diminish altogether.

Lips tangled together, a sweet dance that stole every wisp of air from his lungs. Jon felt your palms glide downward, planting themselves against his chest as you wordlessly directed him to the firm bales of straw.

“Wait,” Jon rasped, voice hoarse with desperation. Before you could slip into his lap, you ceased, head cocking to one side. “I want to taste you first.” He wanted it more than anything else.

A coy smile caused your lips to quirk, and you sauntered backwards a step or two, back hitting the wall of the stables. Brazenly, you gathered the material of your dress in one hand, slipping it up along your legs.

Jon did not waste a second, moving off of the straw and onto his knees, crawling to you like a starving animal; a wolf on all fours. Those dark hues of his sparkled with affection, even as he parted your legs with his shoulders.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, greedy laps causing you to shiver in delight. Nimble digits found their way to his crown of curls, coaxing him closer. “Jon.” You sighed his name as if it were a prayer.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, the sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Jon sloppily lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into your tattered skirts, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Jon wasn’t tactful nor graceful, but passion and enthusiasm was all he really needed to please you. Each kiss he placed against your cunt drove you to madness, arching into the eager ministrations of his mouth.

If he were to perish, let it be between your thighs, exactly like this. An aching sensation throbbed along his length, straining against his leather trousers. He gripped your thigh, letting you rest one leg atop his shoulder.

The scratch of his stubble caused friction between his cheek and your thighs, yet it was a pleasant sting. You sang Jon’s praises, a myriad of hushed whines and wanton moans between the distant whistling of the Northern gales.

Warmth blossomed throughout your body, a familiar coil of heat unfurling within the pit of your stomach. A stab of pleasure struck at your nethers when Jon’s tongue briefly rolled over your clit, prompting you to tug on his curls.

A low groan rippled through his throat, reverberating as a grunt throughout his chest. He savored your taste, each twitch of your thigh, brusque tug of his tresses from your greedy hand.

Jon cared little for the mess, content to drink you in, rougher palm caressing against your thigh before trailing down to your calf. He squeezed again, to ensure that you were real and not some lascivious fantasy he’d dreamt of.

You were everything — flesh and blood, the lament that echoed his name, a lover so beautiful that he dared not look away. Jon did not consider himself a romantic, but he found himself putting in the effort with you.

He devoured you like a man starved, a hungry wolf, seeking its final meal. Jon continued to trace your cunt with his tongue, kissing you wherever he could. Your little tugs of his tresses often coaxed him further into your heat.

As his lips rolled over the pearl of your cunt again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, delighted to lap at your core until you forced him to stop.

Tugging at his tousled curls, you pried Jon away from you, flushed with a delicious shade of scarlet. Warmth permeated your skin, a heat that sank into your bones, kept you oblivious to the growing cold that came with dusk.

His chin glistened with your slick, pliant lips seeking your mouth. “You are so handsome.” You purred, watching Jon preen beneath the softness of your compliment. You thought him to be perfect in every way imaginable.

Rising to his feet, Jon did not resist when you began to push him back toward the bale of straw, palm planted against his chest as he sat. He was more than willing, peering up at you through thick lashes.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon reciprocated your kindly words, timbre steeped in an awestruck appreciation for you. His breath hitched within his throat when you slid into his lap, hitching your skirts up towards your hips. “Seven Hells.” He groaned.

Excitable hands grasped your hips once more, brazenly sinking towards your derrière as you kissed him. Jon’s sigh was audible as he returned such a heated kiss, brows creased in concentration.

There was a lack of uncertainty in his actions, and in the beginning, he was often unsteady and hesitant. Now, Jon touched you greedily, wanting more of you, savoring the sensation of your body pressed so closely to his.

Able to taste your own nectar upon his tongue, you allowed one hand to clasp at the nape of his neck, the other slyly working to slip beneath his tunic. Jon was growing in muscle, flesh as pale as a moonlit snowfall, broad-shouldered and comely.

Your dress would be riddled with pieces of hay in the aftermath, but it was all worth it. Your kisses were rather domineering, but disarmingly gentle. Perhaps your desire to take initiative always lingered in your entanglements, but your love for him never faded.

Jon let his kiss linger, lips pressing to your jaw, and then to your throat. A shiver iced your spine with anticipation, hand traveling from beneath his tunic toward the laces of his trousers.

It was then that you scanned his features for any hints of hesitation or uncertainty. “Do you want this, even still?” You uttered, lips tugging into a reassuring smile. He did not seem as nervous as before.

With a nod, he reached to cup your jaw, pressing a chaste kiss to your brow. “More than anything.” The rasp within his tender tone filled your stomach with an eruption of butterflies, gooseflesh tingling along your skin.

There was certainly no rush, but with daylight burning and Jon expected to be in his quarters soon, you began to act with haste.

Eager fingers unraveled the coase ties of his breeches, with Jon attempting to aid you wherever he could. With bated breath, you looked to him, brimming with a thinly-veiled adoration.

His hands held your hips, allowing you to maneuver yourself as you saw fit, freeing his cock from its confines. You hovered, soft palm guiding his length to your slick cunt. Jon inhaled — a sharp, poignant noise that signaled relief.

“Jon,” You moaned, grasping for his broad shoulders, still shrouded in leather. Gods, you wished you could see him bare, unobstructed — he was surely a ravishing sight. “Gods, I missed you.”

Jon groaned at the sweetness of your words, spoken through a wanton moan. He held you close, hands tracing the outline of your curvaceous physique through your gowns.

Twilight painted the skies above Winterfell, bringing with it the bitter bite of nightly chill and a canvas of stars above. Darkness settled in throughout the stables, save for the burning of dying braziers within the stables.

Even through such slim illumination, Jon could make out your countenance, a picture of beauty, contorted into a look of bliss. He was at your mercy, slumped back against some of the bales, letting you ride him as you would a broken gelding.

Intermingled noises of breathy moans and strenuous pants reverberated in the space around you, heat prevailing where the cold could not.

Jon shuddered at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

It was a sluggish start, agonizingly so, bodies finding moments to adjust to one another, grow accustomed. You drew yourself up, his cock filling you in such a pleasant way, nothing discomforting about it.

The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

The very image of grace, tarnished with lust; a maiden worth worshiping. Jon huffed, chest erupting with a string of pants and soft groans, lips agape as you adopted a steady rhythm.

His hands caressed circles into your hips, dark hues wide and mesmerized, doelike in their silent appraisal of you. Through the moonlit dusk of the stables, you met his gaze, blushing beneath the intensity of it.

A whimper of bliss bubbled from your lips as you became invigorated in your pace, rocking yourself up and down along his cock, aided by his grasp upon your hips.

The lewd, crass union of flesh against flesh joined the ambiance, yet all he could focus on was you, the lovestruck look within your eyes, exuberance glittering beneath. He kneaded along your thighs, squeezing when the pleasure mounted.

“Perfect,” A soft sputtering between exhilarated breaths, enough to ensnare Jon’s attention. “Gods, Jon, you’re perfect.” Such wanton praise nearly made him spill his seed into you then and there.

His hips stuttered, bucking off of the bale and right into you, cock reaching new depths. It made you moan, significantly noisier this time, enough for Jon to become mildly concerned about someone investigating.

A familiar coil of heat began to unfurl within the pit of your stomach, just as it did his own. Jon sat up enough to seize your lips in a kiss, one that blossomed with passion, letting his affections bleed through.

Your pace was tantalizing, nothing too swift to let it feel sloppy and rushed, yet fervent enough to make his head swim with the haze of desire. Jon’s mouth did not part from yours until you drew away, only to release another moan.

Jon fought against his release, not wanting it to end so quickly, stomach tight as could be. He let out a string of sighs, vocalizing your comeliness, digits squeezing into your hip once more.

“Don’t stop.” He huffed, and if he could plead with you, he would’ve. Your current rhythm was perfect, made to torment him as you sank yourself down upon his cock again.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, crying out to the heavens.

It was your release that came first, and it was swift — the intensity of it nearly blinded you, white-hot and sticky as you began to still. The tightness of your cunt sent Jon cascading over the edge.

Jon’s swift thinking caused you to move off of him, with seconds to spare as he spilled himself across your thighs, ropes of seed painting your flesh. Embarrassment rippled through him, but you understood why he didn’t come undone inside of you.

Chests rose and fell with labored sighs, basking in the aftermath of your tryst. Pieces of straw had stuck themselves to your dress, to his clothing, to his dusky curls.

It was difficult not to let your seriousness diminish in the wake of your orgasm, body tingling with such bliss. You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of this — the stables, the disheveled hay, your recklessness.

He found himself smiling with you, dutifully assisting in cleaning his seed off of your thighs with the handkerchief tucked away within his tunic. Your shared joy brought him comfort.

“What will Lord Stark think of your unkempt state?” You teased, plucking golden twigs of hay from his hair, nose wrinkled with mild amusement. “Romping around in the hay?”

Jon huffed, eyes crinkling with mirth as he pulled you in for a kiss, allowing it to linger, knowing that he would be parted from you soon enough. “If I’m lucky, Lord Stark won’t see me.” He mused.

You would pray to the Old Gods that Jon was not accosted by his stern-faced father. “If you’re unlucky?” It was not something that Jon wanted to consider, but he did for the sake of your playful inquiry.

“We’ll have to find a different location.”

[peachdues]

ALL THE THINGS WE LEFT UNSAID — NSFW TEASER

Tengen’s Bundle of Joy • secret pregnancy AU

A/N: oh yeah, this isn’t going to go wrong in the slightest, not at all —

CW: MDNI • explicit sexual content below

READ THE PROLOGUE HERE

Uzui slumps against the doorframe with a quiet exhale. “Look at you.”

The sound of his voice is enough to set you on edge, but the sight of him nearly knocks you over. It’s unfair that such an insufferable pain in the ass would be so damn pretty.

You scowl and the child in your belly shifts, sensing your unease. “Get out. I’m in no mood for your insults or mockeries —“

“You’re beautiful.” He chances a single, cautious step past the entryway, eyes dazed as he stares at you, as though in a trance.

“Why are you here?”

That seems to catch his attention, the dazed fog in his eyes clearing with a few, quick blinks. “I wanted to see how you were.” He swallows, hard. “How you both were.”

Warily, you step back, turning your hips away from him. “You’ve known where I was for months, and you wait until now?” You don’t bother to hold back the chill in your tone. Better to keep the distance between you firm rather than have to make up the slack when he inevitably decides to cross your boundaries.

——

“I can help,” his exhale is hot against your neck, though not more so than his hands as they skim down your shoulders. His fingers play with the opening in your robe. “You know I can. You don’t have to endure this alone.”

Oh, he could. He’d done such wicked things to you with just his mouth and hands alone, never mind what he done with the rest of him, so thick and hard.

The warmth bleeding into your back is like a drug, and you can’t help but melt into him as he ghosts his lips along the slope of your shoulder.

“Do you know how I’ve dreamed of you?” Surprisingly limber fingers push beneath the front folds of your yukata to graze the bare skin above your collar bone. Though the room is warm thanks to the fire cracking merrily in the hearth, you find yourself shivering as your robe teases lightly across your skin, baring more of you to the open air.

The breadth of the Sound Pillar’s forearm across your chest keeps you locked in place against him. “I’m at your mercy every time I fall asleep.”

“Uzu — oh,” your head thuds against his sternum when his fingers — those damn fingers — find your exposed breast.

“You realized it too that night, didn’t you?” The slow parting of your robe from your shoulders spreads goosebumps over your skin where the fabric drags. Between his hands and the teasing caress of your robe sliding down your arms, every nerve in your body comes alive. You sink further into him, bare from the top of your rounded belly, up.

Uzui’s arms swallow you up from behind, and his lips find your shoulder. “That we were made for one another? It’s why we didn’t stop, isn’t it?”

Too much; his hands are too warm, his mouth far too soft where it dances along your desperate skin. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, let alone by someone whose caress almost could pass for something reverent. Loving.

It’s been so long since anyone cared.

“Aren’t you tired of us playing this game?” He asks, as though you’d been the one responsible for putting the pieces on the board. “Why do we have to keep dancing around it?”

Uzui doesn’t say what exactly it is he speaks of, and you know better than to ask. It is a door that cannot be shut once opened, and there is no point in trying to force it, anyways.

After all, you were not the one who locked it in the first place.

He drops to his knees before you, staring up at you with something like awe.

“I want you both to be mine.” He whispers, his forehead pressing to the generous swell of your stomach before he peers up at you. for a moment, all of the heat brimming in his eyes is smothered out by pure yearning, earnest and desperate.

“My baby,” his gaze remains locked with yours even as his lips softly graze your navel. “My woman.”

His lips travel down the outward curve of your stomach, every kiss an act of worship, until he pauses right before the dip in your thighs.

“Just say yes,” he urges, mouth hovering dangerously —infuriatingly close to where you ache. “I’ll take care of you both, I swear it.”

He seems so earnest. It is almost easy — too easy — to forget what led you here, heavily pregnant with his child.

You’d be more useful dead.

being horny doesn’t fix your problem, idiot

[queenofheartlessdreams]

Scorned Sympathy ( Aegon II Targaryen x Reader)

Fandom: House of the Dragon, Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Hightower! Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower's sister has always hated the King, and transversely, he has hated her back. But, that all changes after he returns from Rook's Rest.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: none? I think, I don't know, its HOTD but mostly hurt/comfort and fluff

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They say that burns are a sacred death. The death of  dragon riders, honoring them among the living, and the dead. In his history lessons, Aegon had heard it was peaceful. Yes, there was supposed to be a screaming,  agonizing pain, but as flesh burned away, it took nerve endings with it, leaving them to feel nothing, numb. 

But Aegon hadn't been so lucky, he had only wished he had died back on the battlefield, died on impact of the flames. Then he wouldn't have had to suffer through spiraling to the ground, snapping his bones, or feel his armor being peeled away after it had merged with his flesh. He wouldn't have had to sleep nearly every hour of the day, waking up only to experience excruciating pain, relearning to walk when every step made him cry out in agony. 

The once comforting walls of his bedroom had turned into a torture chamber as he was forced to his feet by the Maesters, only to hobble around the confinements of those walls, good hand gripping the cane with enough force to drive splinters in his hands and cause his knuckles to turn white.

He cried out as the Maester pushed him into another step, holding him upright as best he could. Larys Strong stood in the patch of sunlight in the room, giving him an angelic halo, ironic as it was his devilish idea to make Aegon start walking so soon, only weeks after he had returned to the Red Keep.  

"Impressive," the club-footed man says, heads turning in his direction, "But I'm afraid you must work harder."

Aegon screams as Larys reaches around his other arm, cries of pain sounding like twisted laughter as together, they move him another step. Burned tissue stretched as they did, a blinding pain seeping through his barely-healed broken leg. 

The men pause in their persistence as the large bedroom doors swing open, silver-draped guards pushing them back to reveal the figure of Y/N, the youngest Hightower daughter. Her frame was draped in a long black gown, tied around her center with a golden chain that stopped several inches above the hem of her skirts. Long copper hair draped down her back, just as her eldest sister, yet that was where the similarities stopped. 

While Alicent was looked up to, a regal Queen of the realm, her sister had all but denounced her high-blood status, working in the streets as a herbalist, giving medicine to the poor, healing wounds, and delivering children. It wasn't until Viserys had died that Alicent welcomed her into the castle, for her protection, she had explained, though no man nor woman would dare to touch the 'witch'.

"Return the King to his bed, my Lords," the woman says, striding into the room, hands folded neatly in front of her gown. 

"The King must regain his strength, my Lady, he must practice," Lord Larys calls over his shoulder, dismissing her command.

Y/N smiles curtly at his defiance, "How would you like to disfigure your other foot, Lord Layrs?"

The man stops, struggling out from underneath the King's arm, "The King-"

"The King is too busy moaning in agony to give a shit about what you think," the woman interrupts, a boldness frowned upon in the castle, "Return him to bed, and leave us. I'm sure there are whispers to attend to."

Reluctantly, the Maester carries Aegon to his bed, allowing him to fall back onto the sanction of his covers. The Maester moves to lift the King's legs, despite his protests, earning a painful cry as they hit his sheets.

Vhisrya watches as the King rolls to his untainted side, arms curled up against his chest in defeat, body trembling as whimpers escape his scarred lips. The Maester exits quickly, Lord Larys slowly following, glaring at her with every step. It is only when she hears the large doors latch shut behind the men that she makes her way over to the King's bedside. He resembled a small child more than a man, curled around himself in loosely fitted clothes, eyes squeezed shut as his body shook.

He takes a ragged breath as he senses her presence beside him, eyes opening just the slightest to glare at the black-clothed woman, "Come to finish me off, witch?"

The witch makes no remark against him, only motioning for the boy to sit upright in the bed. He does so, grunting in pain, bracing himself on his good arm as he slides up to prop his back against the headboard. 

Y/N makes note of his trembling hands, the way he still insisted on putting up a bitter front despite not being able to move even a foot without collapsing in pain. It reminded her of his father. 

Regardless, she reaches for the buttons of his nightgown, pulling them apart hastily till his chest was exposed. Blistering red wounds stretched across the expanse of his left side, charred and black in some places, while in others, the skin had been cut away in jagged marks from separating melted armor from the King's flesh. 

"What-what are you doing?" Aegon trembles, fear lacing his voice. 

The woman's eyes move from his chest, to his face. He watched as they drifted from his swollen eyelid, to the top of his head, where silvery-blonde hair parted from vibrant burns, to where his ear once was, reduced now to a small lump that opened into his eardrum. He knew it was hideous, he wouldn't lie to himself, trying to persuade his own mind that he was still the beautiful boy the kingdom worshiped. He knew that if he healed, he couldn't even be seen in a pleasure house, not even the whores wanting to be fucked by a monster such as himself.

"Your grace?"

A soft voice draws him out of his own mind, one that was nearly unrecognizable coming from the woman beside him, "I have an ointment, one that should assist in healing your burns. But, I require you to remove your sleeves."

"Can't", Aegon grunts, talking becoming an exhaustion.

"I can assist you," the woman cooes, dragging the soiled fabric down his good arm first.

Aegon whimpers as her hand moves to his burned side, gently peeling the fabric from his neck, then down his shoulder, drawing near his bicep. He could feel the fabric stick to his skin, the pus that leaked from his wounds drying, attaching itself to the coarse fabric.

"I'm going to lift your arm," the woman says, earning a series of pleading "no"'s as she does.

The prince groans in pain, feeling the blistering skin stretch, muscle burning as she peeled the fabric away from his body, letting it pool around his waist.

Y/N could see the King's murderous gaze as she finished, pulling his arm back immediately, heavy breaths filling his chest, followed by shaking exhales. 

She makes haste, placing a mortar on the nearby table, filling it with oils and herbs, grinding it till the scent fills the room, overwhelmed by lavender. The King watches as she pulls a small vial from the pocket of her dress, opening it to reveal a nearly clear, thick liquid.

"What is that?" the King asks, the filth of his mind overpowering common sense.

Y/N looks back to the burned man, unaware he was watching her, "It's dragon saliva. Something in it prevents the dragons from being burned when they breathe fire, and proves itself to assist the healing process quicker than the Maester's brew alone. It only took me so long to bring it to you as your brother won't let me near his dragon, Sunfyre has not returned from Rook's Rest, and Helaena won't speak to me as she thinks I had something to do with your son's beheading."

Her last words come out as an aggravated shout, making the boy flinch. With a deep breath, she regains herself, carrying the mortar to his bedside, black dress fanning out on the sheets beside him, "I apologize, your Grace. You all think of me as some plague here to ruin the sanction of your home, yet Alicent refuses to let me leave the castle walls."

It was strange, hearing his mother's name be used so plainly, everyone else referred to her as the Queen, even Aemond and him referred to her as  "your Grace". 

Aegon clears this throat as the woman begins to spread the paste across his chest. It burned at first, but not to the level of the Maester's concoction. Perhaps dragon saliva was the key.

"She believes you would flee to Rhaenyra, aid her conquest for the crown," he grunts, intently gazing at the greenish mixture spread across his skin.

"And she is right," Y/N states plainly, "Rhaenyra is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and you have usurped her crown."

"I could have your head for that," Aegon jokes, a faint smile, one of the first since he had returned, spreading across his lips. 

The woman smiles back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she continues to coat his torso, " I could have already had yours."

"Why haven't you, then?"

The hand that holds the brush hesitates, as Y/N searches for an answer. In all honesty, she has had many opportunities to kill the man, yet the thought never truly crossed her mind. She takes a deep breath before continuing her strokes, "You may be a monster- the sins you have committed are so terrible that you'd burst into flames if you ever set foot in the Sept. But, I know you did not choose to be King, just as I did not choose to waste away in this castle. I do not wish to punish you for something you cannot control, you have suffered enough."

Aegon says nothing, only faint whimpers coming from his lips. His breathing stilled as the woman traced a line of ointment across his face, delicately placing it across the edge where untouched skin met charred flesh. His body jolts as she accidentally brushes over an open wound on his cheekbone, where his helmet had melted, merging itself with his flesh. Despite how careful the Maester had been when removing it, deep gashes still marred his face. 

The King yelps in pain, eyes shut as the oils burn their way through his open wound, sending a new wave of intense pain across his face. His body curls against itself, a position he found himself in more and more often these days. But rather than digging the nails of his good hand into the palm of his fist, he found a softer, more delicate hand in his , softly stroking the back of his hand with her thumb, "I'm sorry."

Aegon whimpers, the comfort of her touch calming the scarred boy. It was rare that he obtained touches like these, not even from his mother, despite how much she claimed she loved him. No, she was more focused on being Queen than being a mother.  His wife was the same way, more fascinated with her bugs than her husband, only laying with him when they were forced to produce an heir, before returning to her own quarters in solitude. He would watch Helaena with their own children, interacting with them, holding them, reading to them, only wishing that his mother had done the same. 

So Aegon welcomes the warmth of the witch, clutching her hand with the intention to never let go until his scars had healed and he could hold his head with as much dignity as a true king. "Tell me a story," Aegon whispers, distracting himself from the pain that stretched across his body with every breath.

Y/N smirks, placing the mortar between her legs so she could continue placing the ointment with his hand still clutching her own. 

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Princess, who was locked away in a tower guarded by a fierce dragon. Her parents, the King and Queen, missed her dearly, and declared that any knight who were to rescue her from the dragon's keep, would marry the lovely Princess.

Not far from the kingdom lived a beast, alone. He was happy that way, till a power-hungry Lord wished to take the beast's land for himself. Upset, the beast made a deal with the Lord, in exchange for his land, the beast would rescue the Princess from her dragon's keep, so the Lord may marry her. True to his word, the beast saved the girl, yet as they traveled back to the Lord's castle, the beast found himself falling in love with the Princess."

Beside her, Aegon's breath slows, muscles relaxing against her grip, yet his violet eyes stay fixated on the woman. He listens to her intently, soft voice ringing through the silent room, as airy as wind blowing his curtains in the night. 

"One night," Y/N continues, brushing the ointment across his scarred forearm, "The beast sought to confront the Princess, yet when he came to her cabin, he heard vile words coming from her mouth, ones solely describing such a monster as the beast. Furious, he gave her to the Lord, returning to his swamp alone. Yet, he couldn't forget the Princess, as even if she despised him, he loved her. So, he returned to the Lord's castle the night of the wedding.

As the sun fell that night, the beast watched as the beloved Princess transformed before his eyes, to a beast herself. Cursed by a witch many years before, the Princess turned ugly, monstrous, every night, the curse only to be broken by true love's kiss.

Together, the beast and the Princess slayed the Lord, and wed that night. Yet, when she kissed the beast, her appearance remained disfigured. The Princess then realized, that love's truest form was not based in beauty, but in happiness. She returned to the swamp with her beloved beast, and the two lived happily ever after."

Vhisrya finished her story with a smile, placing the brush back in the mortar. She looks down at the King, whose eyes were shut. For a moment, she thinks he has fallen asleep, but Aegon grunts, indicating he is still conscious, "Was there a moral to that story?"

He had only thought of the question after listening to one of Jaehaerys's lessons, one of the few times he was sober while the sun was still high in the sky. It made him feel like a child himself, curled along his tutor's side as she read him tales of past Kings.

The woman beside him rolls her eyes, placing her hand atop his own, "The moral is that even though someone may appear hideous, it does not make them a beast."

A deep flush overtakes Aegon's body, understanding her words. Still, he purses his swollen lips, "What if one's insides are as hideous- as hideous as their outsides?"

"Then that is truly a monster," Y/N replies, watching as the boy's face turns to a scowl.

A few moments of silence pass before the woman lets out a heavy sigh, "The beast was known for killing villagers set foot near his swamp, yet after he rescued his bride, he never killed again. He changed, Aegon, and you can too."

A chill is sent up Aegon's spine when she says his name. Like the rest of his court, she only addressed him "your Grace", and even when she did refer to him indirectly as "King Aegon", spite laced her words, bitter as poison. In every sober moment he had believed that she had hated him, yet her presence and aid in his time of need dismissed the notion from his mind entirely. 

Not even his mother had looked at him for this long, or made conversation so kind. Aegon had seen her, several times, hovering behind the Maester's as they tended to his wounds, yet she never dared to approach him, so close to his gnarled flesh. He couldn't blame her, he knew it was hideous, and the Queen's stomach was not meant to see such obscenities. 

In all honestly, neither should Y/N, but her previous line of work made her accustomed to such sights. The King swallows thickly, pain stretching up the left side of his neck, causing him to let out a small whimper. 

He feels the woman's hand stroke through his matted hair, hair that hasn't been brushed, or even washed in days. It shamed him, that he was incapable of keeping up his own appearance, needing the hands of servants to take the place of his own in combing his hair, washing him, dressing him, feeding him. 

"Will you stay with me tonight?" he whispers, discarding the last bit of dignity he held.

Y/N looked to the boy below her. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that she had never seen before, a glisten of sadness, despair, hopelessness. "Of course."

Aegon grunts as the weight shifts on the bed as she lays beside him, on his good side, not wanting to damage him in his slumber. The tormented King watches as she discards her jewelry on the furthest bedside table before fluffing a pillow to join him in the bed. Her long hair splays across the pillow as she grasps his hand, leaving several inches between the two of them. 

"Come closer," Aegon pleads, pulling gently on her hand, as much as his muscles would allow without excruciating pain.

"I don't want to harm you," Y/N says quickly, concerned etched in her features. 

"You won't" Aegon replies, sinking into the warmth of her body pressed against his own.

His body aches from his burns, the ointment only soothing his pain so much. It was nights like this, when Aegon couldn't sleep, when his body caused him so much trouble that he trembled and moaned until the morning sun rose. But as he curled against the woman, his pain began to subdue. He knew it wasn't literal, that her presence made his hurt go away, but he wished to believe it that simple, that she was his cure.

Y/N listened to his wheezing breaths slow as she held him, hand tight in her own. She felt the King's nose bury itself against the nape of her neck, a small grunt escaping his lips. She could feel his  chest rise and fall against her own as the King falls into a dreamless slumber. 

Darkness fills the room as the final candle burns low, the witch finally closing her eyes for her own rest, holding the broken, tortured boy in her arms, keeping him safe through the night. 

[sidekick-hero]

when all you are is a weapon

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 6, prompt: "Who did this?"

Tags: canon divergence, Post-S3, drug dealer Eddie sells weed to Steve and Steve falls in love, protective Steve and his nail-bat

words: 1.5k | AO3 | rated teen

After Starcourt, after Billy, after too many concussions and more trauma than anyone should endure, Steve found himself relying on weed to calm his nerves and help him sleep. It had become a routine, something that felt almost normal. He didn't see the need to tell anyone, especially not Robin.

Robin's strong stance against smoking made it clear she wouldn't approve of his weed habit either. Steve told himself he kept it from her to avoid adding to her worries. But deep down, he knew the real reason: he wasn't sure he could stop if she asked him to.

Weed dulled the relentless pain, both in his body and mind, like nothing else could. But there was another reason he didn't want to quit: without it, he'd have no reason to see Eddie again.

Steve never imagined he'd have more than a few words to say to Eddie "The Freak" Munson. Liking him was never part of the plan. Yet, out of nowhere, he found himself effortlessly joking and bantering with the guy. What started as quick transactions of money and weed gradually stretched into five minutes, then ten, then thirty. Soon enough, it wasn't just about the weed anymore—it was about spending time together.

Sure, the weed was always part of it, but it quickly became clear that it was no longer the main reason Steve kept coming back. Not by a long shot.

When Steve knocked on the trailer door, he was already smiling, but that smile vanished the moment he saw Eddie.

“Oh my God,” Steve gasped, unable to contain his shock.

Eddie's lip was split, and his right eye was already swelling and turning purple.

“Hey, Stevie,” Eddie greeted him with a forced cheerfulness that sounded more hollow than the mocking tone of their first encounters.

Ignoring the greeting, Steve stepped forward, gently reaching out to touch the bruised flesh.

“Who did this?” he demanded, surprised by the anger in his own voice. There was a violence there, a violence he usually reserved for monsters from another dimension.

Eddie flinched slightly at Steve's touch but didn't pull away. "It's nothing, just a misunderstanding," he said, attempting a casual shrug, though it was clear he was in pain.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “A misunderstanding doesn’t leave you looking like this. Who did it?”

Eddie shook his head. “Drop it, Harrington. I’m your dealer, not your charity case. It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. He could see the stubborn set of Eddie’s jaw, the way his eyes flicked away, avoiding any chance of connection. Pushing now wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Fine,” Steve said, though the word tasted bitter. He let his hand fall away and took a step back. “But this isn’t over. I’m going to find out who did this.”

Eddie sighed, looking both relieved and exasperated. “You’re like a dog with a bone, you know that?”

Steve didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cash, handing it to Eddie without another word. The exchange felt different this time—heavier, more loaded. Eddie took the money, their fingers brushing momentarily, a silent acknowledgment of something unspoken between them.

“Take care of yourself, Eddie,” Steve said quietly, turning to leave. As he walked away, he silently vowed to uncover the truth and make whoever did this pay.

Because for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, seeing Eddie hurt felt like a personal attack. And Steve Harrington wasn’t about to let that slide.

Steve's determination didn't waver as he dug for information. It didn't take long before he heard whispers that Jason Carver and his goonies were behind Eddie’s beating. Rage bubbled beneath his calm exterior, and he knew what he had to do.

Armed with his trusty nail-studded bat, Steve tracked them down to the parking lot behind the high school. Jason and his gang were lounging by their cars, laughing about something that immediately died down when they saw Steve approaching.

Jason sneered, stepping forward. "Well, if it isn't the King himself. What do you want, Harrington?"

Steve didn't waste any time. He swung the bat onto his shoulder, making it clear he wasn't here for a friendly chat. "I know what you did to Eddie."

Jason's smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered. "So what if we did? That freak had it coming."

Steve's grip tightened on the bat, his eyes blazing with anger. "You listen to me, and you listen good," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "If any of you lay a single finger on Eddie again, you'll have to deal with me. And trust me, you don't want to pay that price."

One of Jason’s goons stepped forward, trying to look tough. "You think you can take all of us, Harrington?"

Steve swung the bat in a wide arc, the nails catching the light menacingly. "Try me," he said coldly. "I’ve fought things a hell of a lot scarier than you."

Jason held up a hand, signaling his friends to back down. He eyed Steve warily, recognizing the dangerous resolve in his eyes. "Fine. We'll leave Munson alone. But this isn't over."

Steve stepped closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "Oh, it is over. You stay away from him, or next time, it won’t just be a warning."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Jason and his gang in stunned silence. As he left, Steve felt a sense of grim satisfaction. He had protected Eddie, and for now, that was enough. Steve may be a disappointment as a son, he may have failed as a boyfriend, but he can be a weapon. He can protect the people he cares about - and he begins to realize that he cares about Eddie.

The next time Steve visits the trailer for their bi-weekly exchange, Eddie's bruises have already started to fade. But as Eddie swings open the door, it’s not the fading bruises that catch Steve’s attention—it's the anger blazing in Eddie's eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you were doing, Harrington?” Eddie spits out, his voice trembling with rage. “I told you I’m not your fucking charity case. Did you get hit in the head so many times your hearing is gone or what? I told you to stay the fuck out of this, not threaten Carver and the other meatheads with a baseball bat. I mean, what were you thinking?”

Steve remains calm, letting Eddie’s words wash over him. “Actually, it started to, yeah.”

Eddie stops mid-rant, confusion replacing his anger. “What?”

“My hearing. The concussions caused this annoying high whining tone in my left ear, so sometimes I don’t hear as well. But I heard you, Munson. You’re not a charity case.”

Eddie blinks, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly. “Then why’d you do it?”

Steve takes a deep breath, stepping closer. “Because you don’t deserve to be treated like that. No one does. And because… I care about you, Eddie. More than I thought I would.”

Eddie's anger deflates entirely, leaving him staring at Steve with a mixture of frustration and something else—something softer. “You’re a real piece of work, Harrington.”

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to look out for you. Might as well be me.” Steve’s voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.

Eddie shakes his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” Steve says, his own smile breaking through. “But you’re stuck with me now. Whether you want it or not. You can send me away, but I’ll still look out for you. So, better get used to having me around.”

Eddie steps forward and pulls Steve inside the trailer, closing the door behind them.

“And what if I want you to stick around? What do I have to do?”

Tugging Eddie closer by the hem of his threadbare t-shirt, Steve locks eyes with him. “A kiss would be a good start. Breakfast in bed. Attention whenever I want it. I’m high-maintenance, Munson. Gotta treat me right.”

Eddie nudges Steve’s nose with his own. “I think that can all be arranged.” His voice turns serious. “I’m not sure this isn’t all some really weird, weed-induced dream, man. Can you… I know this sounds insane, but can you pinch me, please?”

Steve leans forward and slots their lips together, kissing Eddie for the first time. It’s slow and sweet, and just when they’re about to break apart, Steve bites his lower lip.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Seemed like more fun than pinching you. Convinced it’s not a dream?”

Eddie grins, the last of his uncertainty melting away. “Not sure yet. You should kiss me again.”

Steve laughs softly and happily obliges, pulling Eddie even closer as their lips meet once more.

[night-night-stories-before-bed]

Shameless

Warning ⚠️; internalized homophobia, Homelander is his own warning, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, fluff. 🔞

Pairing; Bottom!Homelander/Top!Male!Reader

Summary; John and you are two opposites. He is a comedian and a liar, you are bluntly honest and direct. He cares about his image, you don't. He is ashamed of your relationship while you are shameless.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the sofa sipping at your drink, eyes staring at John with amusement. Still in his costume, your lover walked in circle while biting his nail. He looked ridiculous in your eyes. All those fake muscles and the cape were too much. He looked always better naked, natural, and not so fake.

- “You are going to get yourself dizzy, my love. Just get out of those ridiculous clothes and come sit with me.” You said, waving your hand to show his costume. “We have so little time together, I would prefer having you by my side than whatever you are doing right now.”

John stared at you, eyes glowing red and you just laughed at him. You weren't scared, never was, because John couldn't kill you. No one could. It was part of your power, your curse, but in a moment like this, it was a blessing. Watching your lover get worked up for nothing was funny.

- “How can you laugh in such a situation?” John asked, voice hissing at you as you rolled your eyes. “Its a disaster! I cannot be seen like… like…”

- “Like the man you truly are?” You finished his sentence, sighing. “John, no one cares about that picture. Everyone will call it fake and those who don't, well who cares? Just discredit them and forget about it.”

John said nothing and looked away, his eyes back to normal. You shook your head as he kept walking around the room, trying to find a solution. You didn't understand him. Why come to you when you couldn't help when you were the source of this situation? Well, you weren't fully responsible. It wasn't you who had decided to kiss on a rooftop where anyone could see, that had been John.

And now there was a picture of you two kissing, your hands squeezing Homelander’s ass, circulating around the internet. It was, for you, hilarious. For John? The end of the world was happening.

- “Can't you stop being overly dramatic for five minutes?” You asked, harsher than you wanted.

You gasped in surprise as the back of your head hit the floor, hard, making you see stars. John had pined you down after knocking over the sofa and sat on you. You shivered, licking your lips as you plunged your gaze into his glowing one.

- “And can't you take it seriously for once? Don't you realize how serious the situation is for me? I am supposed to be perfect with no weaknesses and I can not be seen like that with another man.” John spat, his hand grabbing your chin painfully tight.

- “But you are not perfect John and you'll never be!” You replied with a sneer.

It was the wrong answer because next thing you knew John punched you and pain exploded in your jaw. Blood splashed all over your lover and you as your jaw hit the wall and fell onto the ground. From anger, John expression turned to horror as he realized what he had done. From amused, you became enraged.

You didn't gave John any chance and kicked him in the chest, sending the sup flying against the ceiling. You watched your lover fall loudly on the ground as you got up, spilling blood all over the place. You closed your eyes, pain swallowing you up as nerves, bones and everything else slowly regrew. Tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt like your lower jaw was burning in the fiery pits of Hell.

You heard John begging, swearing he didn't mean to hurt you like that and you didn't care. What mattered was how he still did it.

You opened your eyes staring angrily at the hero still lying on the ground. You walked up to him and saw John tensing and closing on himself before you grabbed the man by the collar. Without a word, you back-slapped like he was a bitch, splitting open his lip before grabbing his jaw like he did to you. You leaned down until your nose brushed his.

- “Listen here you pathetic excuse of a man; you are nothing. You are not a hero, you are not perfect and you are not an inspiration. The only thing you are is a childish man who can't take no for an answer and can't live without the approval of the world.” Your words hit home as you saw tears building up in John’s eyes and you sneered again. “You are pathetic. Truly pathetic. The world loves the fake image of you and would turn on you at the first opportunity. Their love is conditional unlike mine and yet you chose those worms over me. I who had always been here for you no matter what. I who helped you bond with your bastard son and helped you when no one wanted to. I bloodied my hands for you! And after everything that how you thank me?”

Venom filled your words as you stared at your lover. John was silently crying and looked away, not daring to look at you. You felt betrayed, and humiliated. You did so much for that man child and he turned against you so easily. You didn't want to see him anymore, wanted him gone from your sight.

- “Think about it John. Who will take care of you when you are old and your body is betraying you? Who will be there for you when the world cheer for a younger and more attractive hero? Them? Your so-called fans? No. They won't, but I would have.” You said, turning your back to him as you walked away. “Now get out.”

- “I’m sorry! I didn't…” John tried but stopped as you turned your head, eyes filled with anger.

- “GET OUT.” You snarled.

And just like that John was gone. A soft breeze caressed your face after he flew away. Sighing, you cleaned the room and threw away your jaw. The pain still lingered and you massaged your chin before sighing. You hated fighting with John like that, but recently it was every other day. The more time passed the more he became unhinged and impulsive. You could barely recognize the man who sought love and attention, the man who melted under your hands at night seemed gone.

It was late that night when John came back. He didn't call, didn't text. He just showed up. You were in bed reading a book in the light of a candle when you heard your front door opening. Only John had a spare so you knew it was him.

He didn't come up directly and you ignored him. You were still angry at his stunt and, frankly, didn't wish to see him. Not right now, not tomorrow. But there he was, walking into your home as if it was his.

After a few minutes, you heard John walking up the stairs and coming toward your room. You didn't look up when he entered nor when he called your name with a timid and soft voice. Instead you clenched your book harder.

- “I thought I told you to get the fuck out of my house, John. What are you doing here?” You asked, voice cold as you turned the page of your book.

Your lover didn't answer. Instead, John approached the bed and put down a mix of things; a gift basket filled with your favorite snacks and drinks and another full of books. Sighing, you closed your book and turned your attention on John.

There he stood in civilian clothes and his head low. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying. Had you not been angry at him you would have hugged John. But you were still pissed off.

- “I am so sorry for what I did and said.” John whispered, looking away as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “I have no excuses and you are right. You've always been there for me and you didn't deserve any of this, but I did.”

You could see tears in his eyes and the sight was almost pitiful. Of course, John couldn't live up with what he did and would regret his actions. You didn't. The brat had deserved your words and hands.

- “I don't want… I can not lose you…” John whispered so low that you barely heard it.

You sighed and leaned back against your pillows, crossing your arms and studying him. John was clearly remorseful and you knew he had his lesson, for now at least. Shaking your head you gently tapped the mattress next to you and John didn't wait to lay down. He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face against your chest. You brushed his blond hair with your fingers, heart almost getting softer as you saw how happy he was now.

- “You are losing me, John. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you, but stop it. I don't have the patience to deal with your childish tantrum just because a picture of us leaked on the internet. We are celebrities, it's going to keep happening.” You said and your lover held you tighter. “Hush now. I forgive you this time, but I might not give you another chance.”

John nodded and didn't let go. You kept brushing his hair and let your fingers down his neck. He was cold, colder than normal and you could feel his heartbeat racing. He was scared and terrified which pleased you. Maybe he wouldn't go against you anymore, maybe he would stop thinking he could do as he wished.

After all, he was your pet, yours to use as you wished and you couldn't have a bad dog by your side. As much as you loved John, you didn't want him if he was to lose his mind and become a liability. But at that moment he looked so small and delicate in your arms, almost broken and you couldn't resist him.

You smiled as you felt his body relax against you as he slowly fell asleep. Maybe you could use his fear and remorse against him. Maybe you could force him to come clean about your relationship. Not now, the fight was still too fresh but soon enough he might give in. And once you were out to the world, John would truly be yours entirely.

[bobluvbot]

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much. 

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief. 

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop. 

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.  

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you. 

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year. 

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it. 

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly. 

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise? 

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too? 

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it. 

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating. 

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing. 

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice. 

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were. 

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait. 

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence. 

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in. 

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.” 

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room. 

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend. 

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun. 

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged. 

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again. 

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together. 

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal. 

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory. 

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in. 

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but  ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool. 

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back. 

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well. 

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius. 

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet. 

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private. 

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain. 

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

[joelswritingmistress]

Neighbors With Benefits: Part 4 (Joel Miller x f! reader)

Part of the #hotdilfsummerchallenge @hellishjoel

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3600

Warning: Smut, Smut and more smut. Age gap (23 & 42)

“I, uh…” You let out a deep breath and felt him glance over your shoulder at the open photo album. “I’m sorry.” You closed the book, “I just heard my parents pull in and was looking out the window. I toyed with the cover of this. It’s not my business, I’m sorry.” You were rambling and felt a sudden rush of emotion.

Joel sighed and when he parted from you, you expected the worst. You turned to face him and he looked you directly in the eye.

“We’re not together anymore,” he confessed. The words impaled you with instant relief, dulling the pain that had immediately made home in your chest.

“Okay.” You nodded and then shrugged, “I shouldn’t have opened it. I didn’t even realize-”

“It’s okay.” Joel ran a hand through his hair and took a single glance down at the book before regaining your stare. “We bought this house together in the winter. We thought moving and starting fresh somewhere would help our marriage.” He eyed the hardwood floor for a moment. “There’s an old saying: ‘wherever you go, there you are’. That’s what happened. After the initial high wore off of buying the house and settling in, the same old fights started and we were just as.. distant.”

“I’m sorry.” You shook your head. “I didn’t mean to bring this up.”

“It’s fine. I should have told you.”

“So, you’re divorced?”

Joel cleared his throat, “We’re separated. Her name is still on the house but I pay everything here - barely.” He scratched the back of his head, “She moved in with her sister up in Lakeway back in March.”

This is heavy. You took a deep breath and swallowed hard, not knowing what to say.

“If this changes things, or if you’d rather not-”

Right away you cut him off. “It doesn’t.” The words couldn’t have left your mouth fast enough. You knew you would have time to process it all later, but in that moment there’s not a bone in your body that could have led you out of Joel’s bedroom. “You’re not together…”

Joel shook his head. “No. We haven’t lived together for three months, decided to officially call it quits right after Valentine’s Day.”

That’s really sad, you thought.

A part of you felt guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Joel studied your features and then raised a hand up to touch your cheek before resting his palm there. You covered it with your own and kissed the heel of his hand. Watching Joel’s eyes close sent tingles down the length of your back.

“I haven’t done much of this in the last year,” he confessed in a voice just above a whisper. “I can’t get enough of you, baby. I forgot how much I missed it.”

When his hand moved to toy with your hair you moved back to him and left a single, closed-mouth kiss on his lips, letting it linger for an extra few seconds.

 Joel’s arm slunk around your lower back. "Come to bed," he urged.

You kissed him again and felt his eyes on you. For the first time you sensed his vulnerability. “Okay.”

***

Restless - that's how you felt that night in Joel's house. There was nowhere else you would have rather been, but even in dreams your subconscious willed you to the feelings of guilt and worry. You dreamed up some abstract version of Joel’s wife in your mind and it was ultimately the image that jolted you awake.

Your eyes snapped open, and you breathed heavily as you sat up in bed. A light sweat decorated your forehead and you glanced around the dark room. Next to you, Joel slept soundly and it calmed your nerves just a bit. He laid peacefully still on his side facing you. Even in the darkness he looked as good as ever, and watching him sleep gave him an angelic appearance that wholly complimented the fiery passion he’d brought into your life as of late.

You took a moment to admire him, noting to yourself that you might never see him in that near-perfect way again. The thought made your body feel heavy; your core feel numb. Still, you couldn't look away. You didn’t know what this newfound relationship actually was. Your next move was selfish, but you couldn’t help it.

"Joel..." you whispered his name and ran your hand across his stomach before resting it on his side.

You were aware that he had to be up for work early in the morning, and at that moment he slept so soundly. Still, the rush of emotion you felt from watching him lay there gnawed at you enough to wake him up.

"Joel."  You said his name a little louder this time and traced your hand up and down his bare torso.

He stirred in the darkness and sat up abruptly, looking around in all directions. "What?" Joel cleared his throat, still in a subconscious, delirious state. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair as he looked over at you.

"Nothing, I’m sorry, I.." You shook your head 

"Are you alright?" He took in your body language and then looked back up to meet your stare.

 You nodded. "Yeah..."

Joel's eyes moved side to side, reading deeper into your expression. Before he could take a guess at the two or three things that entered his mind,  You leaned in and kissed him.

When you pulled back briefly you immediately went back in for another, this time kissing him harder.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again against his lips as he finally reciprocated and pulled you back to him. "I know you have to wake up for work." The last word was smothered into his mouth as he grew more aggressive in his pursuit of you.

Joel moaned into your mouth and urged you completely on top of him. "You can wake me up any time," he whispered, guiding your face back to his.

You loved making out with Joel, especially as you had sex. With no barrier between the two of you, you straddled him and positioned yourself so he could easily slide up into you with a subtle lift of his hips.

Joel guided you back, securing his hands on the outsides of your hips as you sat upright on him. He moaned when you moved in the right way and stared up at you with sleepy, heavy eyes. "Go ahead honey," Joel bit down on his lower lip and his eyes finally closed when you jolted your hips forward.

Your fingertips dug into his chest as you pushed off of him, feeling every inch he had to offer as you moved in a consistent, fluid fashion on top of him. "God Joel..." The headboard slammed into the wall and you closed your eyes when you felt his hands grip your harder.

"Fuck, baby." Joel groaned as you carried on, allowing you to have full control for the first time. He bucked his hips up once, making you physically cry out as he launched up into you with extra force.

He repeated the motion again and again, holding you in place as he drilled you from below. Your fingers dug deep into the fronts of his shoulders now, you found yourself struggling to catch a breath in between moans. You couldn’t have controlled what you were feeling if you tried.

Joel roughly pulled your face down to his and your lips collided hard as he aggressively penetrated your lips with his tongue.

"I want you to come on my dick," Joel whispered into your mouth. He kissed you sloppily again and then laid flat, clutching your hips again as he continued to thrust into you from below.

You couldn't control yourself when his cock continued to pound the same spot inside of you. Each fluid movement he made left your body aching with pleasure and your thighs trembled from how tense your body was. 

“Don’t stop,” you choked out, pushing back off his chest again into an upright position.

When his hands reached up to engulf your breasts you covered them with your own, locking your fingers through his as you continued to ride him more forcefully.

"That's it." His aroused, husky whispers encouraged you to continue. Each heavy breath he let out let you know that what you were doing was effective for both of you.

Joel hummed your name now, dropping his hands from your breasts as he took in the image of you on top of him. "You're so fucking... " he moaned again to end the sentence and then felt the dominant part of him take over.

He sat upright, pulling your face to his and kissed you again. Joel’s force was needy and hungry. It left you groaning into his mouth.

Without warning he pulled out and pinned you on your back in the center of the bed. Without wasting a second, he re-entered you, pushing your knees apart as he began to fuck your harder. You whimpered and gripped the comforter, gasping his name as you clawed at his thighs.

Joel’s head fell back and he groaned in such a way that you were sure he was close. You felt it, too - the intensity; the build up.

His upper body collapsed onto you and Joel buried his face into the nook of your neck. Your mouth hung open when you felt his teeth graze your skin. "I'm going to..." you barely got the words out. "Joel..."

 Your eyes pressed shut harder when he moaned again. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall became louder and more consistent, urging him on as he never let up.

Again, an explosion of warm pleasure filtered through your body, and you knew that Joel could feel the pulsing sensation that ultimately milked his dick of everything he had to offer. He let it all out - panting, breathing, moaning. Joe’s body rocked on top of yours as he completely finished into you with a lengthy orgasm of his own.

You held onto him as his back heaved up and down. Joel swallowed hard and let out a final, quiet groan into your ear.

"Fuck, baby" He kept his face buried against you as you held him. "I don't think I'm going to ever get sick of fucking you like this."

You let out a deep breath and held onto him harder, shifting one hand up to cradle the back of his head. "That makes two of us."

He laid there for several minutes beneath you as you stroked the waves of his thick, brown hair. With each breath he seemed to come back down to earth a little more. When Joel finally lifted his head he kissed you once, letting his lips linger. With another breath, he pushed himself up off of you and laid on his back for a moment before blindly reaching across to the nightstand for his phone.

You watched him fiddle with the device for a moment and then smiled when he turned to you with a grin.

"I just set my alarm to wake up a half hour early," he informed you.

You pressed your eyebrows together but continued to smile. "How come?"

Joel set the phone down and then laid back down and let out several more breaths. "Because honey... every morning I wake up alone with my cock harder than a steel pipe.” He closed his eyes and let his hand fall lazily over his eyes.

What a visual. You snickered and sank into the pillow beside him and cuddled against his glistening body. Your knee curled up over his leg as you laid on your side with your arm around his waist. 

“I can give up a half hour of sleep if we can start the day just like this.” Joel was still breathing heavily as he spoke and draped an arm around you to bring you in closer.

That next morning when Joel’s phone went off you felt your heart race as you crossed over from the realm of dreams to reality. After the midnight romp you had initiated, you had slept soundly wrapped up in one another.

For a moment you had to decipher if you really were awake. Everything that had happened the night before could have easily passed for the sweetest and most erotic of dreams. When the repetitive sound coming from the night stand came to an abrupt stop, you glanced over and saw Joel fiddling with the phone's screen. He then set it down and turned to face you.

A smile formed on his face beneath a sleepy stare, and you felt the rush of butterflies that had been a constant feeling as of late. You could feel it in your chest that you were already starting to fall for him.

Joel's eyes never left yours as he tossed the covers away and held out a hand without saying a word.

You took in his naked body in the darkness as he stood without reservation waiting with a head of messy hair.

He wasn’t lying about the steel pipe. You maintained a sleepy smile, unable to even feel a bit self-conscious because of his own comfortability in his own skin. Joel always appeared both confident and amused, and those positive feelings projected themselves onto you. You reached a hand up and Joel eagerly pulled you out of bed, chuckling when you laughed from the force of his action. Immediately your lips connected.

You tried to keep the moment going but he parted from you after a few seconds and towed you by the hand toward the door.

"Where are we going?" you asked him.

Joel reached for the handle and pulled it open with his free hand. He glanced over his shoulder, still grinning. "I can't go into work smelling like I just fucked half the night." He raised his eyebrows with a boyish grin and flashed a wink, "And I'm guessing you wouldn't want to go home in that condition either."

He pushed open the partially open bathroom door and turned on the less intense of the two lights though both of you squinted.

Joel removed a set of towels from a small closet and then turned on the shower. "You, uh," he smiled and pointed, "Need a second one for your hair?"

You shrugged and then gave a subtle nod. He winked again and tossed the towel playfully in your direction, making you giggle.

Joel reached for your arm now, pulling your back to him and the two of you shared a laugh. Joel kissed you again, purposely letting his hands wander to all the right parts of your body in a teasing fashion as the water warmed up.

"Put your hands flat on the sink," Joel whispered into your ear before taking part in turning you around.

 You closed your eyes for a moment, anticipating him upping their intimacy. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the sink when you felt him enter you. When his hands slid up to cup your breasts, your eyes opened and you met his gaze in the mirror as he began to kiss up your neck toward your ear.

He thrusted once and your eyes almost closed, though you held his eye contact.

"Mmm..." Joel smiled wickedly when you grinned in the midst of the initial pleasure. He bit down on your earlobe as he thrusted gently into you, "Keep eye-fucking the shit out of me."

You couldn't look away now - not after he said that. He continued to fuck you, alternating between glancing down to take in your figure and regaining your stare in the mirror.

Steam began to filter into the bathroom as the water grew warmer. He let out a breath and covered your hands with his own on top of the vanity, kissing along your neck down to your shoulders as he did.

You both loved and hated when he grew more sensual in your embrace. Each time he kissed you gently or locked his fingers with yours, your feelings for him increased - like a thermometer indicating the temperature was getting hotter, only you didn’t know how to make it go down. 

"Come shower with me, honey." His teeth latched onto your earlobe again and he opened his eyes to meet your gaze in the mirror again.

You didn't want to separate yourself from him, though the thought of showering together was far too tempting to pass up.  You turned partway and kissed him several times in a row before Joel backed away and pulled the shower curtain to the side so the two of you could get in.

He reached for a bar of soap on the ledge and spun your around again, securing his arms around your and drawing the bar of soap across your breasts and down your stomach, gently caressing the areas as he lathered up your body.

You closed your eyes and focused on every action he took. It was all erotic and new. You had never had a sexual encounter that even came close to what you had experienced with Joel in just a few short days.  When his hands moved to your upper back, you shuddered and smiled, melting into him.

He dug his thumbs into your muscles, kneading the area upon placing the soap back down and then carefully encouraged you to bend over without stopping the sensual, soapy massage.

Joel slid back inside of you, watching as beads of water trailed the length of your back, dropping off at the curves of your hips. He kept his hands secured on your shoulders, continuing to dig his fingers into the muscles of your upper back as he picked up from where you left off in front of the mirror.

"God Joel..."  Your hands fell flat against the wet square tiles on the wall. It immediately triggered the memory of your first night together in the bathroom at the bar. You let out a breath, feeling like you were injected with some type of drug. The warmth of the water crashing down on the two of you, the feel of his hands as they kneaded the tense muscles in your back and the perfectly matched pace of him thrusting into you made your legs begin to shake. Each time you felt like you'd been hit with the most pleasurable experience of your life, Joel did something else to surpass the time before.

When he abruptly stopped you turned your head in an attempt to make eye contact with him, though his eyes were closed and his jaw clenched. A smile crossed your face when you recognized his inability to control himself and you were tempted to force him to continue to get some self-gratification that you held some type of power over him the way he did with you.

Instead, you reached for the soap and turned around, finally making his eyes snap open.

"Give me a fuckin' minute." He swallowed hard, but managed a small, painful smile and watched as you began to draw the soap across his chest. Joel re-closed his eyes allowed you to continue as you returned the favor, soaping him up and massaging for a few seconds before reaching below his waist.

 You smiled to herself again, taking in his features.

"Easy there, baby." Joel didn't smile this time. His jaw tensed again and he reached for your arm, tightening his fingers around your wrist as you began to have your way with him. He slowly forced your hand away and caught the other one when you attempted to grab a hold of him again. Joel chuckled and let his eyes flicker open partway, "You ain't gonna get yours if you keep doing that."

"I don't care."  You perched herself up onto your toes and pressed your lips to his once.

"I do." He tipped his mouth up in a smirk. "I like making a woman come."

"Well maybe you've met your match Joel."  You winked at him this time and Joel laughed a little louder.

"I think you're fuckin' right. I'm about to blow my load after two minutes like I'm fuckin' sixteen."

You laughed again, pleased to know what you did to him and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him partially beneath the warm water.

Joel moaned into your mouth and picked you up by the backs of your legs, planting your back against the wall so you sat in his hands.

You shuddered from the cool feel of the tiles in the midst of the steam and the heat and locked your legs around his waist as he easily entered you again.

"This isn't going to fuckin' take much," he whispered into your mouth, kissing your again with a hard enthusiasm.

"It's okay," you gasped the words out.

Joel secured his mouth to his, aggressively pursuing your tongue and your body at once.

You held his wet body tightly against yours and lived vigorously in the moment as you had been for days. When you felt that he was close you decided to match the demands he often whispered in your ear during your love-making.

You broke off the kiss to let your lips caress the center of his ear. "Let it out," you whispered, clutching a fistful of his wet, dark hair as you did.

Joel felt a surge of arousal and he couldn't deny her; not in the heat of the moment.

I've definitely met my fuckin' match, he thought.

CLICK HERE FOR PART 5

@pedropascal111 @axshadows @smolbeanszz @mybritishstyle @untamedheart81 @pedroswife69

[lefteagleblizzard]

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

Mike Munroe x male reader

Summary: In the eerie sanatorium halls, a Wendigo attack leaves you injured, pushing Mike's protective instincts into overdrive.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Graphic description of injuries but not too deep. Angst. Happy ending. Heavy make out session.

You can consider this a part 2 of the fist fic i wrote for Mike but it can easily be read as a standalone. Thank you all so much for all the comments and likes on my first Mike Munroe story! Now I have an excuse to write more for him ☜(⌒▽⌒)☞

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢'𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥 Part 2 of it

Words counts: 4000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

The oppressive darkness of the sanatorium clung to every corner, the air thick with the stench of rot and decay. Your footsteps echoed faintly as you and Mike moved cautiously through the long, decaying hallway.

Mike was ahead, gritting his teeth as he wrestled with the stubborn door of the room that held a shotgun and ammunition inside. He was trying everything. Shouldering it, kickin it, using his weight to force it open, but it wouldn't budge. The door was rusted and seemed to be mocking his attempts to open it.

"Come on, you piece of shit," Mike growled under his breath, slamming his shoulder against the door again with a frustrated grunt. His breath came out in harsh puffs, fogging in the cold air.

You stood a few feet behind, your eyes flickered nervously around. Every distant creak or scrape set your nerves on edge. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching, lurking just beyond the reach of your flashlight.

A faint voice echoed from down the hallway. "Help... please... help me." It was Jessica's voice. Your heart skipped a beat, confusion and fear swirling inside you. Jessica? You thought she was dead.

"Mike, did you hear that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, already taking a few hesitant steps toward the source of the sound.

Mike's eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the task at hand. "What? No. I didn't- wait, what did you hear?" He glanced over his shoulder, but you were already moving down the hallway, drawn toward the voice that called out again, more desperate this time.

"Help me, please!" Jessica's voice cracked with pain, and your mind raced. You moved quicker, following the sound into a side room, your flashlight shaking in your trembling hand.

It couldn't be real. It wasn't possible. But the voice was so familiar, so desperate, that you couldn't stop yourself from moving toward it. Your legs seemed to act on their own, driven by a faint hope that somehow, Jessica had survived.

The voice came again, more desperate this time. "Help... please..."

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you moved cautiously into the room. The floor was littered with debris, broken furniture, shards of glass, and piles of crumbling wood. The walls were covered in mold, and the air smelled of damp rot.

"Jessica?" you whispered, your voice shaking slightly as you scanned the room. "Jess... where are you?"

The voice, once a call for help, turned into a twisted, distorted mimicry of Jessica's scream.

A figure dropped down from a broken window above. The Wendigo landed with a sickening thud, its bones pressing grotesquely against its pale skin.

The remnants of torn and dirty clothes still clung to its body, a reminder of the human it once was. Its face, a twisted mess of teeth and sinew, sniffed the air, its milky-white eyes darting around the room, searching for movement.

They're blind, they only see those who move.

The creature's head snapped to the left, its limbs twitching unnervingly as it started to replicate Jessica's voice again. "Help me. help..."

The mimicry was perfect, the voice identical to Jessica's, but there was something horribly wrong with the way it was spoken now that you heard it up close. It was hollow, empty, as though it was toying with the memory of the girl you had once known.

You didn't dare to move.

You didn't even breathe.

It was close now, inches from you, its breath hot and rancid against your skin. You could hear the crackle of its joints, the faint click of its jaws as they opened and closed, tasting the air.

Just when you thought the creature would tear you apart, the deafening blast of a shotgun shattered the tense silence. The Wendigo's body jerked violently as the shotgun's impact threw it against the wall with bone-shattering force. The creature let out a shriek, the noise echoing through the room.

"Don't you fucking dare touch him!" Mike's voice rang out, fierce and raw with emotion. He stood in the doorway, shotgun still smoking in his hands, eyes blazing with fury.

He was at your side instantly, his hand grabbing yours and he yanked you out of the room with a sense of urgency. "Run!" he commanded, and together, you bolted down the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest.

You could hear the Wendigos now, their guttural snarls and skittering movements echoing through the corridors.

"I swear, if you ever do something that stupid again, I'll-" Mike began, his voice tight with fear, but before he could finish, another Wendigo screech from behind you.

It was gaining on you both, its skeletal form moving unnervingly fast as it closed the distance. It leaped at Mike, its claws outstretched, aiming to tear him apart.

"Mike!" you screamed as the creature tackled him. Mike grunted as he used the weapon as a makeshift shield, blocking the Wendigo's swipes as they slashed toward his face. The Wendigo screeched, its jagged teeth gnashing together as it tried to claw its way through the weapon. Mike grunted, his muscles straining as he shoved the creature back, the shotgun rattling in his hands.

Its claws raked against the shotgun as it was knocked out of his hands in the process. The weapon skidded across the floor, out of reach, as the creature lunged at Mike again, pinning him to the ground.

For a terrifying moment, you saw the Wendigo's claws hovering inches above Mike's throat, its grotesque mouth open wide as it prepared to strike. Without thinking, you grabbed the machete that had fallen from Mike's belt and charged forward, your heart racing as you swung the blade with all your strength.

The machete barely cut through the thick skin of the Wendigo's head, but it stopped moving. The creature collapsed on top of Mike, its lifeless body twitching.

Mike let out a breathless grunt, shoving the body off him with a groan, his chest heaving from the effort as he turned to look at you.

Mike's eyes were wide, his face a mixture of shock and gratitude. He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"Holy shit," Mike breathed. "You saved my ass." His voice was thick with emotion, his usual cocky smirk absent as he stared at you in awe.

Mike's gaze softened, his lips parting as a slow, proud grin spread across his face. The adrenaline still pumped through his veins. You had saved him. You had fought for him. And now, as he lay there on the ground, bruised and battered, he couldn't help but feel a surge of possessiveness and admiration.

How did I get so lucky?

Mike's thoughts raced as his eyes traced over your form, taking in the way you stood, strong and capable and in that moment, with you standing over him, your chest rising and falling with exertion, sweat glistening on your skin, he wanted nothing more than to pull you down to him, to feel you against him. He imagined pulling you close, his hands wandering, his lips finding yours, desperate and hungry.

"You're incredible, man" Mike said, his voice softer now, more intimate. "I mean... I always knew you were tough, but that-"

He was cut short when the sound of another window breaking snapped him back to reality.

Another Wendigo burst through it, moving with a terrifying speed. Its claws were outstretched, eyes wide and blind, as it lunged directly for you. The machete slipped from your grasp, clattering uselessly to the ground as the creature slammed into you, knocking you off your feet.

You hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the wind from your lungs. The Wendigo's claws raked across your side, leaving a fiery slash that tore through your flesh. You cried out, clutching your side as blood soaked through your shirt.

"NO!" Mike screamed, his voice raw with terror as he scrambled for the shotgun. The Wendigo grabbed you by the leg, its claws sinking into your skin as it began to drag you toward the window.

You thrashed against the creature's grip, panic flooding your senses. The pain from your wounds made it hard to focus. The Wendigo's strength was overwhelming, its bony fingers tightening around your leg as it pulled you closer to the jagged glass of the broken window. The debris on the floor slashing your skin in the process.

Mike was on his feet in an instant, the shotgun in his hands as he sprinted toward you, firing wildly at the wendigo. He kept shooting, missing a few times, the desperation clear in his voice as he cursed under his breath.

Your vision blurred from the pain, your limbs heavy and weak as you tried to fight back.

"Get off him!" Mike roared, his voice full of desperation as he fired again, this time hitting the creature square in the chest. The impact sent the Wendigo stumbling backward, its grip on you loosening just enough for Mike to reach you.

With a grunt of effort, Mike grabbed your arm, yanking you back to your feet and into the room. You collapsed onto the floor, your body trembling from the pain and adrenaline while Mike closed the door.

He was at your side in an instant, his hands hovering over your wounds, his face pale with fear.

They were deep. Three long, jagged cuts across your back, blood pooling beneath you.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Mike cursed under his breath. His hands were shaking as he pressed them against the gashes in your side, trying to stem the bleeding, but there was so much blood.

The pain was unbearable, but seeing Mike like this hurt even more.

"Jesus, this is bad. God, I'm such an idiot." he muttered, his voice trembling.

You groaned in pain, the agony in your side intensifying with each passing second.

"Mike..." you croaked, trying to get his attention, but he wasn't listening. His hands were still pressing desperately against your wounds, blood staining his fingers as he kept cursing under his breath.

"This is my fault. I should've-fuck, I'm so fucking stupid. Why did I let you come here? Why didn't I-"

"Mike, stop..." you whispered, your voice weak from the pain.

But he wouldn't stop. He was spiraling, the guilt consuming him as he rocked back on his heels, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"We need to get out of here," Mike muttered to himself, his voice strained with desperation. He looked down at your injured form, his gaze flicking between your pale face and the blood soaking through your clothes.

The Wendigos were still out there and you were in no condition to run. Mike's mind raced as he tried to think of anything, anywhere, that might offer some kind of safety. His eyes darted toward the hallway as he recalled the old map he had found earlier, remembering the position of the nursery.

"There might be something there," he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

He leaned down and scooped you into his arms, cradling you as if you weighed nothing. You winced at the sudden movement, the pain in your side flaring up, but Mike's grip was steady, firm, holding you as if he was afraid to let go. He held you close, bridal style, your body pressed against his warm and sturdy chest as he began to move.

"I've got you" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your labored breathing.

His heart pounded in his chest as he carried you down the darkened hallways, the dim light of the flashlight casting long, eerie shadows across the walls. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound seemed like a threat, and Mike's grip on you tightened with each step. He refused to let you go.

"Just hold on," Mike said through gritted teeth, his eyes darting around the narrow hallways as he moved cautiously.

Your head rested against his chest, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was pounding hard, faster than usual, fueled by adrenaline and fear. The pain in your side had dulled to a throbbing ache, and you couldn't help but notice how tense Mike's body was, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.

"Mike" you managed to rasp out, the pain making your voice hoarse. "You're... freaking out."

"I'm not freaking out," he snapped, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. He swallowed hard, his gaze flicking back to the path ahead, "I just... I need to get you fixed up. I need to-"

"Mike" You reached up, your hand weakly brushing against his chest, trying to calm him. "I'm not dying."

He didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was low and shaky. "You don't know that."

You tried to force a smile, though it hurt to do so. "I've had worse."

"Yeah? When was the last time you were clawed by a fucking monster?" His eyes darted to yours, his fear masked by frustration. "You're bleeding all over the place, and it's my fault.

"It's not your fault," you said softly, trying to catch his gaze. "I chose to come with you"

"And I shouldn't have let you," Mike muttered, more to himself than to you. "I should've made you stay behind."

"You know I wouldn't have stayed behind," you replied, a weak smile tugging at your lips. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

His jaw clenched, and he didn't respond, his eyes fixed forward as he continued down the hallway, his arms never loosening their hold on you.

You didn't know how bad the injury was, but the blood that soaked through your clothes was enough to tell you it wasn't good.

You felt the world spinning slightly as he moved, your vision blurring at the edges. It was getting harder to stay awake, harder to keep focused on anything but the searing pain in your side. The sounds of the sanatorium echoed around you. All you could hear was the frantic beat of Mike's heart against your chest.

Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy. "Mike..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He snapped his head down to look at you, eyes wide and desperate. "Don't. Don't you dare close your eyes," he growled, his voice rough with panic. His arms tightened around you, almost painfully so, as he quickened his pace. "Stay with me, damn it. Stay awake. You hear me? You're not going anywhere."

But it was so hard to focus. The exhaustion was pulling you under like a heavy tide, dragging you down into the dark. Your eyelids fluttered, and you heard Mike curse again, his breath hitching. "Hey! No, no, no. Look at me. Look at me!" His voice was sharper now, laced with fear. "Stay awake. We're almost there. I swear, we're almost there."

The strain in his voice pulled you back, just for a moment, and you forced your eyes to open a little wider. His face was set in a scowl, but his eyes were wild, desperate.

Mike finally reached the nursery. It was a small, decrepit room, the paint on the walls peeling, and the furniture broken and scattered.

Mike set you down on one of the dirty beds as gently as he could, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled away. You winced again, the movement sending another sharp wave of pain through your body, but you forced yourself to stay quiet.

He hurried to the other side of the room, his eyes scanning the shelves and cabinets for anything that might help. He found an old, dusty first aid kit, half-hidden beneath a pile of debris.

Mike knelt beside you, his hands still shaking as he opened the kit. Inside were a few old bandages, a small bottle of alcohol and a torn-up sheet that he could use as makeshift bandages. He tore the fabric with his teeth.

It wasn't much, but it was all he had.

The silence between the two of you was heavy as he peeled off your shirt. Mike's hands hovered over your wounds, his face twisted in concentration at the deep gashes torn into your side.

He poured the alcohol onto the wounds, the stinging sensation making you clench your teeth to keep from crying out. He was doing his best to be gentle, but the pain was still excruciating.

"Shit... sorry... I'm sorry," Mike kept repeating under his breath, his eyes flicking between the injuries and your face. He looked as though he was about to break, his guilt consuming him.

"If you wanted to get my shirt off, all you had to do was ask." You said, your voice soft despite the pain radiating through your side.

He didn't smile, didn't give you that sarcastic comeback you had been hoping for. His jaw was still set, his lips pressed into a thin line as he focused on wrapping the gauze around your waist.

"Don't joke about this," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You're bleeding everywhere, and I-"

"I'm serious!" you interrupted, forcing a grin through the pain. "If you wanted to play the hero, you could've just asked. You didn't have to engage in a whole monster attack just to impress me."

He refused to look you in the eye, his jaw clenched as he muttered something under his breath, too quiet for you to make out.

You saw the fear and guilt etched into his face. He was scared. More scared than you'd ever seen him before. His focus was singular, driven by the overwhelming need to fix the damage, to keep you alive.

The usual cocky, confident air that surrounded Mike was gone, replaced by a quiet panic that seemed to consume him.

You knew you had to say something. Mike was drowning in guilt, and if you didn't pull him out of it, he might never forgive himself.

Time to try again.

"Come on, Mike," you said, your tone playful despite the situation. "You're not enjoying the fact that I'm shirtless in front of you? I thought this was, like, your dream scenario. You, me, a creepy sanatorium, and a lot of body contact."

You were expecting at least a flicker of amusement, a quirk of the lips, anything that showed he was still the Mike you knew. But there was nothing. His silence only made the fear gnaw at you more.

Your hand reached out to gently touch his arm. "Mike, I'm serious. You saved me. You're the reason I'm still here, okay?"

His shoulders tensed under your touch, and he finally looked up at you, his expression conflicted. You could see the guilt still etched into his features, the self-loathing that twisted his mouth into a grimace.

"But you still got hurt," Mike snapped, his voice rising slightly with the weight of his emotions. His hands clenched into fists, the bandage half-finished as he pulled away, unable to look at you. "I wasn't fast enough. I should've... I should've done more."

"Done more?" You raised an eyebrow, trying to inject a little more lightness into your voice. "What were you supposed to do, Mike? Punch the Wendigo in the face? Because I'd like to see that."

For a brief moment, you thought you saw the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"Hey," you said softly, reaching out again to touch his arm, this time gripping it a little tighter. "Look at me."

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but after a moment, he turned his head toward you, his eyes meeting yours.

"I'm still here," you said quietly, your voice filled with as much reassurance as you could muster. "Thanks to you."

Mike's eyes flickered with something, some internal struggle playing out behind them.

"For a guy who spends half his time flexing and trying to show off his heroics," you began, leaning back slightly on the bed, wincing a little as the pain in your side flared up. "You're really bad at taking credit when you actually save someone."

That got a reaction. Mike's brows furrowed slightly, and he glanced at you, confusion mixed with frustration.

"I'm just saying," you continued, pretending to be casual as you gestured with your hand, the blood on it had now dried up. "You've got the whole 'tough guy' thing down, but when you actually do something heroic, like, I don't know, saving my life, you act like it wasn't enough."

Mike's frown deepened, but this time there was a spark of something familiar in his eyes, something like the Mike you knew.

"Not everything is a joke, okay?" Mike muttered, though there was a hint of exasperation in his voice now.

You grinned. "I know it's not a joke, Mike. I'm just trying to remind you that you're not a screw-up. I know you're used to making dumb decisions, but this wasn't one of them."

For a brief moment, Mike looked like he was going to argue, but then he let out a quiet, exasperated huff. His lips twitching in a way that told you he was fighting back a smirk.

"There he is," you teased lightly, your grin widening. "I knew you were still in there somewhere."

Mike's shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the first time since the attack, his expression softened. He shook his head, finally finishing the bandage on your side. The corner of his lips tugged upward as he tried to suppress a smile, a trace of his usual cocky confidence returning.

"You're an idiot," Mike muttered, but there was a warmth in his voice that hadn't been there before. He met your eyes again, the weight of the guilt starting to lift.

"I had to learn from the best," you shot back playfully. "You're pretty good at being an idiot yourself."

Mike chuckled softly, a sound that sent warmth through your chest despite the pain. "Yeah, well... guess I can't argue with that."

You leaned back against the pillow, the tension in the room finally easing. Mike's usual sarcastic demeanor was starting to slip back into place.

"I never really thought I'd spend a night in a creepy-ass sanatorium being patched up by a guy who probably spent his teenage years trying to impress girls with bad one-liners." You said, trying to keep the conversation going.

Mike snorted, shaking his head. "First of all, my one-liners were legendary. They even had you blushing when I dropped them on you. Second, I'm pretty sure I'm saving your life right now, so maybe a little more appreciation, huh?"

"Oh, believe me, I appreciate it," you replied with a grin. "But you have to admit, this is pretty far from a normal night out."

"Yeah, well, normal's overrated," Mike said, his tone lighter now. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his eyes lingering on the bandage he had just finished tying around your waist. "But... seriously. I'm glad you're okay."

That fear hadn't fully left him yet.

"I'm okay because of you." you said, your voice softer now, more serious. You sat on the bed, looking up at him and wrapping your arms around his neck.

Your lips were sealed tight so you wouldn’t produce any sound of the pain still lingering.

Mike met your gaze again, his expression conflicted, torn between the guilt that still lingered and the relief that you were alive. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he just stared at you, his eyes dark with emotion.

Without warning, he leaned down, his hands gripping your face with a force that nearly made you gasp. His lips crashed into yours with a desperation that took you completely by surprise. The kiss was rough, almost violent in its intensity, his breath was hot and ragged, each exhale trembling with the intensity of the emotions he was trying to keep in check.

His tongue pushed past your lips with an almost feral hunger. The roughness of his tongue mirrored the intensity of his kiss, his movements sharp and demanding, as if he couldn't get close enough to you, couldn't feel enough of you. His tongue explored your mouth, not gently, but with a wild fervor that made your heart race and your body tremble under him.

You responded instinctively, your arms tightening around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your body aching yet craving the connection he was giving you. His weight pressed down on you more as the kiss deepened.

His breath grew hotter, more frantic. His fingers tightened on your skin, almost painful, like he was terrified to let go, his tongue still working against yours, desperate to drown out any space between you. You could feel his desperation in every frantic breath, his rough kisses stealing away any sense of time as he devoured you.

His hands slipping from your face to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, needing more.

Needing you.

You could feel the heat of his breath as he pulled back only for a fraction of a second before diving back in, his lips pressing into yours with renewed force.

Your lungs burned as the kiss deepened further, but you didn't care. All you could focus on was him. On the raw, unfiltered emotion in every press of his lips, every tremor of his hands. Mike's hands roamed your body, careful to avoid your injury, but firm enough to hold you in place. His breath was hot against your skin as he kissed you with a kind of hunger that sent shivers down your spine.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you gasping for breath. His eyes were dark, clouded with emotion, his lips slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss. His hands still cradled your face, thumbs brushing softly against your skin as though trying to calm himself after the storm he had unleashed.

His breath was shaky, his body trembling slightly as he looked at you with a mixture of relief. "I promise. I won't let anything happen to you." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

No matter what would happen next, you had Mike. And Mike had you.

And that was enough.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3. Next week I think I’m gonna post a Mike Munroe jealous fic with smut! Hope you’ll like it ♡