#will i go back to it even though it's just a fragment? maybe but maybe not

[movingmusically]

Caught Feeling - Chapter 14

Synopsis:

The morning after Hank’s confessions, Y/N senses a shift in their relationship, both strengthened and delicately altered by what he’s shared. They indulge in a day cocooned from the world, wrapped in quiet intimacy. As they rediscover each other’s touch, the bond between them feels stronger than ever, leaving Y/N basking in a newfound closeness she hadn’t anticipated.

Word count: 8,617

Masterlist

The morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting gentle, fragmented patterns on the walls. I lay there, tangled in sheets and silence, my mind still retracing the lines of Hank’s confessions from last night. Every word, every hesitant glance, each rough-edged moment had settled into me like pebbles dropped into a pond, creating ripples I couldn’t still. Each memory hovered just beneath the surface, stirring emotions I was only beginning to name.

It wasn’t like Hank to share things so openly—not like this. He’d built his own fortress over the years, thick walls crafted from unspoken hurts and old wounds, carefully fortified and guarded. But last night, he’d let me glimpse beyond them, allowing me to see the scarred pieces he usually kept locked away. Piece by piece, he’d handed me parts of himself that felt weathered and raw. I wanted to believe that sharing his past had lifted a weight from him, that he felt lighter now, freed somehow. But the way he’d held me after—the tightness, the quiet—made me wonder if he felt exposed rather than unburdened, as though he’d given away something he didn’t know if he could ever take back.

His secrets now lived in the space between us, shifting the fragile foundation we’d built into something both stronger and shakier all at once. I could feel the weight of them pressing into the silence, settling in the creases of the sheets, sinking into my own heart. It felt as if we’d crossed some invisible line, leaving the easy familiarity of before behind us. And yet, the warmth of his body next to mine, his steady breathing, the feel of his hand still wrapped around mine—it all grounded me, a quiet reminder that whatever this was, we were in it together.

Eventually, he stirred, blinking slowly as he adjusted to the morning light. For a moment, he looked at me, his gaze still carrying the shadows of last night, the memories still close enough to feel in the early morning quiet. There was a vulnerability there, a quiet hesitance that made me realise he was still trying to piece everything together, still finding his way back from the place he’d allowed himself to go.

“Didn’t think I’d sleep at all after…all that,” he murmured, a soft, uncertain smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I was wrong.”

I returned his smile, feeling a familiar warmth in my chest, something reassuring in the simple honesty of his words. “Maybe that’s a good thing. Sometimes…letting it out is what we need most, even if it doesn’t feel that way at first.”

He nodded, his gaze lowering for a moment as if considering, his fingers tightening slightly around mine before he looked up again, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity softened by a hint of doubt. “Feels strange, though. Like…I handed you all these pieces and don’t know how to put them back together.”

“You don’t have to, not alone,” I replied gently, my hand resting between us in the space that felt both close and infinite. “I’m here. For all of it.”

He gave me a look that held a thousand unspoken words—gratitude, fear, maybe a flicker of relief. For a few heartbeats, we just stayed like that, searching each other’s faces, and I could feel the distance between us shrinking, inch by inch. There was something in the way he looked at me—like he was seeing parts of me even I hadn’t fully discovered yet. It was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

His fingers brushed lightly against mine, his touch tentative but steadying, as though testing the reality of it all. In sleep, he’d looked almost boyish, the weight of his past hidden away. Now, in the light of day, he seemed both softer and stronger, as though the openness from last night had reshaped him in some unnameable way, something both fragile and enduring.

Without thinking, I let my hand move, reaching out to gently trace the curve of his eyebrow, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. His eyes softened, his breathing slowing as if settling into the quiet rhythm between us. He didn’t move, letting me take the lead. My fingers drifted down, following the line of his cheekbone and along his jaw, where rough stubble met the softness of his skin. The feeling was familiar but electric, each touch revealing something new, something I hadn’t noticed before, like he’d always been waiting for me to look closer.

A few stray strands of hair had fallen across his temple, softening his usually sharp features. I reached up, hesitating for just a second before tucking the hair back behind his ear, the gesture so natural it felt like breathing. It was something he’d done for me countless times, a quiet intimacy that now felt strangely reverent with the roles reversed.

He looked at me with an openness I wasn’t used to, something soft and vulnerable lingering in his eyes, and my heart clenched with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite name. Slowly, tentatively, I leaned forward, letting my lips press gently against a faint freckle on his cheek, feeling him exhale softly as if even that small touch lifted something from him, letting him know he was seen, he was safe.

I kissed each tiny mark, tracing an invisible path across his skin, each kiss a silent promise, a quiet assurance that I was here, that he didn’t have to put himself back together alone. When I pulled back, his eyes held a warmth that felt like sunrise, steady and reassuring, a look that said he knew I meant every word I’d promised.

And as we lay there, tangled in each other and the soft light of the morning, I knew we had something real. Something worth holding onto.

Hank shifted slightly, his arm tightening around me as he settled into the quiet comfort between us. His voice was soft, still thick with sleep, as he murmured, “I don’t have to be back at work until Monday night. So…looks like we’ve got the whole weekend together.”

A warmth spread through me, gentle but thrilling, as I met his gaze. The thought of having him all to myself for two whole days felt both rare and perfect. I leaned into him, closing the small distance between us, my fingers brushing lightly over his as I let the quiet anticipation settle around us.

For a moment, neither of us moved, simply soaking in the closeness. His thumb stroked a soft, idle pattern on the back of my hand, a touch that felt like a silent promise. I brought our entwined hands up to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles, my eyes meeting his with a soft smile.

“Bud’s probably wondering why breakfast is late,” I said softly. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, as though he couldn’t bear the thought of even a brief separation. His fingers tightened around mine, a gentle but insistent pull that made me want to sink back into him completely.

I smiled, lingering just a heartbeat longer, and then shook my head with a playful sigh. “I’ll only be a minute. Bud needs me too.” I slipped out of his arms, feeling his reluctant release as I slid out of bed. He groaned playfully, flopping back onto the pillow, but his eyes followed me, a warm, sleepy gaze that made me want to hurry through the task just to return.

I padded to the kitchen, where Bud waited with a patient stare, rubbing against my leg as I filled his bowl. “Alright, big guy,” I murmured, stroking his head before setting his food down. He purred contentedly, and I couldn’t help but smile at his simplicity—the straightforward needs of a cat, so different from the tangled emotions swirling between Hank and me.

The second I returned to the bedroom, I felt the pull of his presence, something soft and magnetic. Hank had shifted, lying on his side, arm outstretched in invitation. I climbed back into bed, and he wrapped himself around me, pulling me close until I fit perfectly against him, my back to his chest, his arm draped over mine.

We lay there, bodies pressed together, warm and secure. His fingers intertwined with mine, holding gently, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of my hand. I could feel his breath against my neck, each soft exhale centring me, drawing me deeper into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“This,” he murmured, his lips close to my ear, “this is all I need.”

I smiled, closing my eyes as I settled into his embrace, letting myself be completely held. The weight of his arm across me, the warmth of his skin against mine—it felt like a kind of trust, a silent promise that didn’t need words. I nestled closer, feeling his steady heartbeat against my back, a rhythm that seemed to match mine, syncing us in a way that felt new and yet completely natural.

Neither of us spoke for a while, letting the silence carry us, content just to be close. The world outside felt distant, unimportant, as if this bed, this room, was the only place that mattered. His fingers brushed up and down my arm in soothing strokes, and I felt myself relaxing even more, sinking into the softness of the morning.

Eventually, he whispered, “I could stay like this forever.”

“Then don’t move,” I whispered back, a smile playing at my lips.

His hold tightened just a little, as though he wanted to anchor me here, to keep me in this moment with him. I felt his lips press a soft kiss to my shoulder, the touch featherlight but filled with so much warmth that it made my heart ache in the best way. In the stillness, there was a tenderness that made time feel irrelevant, and as we lay there, I knew this was a memory we’d both hold onto—a morning where the world felt far away, and we had nothing but time.

Time passed in a quiet blur, marked only by the steady rise and fall of our breathing, the faint sounds of the world just beginning to stir outside. Every now and then, his hand would shift, fingers grazing my arm or drawing small, aimless patterns along my skin, as though he wanted to memorise the feel of me, of this moment.

At one point, he shifted slightly, resting his chin gently atop my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever done this before,” he murmured, the vulnerability in his voice pulling at something deep within me.

“Done what?” I asked softly, letting my hand cover his where it lay draped over me.

“Just…lay here. Doing nothing. Letting it be enough,” he said, a quiet wonder in his voice, as though the simplicity of it both puzzled and amazed him.

A soft smile curved my lips, and I turned just enough to catch his gaze, my eyes reflecting everything I couldn’t quite put into words. “Then let it be enough, just this once.”

He held my gaze, his fingers lacing with mine as he drew me back against him, his arm wrapping around me with a gentle but steady hold. I felt his chest press warmly to my back, his breath brushing against my neck in a way that felt intimate and safe, as if he was anchoring me to this moment.

Slowly, I turned my head just enough to close the distance, my lips finding his in a kiss that was soft and steady. His hand tightened around mine, and I could feel the warmth of his smile against my mouth, a quiet reassurance that we both felt the same pull. His thumb brushed gently over my knuckles, the movement small but filled with so much tenderness it made my heart ache.

When we finally pulled back, he nestled his face into the curve of my shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the back of my neck. The simple gesture sent a shiver through me, anchoring me deeper in the closeness we shared, with no need for words or explanations.

He pulled me even closer, his arm tightening around my waist, our fingers still intertwined. His hand rested just over my heart, where he could feel each steady beat, matching his own. In his embrace, I felt completely safe, as if time had slowed to give us these rare, unhurried moments of peace.

The world outside became a distant hum, unimportant and quiet, as though it had taken a step back, giving us the space to just…be. In the warmth of his arms, I felt my eyes grow heavy, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breath, and I let myself drift back to sleep, content and weightless, held in a moment that felt endless.

As I stirred awake, the morning light was still soft, casting warm hues over the room. Hank’s arm was wrapped securely around me, his chest pressed against my back, a comforting weight that kept the outside world at bay. I lay there, sinking into the feel of him, the quiet intimacy settling in my bones.

A slight movement from him brought me back into awareness, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my stomach. I shifted slightly, and his arm tightened around me, his touch becoming more deliberate. His breath, warm against my neck, sent a shiver through me, and my lips parted in a soft exhale as he brushed a tender kiss along the curve of my shoulder.

I felt him then, his arousal pressing against me, solid and real, and instinctively, I pressed back into him. He responded with a low murmur, his hand sliding up my side, fingertips grazing my skin as though he was memorising every inch. He continued his slow, reverent kisses along my shoulder, up to the base of my neck, his mouth lingering, each press of his lips soft but loaded with intent.

My pulse quickened as his hand moved higher, grazing the side of my breast. His fingers brushed my skin with a gentleness that made me ache, his touch unhurried, as though he wanted to savour every moment. I leaned back into him, letting myself be held, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my back, our breaths syncing in a quiet rhythm.

Hank’s hand moved over my breast, his palm warm as he cupped me gently, his thumb ghosting slow circles over my nipple, which hardened instantly under his touch. I closed my eyes, absorbing the sensations as a soft moan escaped my lips, my hand finding his, lacing our fingers together as he continued his slow exploration.

He pressed another kiss to my shoulder, his mouth soft, lingering there as if he was pouring every unspoken feeling into that touch. His other hand drifted lower, slipping over my hip, his touch light but intentional as he guided my leg forward, opening me to him. My breath caught as I felt him adjust behind me, the unmistakable press of him against me, filling me with anticipation.

Slowly, I reached down, my fingers trailing along my body until they found his, and together, they guided him into place. I felt the warmth of him, the promise of his body ready to join mine, and a thrill ran through me as my fingers brushed both my own heat and his hardness at the same time. I lingered there, touching myself while feeling him, the dual sensation heightening the intimacy of the moment.

Hank moved slowly, his hands steadying my hips as he eased himself forward, filling me inch by inch, his breath a warm whisper against my neck. We moved together in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing, my body adjusting to his, meeting him with a softness that felt both tender and grounding. His fingers continued their slow circles on my skin, reassuring, each touch a silent promise.

My hand found his at my waist, and I entwined our fingers, holding on as he moved within me, his thrusts slow and deep, as though he wanted to savour every second of our connection. I leaned back, letting myself feel him fully, feel the reaffirming way he held me, the way he moved with me as if this was exactly where he belonged.

We stayed wrapped in that gentle, unhurried pace, our breaths and heartbeats becoming one, our bodies speaking all the words we didn’t need to say. I reached back, running my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer until I felt his lips against my shoulder again, pressing kisses that felt reverent, anchoring.

With each slow, deep thrust, I felt myself surrendering more to the rhythm we’d built between us, each movement drawing me closer to him. His hand drifted to my hip, gripping me firmly, pulling me to him as he pressed himself deeper, filling me in a way that felt like he was leaving a part of himself with every motion.

A soft, needy sound escaped my lips, and in response, he tightened his hold on my hip, pulling me closer still, pressing his mouth to the curve of my neck. I could feel his breath, warm and heavy, before his lips found my skin, grazing and then pressing, a kiss that lingered and grew into something more. His mouth worked softly at first, but as his teeth grazed and his lips closed around my skin, I knew he was marking me, leaving something behind that felt like both a claim and a promise.

Ordinarily, I’d shy away from something so visible, but now, wrapped in the warmth of his arms, I wanted it—I wanted him to leave a trace of himself on me, something to carry with me beyond this moment. I tilted my head slightly, offering him more of my neck, feeling a thrill run through me as his mouth pressed harder, drawing a soft moan from me, his mark imprinted on my skin in a way that felt both possessive and tender.

My hand drifted down, fingers finding the heat between my legs, touching myself with a gentle, circling motion, heightening each sensation as his body moved in sync with mine. I felt the rush of warmth build under my fingertips, every touch sending ripples of pleasure through me. My hand slid further down, fingers brushing over where he entered me, feeling the firm, steady rhythm of him moving in and out, a connection that felt so profoundly intimate it made my breath hitch.

Hank’s grip on my hip tightened, his rhythm growing just a fraction deeper, each thrust deliberate and affirming, as though he wanted to imprint this moment on both of us. My breathing quickened, and I pressed my fingers harder against myself, the pleasure building into something urgent, something I couldn’t hold back.

I could feel him tense behind me, his breath heavy and uneven against my neck, his mouth still grazing the mark he’d left, his hand tightening on my hip as if to steady himself. The sounds he made, soft and barely restrained, were like a whisper of everything we felt but didn’t need to say. And as my body moved closer to release, he matched each movement, guiding me there with him, his every touch a promise that he was right there, holding me, carrying me through.

I felt the wave crest, my body clenching around him, my hand pressing harder as I spiralled into release, a soft cry escaping my lips as he held me, his grip on my hip steadying me, his mouth pressed to my neck, murmuring words I couldn’t quite catch but that only drew me deeper into the moment.

As I trembled in his arms, I felt him reach his own edge, his hold on me tightening as he let go, his body shuddering against mine, his hand still holding me close, as though he never wanted to let go. We stayed like that, entwined and connected, our breaths slowly finding a rhythm again as we came down, tangled together in the quiet aftermath of our shared release.

A gentle stillness settled around us as our breaths began to slow, the warmth of his body enveloping me like a blanket that felt both secure and freeing. His hand, still wrapped around my waist, softened its grip, fingers tracing soothing patterns over my skin as if to reassure me that he was here, that he wasn’t going anywhere. I nestled back into him, letting the remnants of our connection linger, my body still humming with the aftershocks of our closeness.

Hank pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder, a silent thank you, a reminder that every moment we’d shared was as real for him as it was for me. His lips lingered, trailing up to the mark he’d left on my neck, and he touched it with his thumb, a small, almost reverent gesture that sent a shiver through me despite the calmness between us.

I smiled, reaching up to cover his hand with mine, our fingers interlocking. “Guess I’ll be wearing a scarf for the next few days,” I murmured with a soft laugh, the warmth of his touch still fresh against my skin.

He chuckled, his breath a warm whisper against my ear. “Good. That way, you’ll have a reminder… of this,” he replied, his voice quiet but full of meaning. “Of us.”

The weight of his words settled over me, comforting and exhilarating all at once. I squeezed his hand, letting the silence speak for us, because words felt unnecessary, almost too small for the magnitude of what I was feeling.

We lay there like that for a while, our bodies entangled, our hearts still beating in sync. The world outside was still distant, and there was a peacefulness in the quiet rhythm of our breathing, as though time itself had slowed, allowing us to savour this fragile, beautiful moment.

Eventually, Hank’s fingers began a lazy, comforting stroke along my arm, tracing an invisible line up and down, each touch calming and centring. He rested his chin gently on my shoulder, his presence a steady warmth that felt like home.

“What do you want to do today?” he asked softly, his voice warm, carrying a hint of curiosity but mostly a willingness to simply be wherever I wanted to be.

I tilted my head back to catch his gaze, smiling. “I kind of just want to stay right here…with you.”

He smiled, his eyes softening, and he pressed a tender kiss to my temple. “That sounds perfect to me.”

We stayed wrapped up in each other for a while longer, drifting in and out of quiet conversation, his arm draped over me, fingers tracing small circles along my back. At one point, I shifted to face him, nestling into the curve of his shoulder, my hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my fingertips. The morning felt soft, untouched by any need to move or be anywhere but here.

A sudden pounce on the bed signalled Bud’s arrival. He nestled himself right between us, his small body curling into the gap as though he, too, wanted to be part of our little world. I laughed, reaching out to scratch behind his ears, and Hank’s fingers brushed over mine as he joined in, both of us petting Bud until his purring filled the room, a soft, steady hum that seemed to lull us all back into a comfortable quiet.

Eventually, a thirst for water made it impossible to stay cocooned in bed any longer. With a soft sigh, I slid out from under the blankets, grabbing his T-shirt from the floor and slipping it on, the fabric hanging loose around me, warm from the feel of him. Hank stretched, rolling onto his back, his gaze following me with a lazy warmth.

“Come on,” I murmured, smiling over my shoulder as I padded to the kitchen.

He pulled on his boxers and followed me, tousled and unhurried, his hand grazing my waist as we reached the kitchen. I filled two glasses with cold water, passing one to him, both of us taking long sips, feeling the refreshing coolness spread through us after the warmth of bed.

“Stay here. I’ll make us something,” I murmured, flashing him a soft smile as I reached for the ingredients.

He settled into one of the kitchen chairs, looking completely at ease, his gaze following me with an unguarded affection that sent a warm flush through me. Moving around the kitchen in his T-shirt, I felt a strange comfort and intimacy, as if the shirt itself were an extension of him, wrapping me in his presence.

I grabbed the waffle iron and the ingredients, quickly mixing up the batter. His eyes stayed on me as I worked, the shirt skimming my thighs. I poured the batter, watching the steam rise as the waffles cooked, filling the kitchen with a cosy warmth and the familiar scent of maple syrup.

A few minutes later, I plated the waffles, drizzling them with warm maple syrup, and handed him a plate. His eyes lit up, and he wasted no time digging in, a soft groan of appreciation escaping as he took his first bite.

“These are… amazing,” he said between bites, looking up at me with a grin that made my heart flutter. “You’re holding out on some serious waffle skills.”

I laughed, taking a seat across from him with my own plate. “Just something I picked up along the way.”

We ate in companionable silence, each bite filling and warm, the simple act of sharing a meal keeping us rooted in the moment. I sipped my orange juice, watching him polish off his waffles and then down his water, a content expression settling over his features. He looked satisfied, relaxed in a way I didn’t often see, his gaze drifting out the window where the Hudson stretched in the distance, the city calm beneath the late morning light.

Leaning back in my chair, I propped my feet up on the table’s edge, letting the moment linger. His shirt had slipped a little higher on my thigh, and I noticed his eyes catch on the bare skin exposed there, a flicker of heat in his gaze as he realised I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. A quiet thrill moved through me, the awareness between us simmering just beneath the surface.

I raised an eyebrow, a small, teasing smile playing on my lips. “See something you like?”

His eyes met mine, that warmth deepening. “More than a few things,” he replied, his voice a touch rough, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine, a simple touch that felt both grounding and electric.

Without breaking eye contact, he moved his hand lower, fingers gently curling around my ankle. He held it with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze, his thumb brushing soft circles against my skin. Slowly, he lifted my foot, pressing a soft kiss to my ankle, his lips warm against the delicate skin. I shivered, feeling the warmth spread up my leg, the thrill of anticipation building as he took his time, each kiss a deliberate, gentle exploration.

He didn’t rush, his mouth tracing a slow, teasing path up my calf, his eyes lifting every so often to catch my gaze, a spark of mischief and intent flickering there. As he reached my knee, he lowered my foot to the ground, but instead of rising, he slid off his chair, sinking down onto his knees in front of me. My breath hitched, heart beating a little faster as he settled himself between my legs, his hands gliding up my thighs with a quiet reverence.

His lips brushed against the inside of my knee, featherlight, lingering there as if he was savouring the feel of my skin under his mouth. I leaned back, feeling my pulse quicken, my body responding to each touch, every careful kiss. Slowly, he worked his way up my thigh, his mouth tracing a path that was both tender and teasing, each touch building the anticipation, stoking the quiet, simmering heat between us.

As he reached the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, his hands tightened their hold, anchoring me, keeping me steady as his mouth moved closer to the ache that had been building with every kiss, every glance. His gaze lifted once more, and the intensity there made my breath catch, a wordless promise that sent a thrill through me.

With a firm yet gentle pull, he drew me forward until I was perched at the very edge of the chair, his hands drifting over my knees, coaxing my legs wider as he settled even closer. His lips continued their path, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin near the apex of my thigh, the heat of his breath making my head spin. My fingers gripped the edge of the chair, anticipation thrumming through my veins as I watched him, feeling completely vulnerable and yet utterly safe under his steady gaze.

When his mouth reached the soft skin just below my hip, he paused, his breath hot and steady against me. My pulse raced, each beat building the anticipation until it felt like every nerve was focused solely on him. I watched as he lifted my legs, draping them over his shoulders, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me in place. The feel of his hands, firm and reassuring, paired with the intense gaze he held me with, sent a shiver through me that only deepened the ache pooling low in my belly.

Then, without further hesitation, his mouth found me. His lips pressed against my most sensitive spot, warm and gentle at first, a slow, deliberate kiss that drew a breathless gasp from me. His tongue traced a soft, teasing path, each movement controlled, unhurried, exploring me with a reverence that made my skin tingle. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight under his careful attention.

A soft, satisfied hum escaped him, vibrating against me, and I felt a rush of warmth at the sound, knowing my reaction stirred something deep in him. He continued with a steady rhythm, his tongue circling, pressing, coaxing me closer with each pass. My fingers slipped into his hair, gripping as he deepened his touch, his mouth working against me in a way that was both skilled and achingly tender. The pressure built slowly, a delicious intensity that had me shifting in his hold, my breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

His hands tightened around my thighs, anchoring me as he adjusted slightly, pressing his mouth harder against me, his tongue and lips moving with an intensity that left me breathless. My back arched, a soft moan escaping as he found a perfect rhythm, the sensation so consuming it felt as though I could dissolve into it. My hands slid down, one gripping his shoulder, the other resting on his forearm, needing to hold onto something as he continued, each movement deliberate, thorough.

He responded with a low groan, his movements growing just a bit more focused, as though my sounds guided him. His breath, warm and uneven, washed over me with every shift, and I could feel him responding to every tremor, every gasp that escaped my lips.

His hands flexed on my thighs as he sensed my body tightening, my breathing growing shallow and quick. He pulled me even closer, the soft sounds of his pleasure blending with mine, a quiet harmony that only heightened the closeness between us. Each noise he made felt like an affirmation, a gentle promise that he was as affected as I was, completely in sync.

My back lifted off the chair as his tongue worked against me, swirling and pressing with unrelenting precision. Each deliberate movement drew me tighter, a desperate sound escaping as he pulled me closer to the edge, every flick and swirl so consuming it was as if he was unraveling me one touch at a time.

He seemed to sense the exact moment when the pleasure crested, his movements coaxing me over the edge with a precision that felt both gentle and powerful. I shuddered, my body arching as a wave of pleasure washed over me, his mouth still moving, guiding me through each tremor, grounding me in his hold. The world blurred, my senses overwhelmed, every touch, every kiss, every whisper of breath blending into a symphony of sensation.

When I opened my eyes, he was gazing up at me, a warm, satisfied smile on his face. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my thigh before he lowered my legs from his shoulders, his hands still warm and reassuring on my hips. Rising slowly, he brought his face close to mine, his thumb brushing softly over my cheek as he looked at me with that familiar, tender intensity.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with a quiet reverence that made my heart flutter.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, leaning in to capture his lips in a kiss that was soft and tender, a quiet echo of everything we’d shared. The taste of me lingered on his lips, a reminder of the closeness we’d just experienced, the quiet intimacy that bound us together in a way that felt deeper, more profound than words could capture.

Our kiss deepened, growing slower and softer, the kind of kiss that felt like sinking into something warm and familiar. But as our smiles began to creep in, it became harder to keep up the rhythm. My lips curled against his, and I could feel his mouth twitching with his own grin, the playfulness bubbling up between us. Then, just as we leaned in again, our teeth knocked together with a soft, awkward clink. We both froze, then burst out laughing, the sound filling the room as I pulled back, covering my mouth.

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning, his hand resting lightly on my waist. “Guess we’re not as smooth as we thought,” he murmured, his own laughter softening into a warm, amused smile.

I bit my lip, feeling a blush spread over my cheeks. “I just… I feel like a horny teenager,” I admitted, laughing softly.

He chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand and leading me back toward the bed. “If we’re going to feel like teenagers, we might as well do it somewhere comfortable.”

We settled back onto the bed, lying side by side, limbs entangled as we caught our breath. After a moment, I looked at him thoughtfully, imagining a teenage version of Hank. “You must’ve had girls lining up for you,” I said, a teasing smile pulling at my lips. “Tall, athletic, funny… you probably had half the school crushing on you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Believe it or not, I had my awkward phase too. Gangly, too many freckles, braces—the whole package.”

I tried to picture it but struggled to imagine him anything but effortlessly charming. “Still, I bet you outgrew it fast.”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin forming. “Maybe… but I still wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular.” His gaze softened, turning curious. “What about you? I bet you were the cute, mysterious girl everyone wanted to know more about.”

I shrugged. “More like invisible, honestly. I had friends, but… no one ever really saw me as more than that. I was quieter than the other girls who were… you know, bubbly, a little louder. It didn’t really stand out.”

Hank tilted his head, studying me. “I would’ve liked you. It’s always the quiet ones, you know.” His voice was gentle, sincere, and for a moment, I felt a soft warmth spread through me.

I smiled, reaching for his hand. “Alright, so tell me—when was your first kiss?”

He grinned, leaning back as he thought about it. “I was twelve. My first date, believe it or not—my mum actually dropped us off at the movies. I remember sharing popcorn, all nerves and sweaty palms, and then… about halfway through, I made my move. Leaned over and just… kissed her.”

I grinned, picturing him as an eager twelve-year-old, nervously going in for that first kiss. “Bold. I’m impressed.”

“And what about you?” he asked, turning the tables.

I sighed, already cringing at the memory. “I was fourteen, it was at this under-16s event at a local club. They had a DJ, dance floor, the whole vibe—just no alcohol, obviously. Anyway, I spotted a cute guy, and my friend, bless her, decided to play matchmaker. She ran over to tell him I thought he was cute. I was mortified.”

Hank’s laughter echoed around the room, and I joined in, the memory both embarrassing and oddly endearing in hindsight.

“So, what happened?” he pressed, clearly invested.

“Well, he just came over and planted one on me. No ‘hi,’ no conversation. Just… straight in, and it was… awful,” I said, wincing. “Way too much tongue, sooooo sloppy. I pushed him away and went back to my friends. Never found out his name, never saw him again.”

Hank laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, I think that wins for worst first kiss. You didn’t even get his name?”

“Nope.” I smiled, shrugging. “A true mystery man. Didn’t matter though—no one else even looked my way until college.”

He leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss along my temple. “Their loss,” he murmured, and the simplicity of his words left a warmth lingering between us, settling deeper than I expected.

We lay there, tangled up in each other, sharing old memories and quiet laughter, each story revealing a little more of who we’d once been and the path that led us here. And as the early afternoon light shifted softly across the room, I realised these moments—these quiet, unguarded glimpses—were exactly what I’d been hoping to find.

We stayed curled up in bed, limbs entwined, the warmth of his body melding with mine as the hours slipped by, unnoticed. We shared more stories, our voices soft in the quiet, the closeness weaving an unspoken connection between us that felt both thrilling and achingly real. Hank’s fingers moved gently along my arm as he listened, his gaze attentive, as though every word mattered. And with each memory, every laugh, we sank deeper into a shared intimacy that felt as natural as breathing.

When words gave way to silence, our bodies took over, finding each other in gentle touches and lingering kisses. It was unhurried, a delicate dance that felt equal parts exploration and surrender, as if the only goal was to lose ourselves in the warmth and comfort we’d created together. His hands roamed my skin, fingertips mapping a path that made me shiver, and I found myself memorising the curve of his shoulders, the way his breathing shifted with each soft touch. There was something deeply grounding in the simplicity of it—no rush, no expectations, just the two of us discovering what it meant to truly let someone in.

By the time the sun had begun to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across the bed, our stomachs reminded us of the real world outside our little cocoon. Hank’s hand slipped down to his phone, pulling up a menu. “Pizza?” he asked, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Or are you in the mood for something fancier?”

I smiled, nestling closer. “Pizza sounds perfect. Let’s keep it simple.”

He nodded, ordering without missing a beat, as though he knew exactly what toppings I’d choose. When he hung up, he turned back to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders to pull me close. We lay like that, content in the warmth of each other’s presence, the quiet broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

When the pizza arrived, we sat cross-legged on the bed, laughing as we devoured each slice. It felt wonderfully normal, like we’d been doing this forever. Hank looked at me over the edge of his slice, a soft, almost hesitant smile on his face.

“So, tomorrow,” he began, tracing patterns in the pizza box with his finger, “I was thinking… we could go to the aquarium? Coney Island, maybe?”

My face lit up at the suggestion. “The aquarium? I haven’t been in years. I’d love that.”

His smile widened, a glimmer of excitement flashing in his eyes. “Good. I thought it might be fun to do something different… and I like the idea of us just… being together.”

I leaned over, brushing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Perfect. It sounds perfect.”

We lingered there, talking about everything and nothing, spinning plans for tomorrow while sharing quiet glances that said far more than our words.

The evening unfolded in a gentle rhythm, each small moment settling comfortably into the quiet intimacy we’d built together. After we’d shared the last of the pizza, Hank wandered into the kitchen to fetch Bud’s dinner, calling for him with a soft whistle. Bud trotted over, tail high and eyes bright with anticipation. He rubbed against Hank’s leg, giving a low purr as Hank scratched him behind the ears before setting down his bowl. We stood together, watching Bud eat with contented little snuffles, our hands brushing as we leaned against the counter.

There was something deeply satisfying in this simplicity, the way even the smallest routines felt like tiny acts of closeness. Clearing the plates, rinsing them together, and putting away the empty pizza box—all of it took on a new meaning, like we were building a little world just for us, even in these fleeting, everyday moments.

Once the kitchen was tidied, Hank stretched his arms over his head, giving me a sleepy smile as he reached for my hand. “How about a shower before bed?” he suggested, his voice low, carrying that familiar warmth. There was no rush, no urgency—just the simple, comforting idea of sharing the quiet before sleep.

I nodded, letting him lead me to the bathroom, his hand warm around mine. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam curled softly through the air, misting over the mirror and filling the space with a gentle warmth. We stepped in together, letting the water cascade over us, creating a private world where nothing else existed but the soft patter of droplets and the quiet presence of each other.

Hank’s hands moved slowly, almost reverently, as he lathered up the shampoo and began working it gently through my hair. His fingers massaged my scalp with a tenderness that felt both intimate and unassuming, each touch a quiet reminder of his care. I closed my eyes, sinking into the sensation, letting the water and his hands wash away the remnants of the day. He rinsed my hair with a slow, careful touch, his fingers threading through each strand, ensuring that every last bit of shampoo was gone.

When he finished, he turned me gently, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before I reached for the body wash, mirroring his careful, deliberate touch as I lathered his shoulders and chest, my hands moving over him with the same unspoken promise.

With each movement, each soft touch, it felt like we were sharing something beyond words, a connection that went deeper than the physical. As I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under my palms, I looked up to find him watching me, his gaze warm and open, his eyes reflecting the quiet understanding that filled the space between us.

When he took the body wash from me, I caught his eye, smiling softly, and he returned the look with a warmth that made my heart flutter. He started with my shoulders, his hands moving in slow, soothing circles, the gentle pressure relaxing every muscle. As he worked his way down my back, his fingers tracing along my spine, I felt the pleasant soreness between my thighs, a lingering reminder of the passion we’d shared earlier in the day.

His gaze fell to the faint hickey he’d left on my neck that morning, a soft blush blooming where his lips had been. He brushed a thumb over it, smiling to himself before his hands continued their path down my body, washing over my hips and stomach with a care that felt almost reverent.

As his hands moved lower, he paused, his touch growing more deliberate as he lathered the body wash over my thighs. When his fingers slipped between my legs, his touch was gentle, his fingers moving in slow, tender circles that sent a soft gasp tumbling from my lips. The delicate way he washed over me, his fingers brushing against my folds with careful, unhurried strokes, made me feel seen and cherished in a way that was almost overwhelming.

I opened my eyes to meet his gaze, and in that instant, something shifted between us, a quiet intensity building in the warmth of the water and the softness of his touch. He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a kiss that started soft but deepened quickly, his hands steadying me as I wrapped one leg around his waist, drawing him closer.

He pressed me back against the cool tiles, his body flush against mine, his length hard against my thigh, a promise of everything I already craved. His mouth moved from my lips to the hollow of my throat, lingering over the hickey he’d left earlier, his tongue tracing it slowly before he kissed his way down, each touch igniting a fresh wave of heat beneath my skin.

His hands moved to cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me as he took his time, his mouth following the path of his hands, his kisses trailing down until I was arching into him, breathless and aching. The contrast of his warm, wet mouth against my skin and the cool tile at my back made every sensation sharper, more vivid, as though he were marking every inch of me.

He lifted me slightly, his hands firm on my hips, and I felt him position himself, his cock pressing insistently against me. Slowly, he entered me, inch by inch, filling me with a deliberate slowness that left me gasping, my fingers clutching his shoulders as he pushed deeper. The stretch was intense, a delicious pressure that mingled with the soft ache from earlier, heightening every sensation until I could hardly breathe.

He moved within me with a slow, steady rhythm, his hands gripping my hips as he guided me, each thrust measured, each movement unhurried, as though he wanted to memorise the feel of me. His mouth found mine again, his kisses deep and consuming, the warmth of his tongue meeting mine in a way that mirrored the slow, intimate dance of our bodies.

I reached down, my hand slipping between us to touch my clit, each gentle stroke amplifying the pleasure coursing through me. He felt my touch, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he tightened his hold on me, his pace quickening slightly as I worked myself closer to the edge. His mouth moved back to my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as his hands pressed my hips firmly against him, our bodies locked in a rhythm that was both tender and fierce.

The pleasure built and built, coiling tight and hot until it finally shattered, my body clenching around him as a wave of release swept over me. I clung to him, lost in the sensation as he held me steady, his movements carrying me through every tremor, every pulse of pleasure. He followed moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he buried himself deep, a shudder running through him as he let go, our bodies locked together in the warm cocoon of the water.

We stayed like that for a few moments, his forehead resting against mine as we caught our breath, the steady beat of his heart thrumming against my chest, grounding me in the closeness we’d created.

Gently, he set me down, still holding me close as he reached for the thick, fluffy towel nearby. He wrapped it around me with a tenderness that sent a gentle ache through my chest, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. I reached up to towel off his hair, grinning as he leaned into my touch, his eyes filled with a playful warmth that mirrored my own.

We moved to the sink, brushing our teeth side by side, standing close enough that our arms brushed now and then. I caught his eye in the mirror, and we both smiled, sharing a small, almost childlike amusement at this shared, ordinary moment. It was strange, but standing there with toothpaste foam on our mouths and a sleepy contentment in our eyes felt as intimate as any kiss we’d shared.

I took my time drying my hair, enjoying the lingering warmth of his touch, the softness of the towel around me. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, I found Hank already stretched out on the bed, his breathing deep and even as he’d drifted off, one arm sprawled across the pillow beside him. Bud was curled up near his side, a small ball of fur nestled into the blankets, his tiny body rising and falling in time with Hank’s breaths. The sight filled me with a gentle warmth, a sense of contentment settling over me as I realised how natural this scene felt, like we’d been doing this forever.

I switched off the bathroom light, leaving a soft, dim glow in the room as I climbed into bed. Sliding under the covers, I nestled against Hank’s side, fitting myself into the familiar curve of his body. Even in his sleep, he instinctively shifted, wrapping his arm around me, his hand resting lightly against my back. I could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart under my cheek, a quiet, reassuring rhythm that seemed to sync perfectly with mine.

As I lay there, the events of the day drifted through my mind like scenes in a film—our laughter, the playful teasing, the stories we’d shared, and the warmth of his hand in mine. Each memory felt like a piece of something we were building together, something that felt both fragile and resilient, like the kind of trust that could weather anything.

I turned slightly, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder, my lips brushing against his warm skin. Bud stirred beside us, curling up a little closer, his purring a gentle hum that filled the quiet, lulling me further into the comfort of the moment. The weight of Hank’s arm over me, the warmth of his body against mine, the soft breaths that filled the room—it all felt like a promise, a silent vow that we were in this together, wherever it might lead.

With a final, sleepy smile, I let myself relax completely, letting the peace of the evening wash over me as I drifted off, cocooned in the warmth of Hank’s embrace and the contentment of a day spent in quiet closeness. And as I closed my eyes, feeling his heartbeat steady under my cheek, I realised that this—this quiet, unassuming closeness—was all I’d ever wanted.

Masterlist

[spinkt]

I may not be able to write what I or other people would like me to, but one thing I *do* have going for me is the ability to just write stupid fuckin shit as if gdocs is a sketchbook.

Most people will agree that sketchbooks are good for artists cuz it's good practice even if, or especially because, every page doesn't end up being a finished polished piece.

But most writers seem to have this thing where they cannot put pen to paper/fingers to keys unless they feel like it's productive to whatever goal they have or else it's useless and why bother.

Fuck that. Write whatever shit you want, even if it won't lead to anything, even if it's repetitive, even if it's silly. Rewrite a scene you liked in a show or book or whatever with your blorbos. Plot out a pirate story you know you'll never get around to writing. Allow yourself to do the equivalent of doodling and you'll be better for it.

[snekdood]

im far more concerned about people stealing things that matter to me a lot that they for some reason think they deserve more than of them stealing fucking. money. and its alll bc i grew up with literally a connected closet with my sister who would steal shit from me all the time. you dont understand how frustrating it is to grow up in a house where the most basic form of ‘love’ shown was giving you items and then those items being the only symbol of love you have and then someone just fucking. take it like its theirs and they deserve it for some reason. this is why if you’ve ever stolen stuffed animals from me you need to go fuck yourself immediately. literally my villain arc.

[moonstruckme]

I absolutely adore your roommate James series! It’s so tender and soft and sweet and it feels like the literary version of a hug 😭 you nail it every time!

Thank you sweetness!!! I am giving you a hug actually <3

cw: threatening with a weapon

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Things have come to a point where James needs to admit to himself that he likes you as more than a friend. 

The problem is, he likes you as a friend so much. He’s no stranger to the dilemma of risking a friendship for something more, but he’s not a teenager anymore and you’re not Lily. James knows he wouldn’t be able to play it off as a silly, harmless crush with you. And, really, he wouldn’t want to. You bully your way into his thoughts all day long. Your sweet voice, the way you talk with your eyes, tiny moments like the way your lips parted when he’d first slipped and called you sweetheart. You’d schooled your expression into teasing exasperation almost immediately, but there had been a softening in your eyes that made him impatient to do it again.

If he told you all that, James would probably come home to find all your things gone. You can barely handle it when he tells you you look nice. He doesn’t want to lose you. 

So, against his wishes and all his instincts and proclivities, he’s going to let it lie. James wants to be your friend more than he wants to discover what else you could be together. He can love you this way, too. 

That doesn’t do anything to deaden the thrill that goes up his spine when he picks up his phone and hears your voice on the other end, though.

“James?” 

“Y/n?” He checks the number on his phone. It’s not in his contacts. 

“Yeah. Um, are you—are you busy?” There’s a wobble in your voice. James’ heart drops straight down to his stomach. 

“I’m not,” he says, stopping short of the field where his teammates are gathering and turning back towards his car. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah.” It’s clearly not, but he was silly to ask. Of course you’d say that. “I just, if you’re free, I was wondering if you could maybe pick me up?” 

That wobble hasn’t gone from your voice. James’ heart trembles in solidarity. 

He gets back in his car, starting the ignition with perhaps a tad too much force. “I’m on my way,” he promises. “Where are you, what’s wrong?” 

“I’m outside the Waterstones on Manor Road, you know where that is?” 

“I know the one, yeah.” 

Your voice sounds held together by fragments. “I’m sorry, it’s far.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, then regrets it instantly. This is hardly the time for a good-natured scolding. He turns out of the parking lot. “I’m coming. What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve—I’ve had my phone and wallet taken. I don’t have my key to the apartment.” 

“Taken?” James’ head buzzes like a TV turned to the wrong channel. “By who?” 

“A man, I—I don’t know. Um, I’m borrowing this woman’s phone, and I think I should give it back.”

His lungs feel small, panic choking him. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be safe, yeah?”  

“Yeah.” A breath crackles through the phone. James wonders if you’d been choking, too. “Thanks, James.” 

“Just be safe.” 

The sun has dipped below most buildings by the time he gets there. It makes it difficult to see you, but James’ eyes work like a compass, finding your shadowy form curled up on the curb. The bookstore looks to be closed or close to it, no patrons walking by you as you sit with your knees bent close to your chest. 

You see his car pull up, and he’s halfway to you before you’re even standing. Your arms come around James as readily as his around you, your face squished willingly into the fabric of his workout shirt. Your breath seems to stutter out of you. 

“It’s okay,” he says, grasping the back of your head. He’s not sure if he’s talking to you, or himself, or either of you. He’ll tell whoever will listen. “You’re okay, sweetheart, it’s alright.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. “I don’t know why I’m crying now.” 

“You’re okay,” James says again, just for good measure. His lips find the top of your head. “What happened?” 

“I think I was mugged,” you laugh. It comes out warped, completely unlike the sound he’s spent months chasing after. “This guy showed me a knife, and told me to hand him my bag and phone, and I just gave them to him. It was right out in the open.” Another jagged, heart-aching laugh. “I feel so stupid.” 

“Why would someone else mugging you make you stupid?” James lets you go enough to give you a little space, but his arms stay around you, his hand rubbing firmly over your shoulder blade. “Did you call the police?” 

You gnaw on your lower lip. It already looks bitten to shreds. “No.” 

He nods, taking a breath. James isn’t typically the responsible one in his relationships. He’s not good at knowing what to do. It makes him think of being thirteen and seeing Sirius all bruised and broken, feeling his heart break and knowing that he had to fix things despite the both of them being too young to have any clue how to deal with something so huge. James is an adult now, but he still feels too young. 

“Do you want to go home?” he asks you. 

You bite down hard on your lip, but your eyes gloss anyway. “Yeah,” you say, voice breaking. 

James pulls you close and gives in to treating you the way he wants to, kisses pressed into your hairline and tender words pouring from his lips. He gets you into the car and takes you home. 

Throughout the rest of the evening, you’re at once more reticent and more talkative than you’ve ever been. You’ll stare into the distance for minutes at a time, but then you’ll speak up, seemingly randomly, about some small fact you’d forgotten or a thought that’s been pushing at your consciousness. You tell him that you don’t think you could describe the man well enough to the police. That you have no concept of how long you stood around before you thought to ask for someone else’s phone. That you sort of wish you’d refused to hand yours over, because really what was the worst that could have happened?

“Well, he could have stabbed you,” James says.

“Yeah, but how often is that really fatal? And he might not have. It’s embarrassing, all he had to do was show me the knife and I turned everything over. I probably would have been fine.” 

“I don’t think you’re automatically fine if you’re not dead, angel. You were still at risk of being stabbed.” 

“I’d still have my phone and everything, though.” 

“I think you’re worth a bit more than that stuff.” 

“Mm, agree to disagree.” 

James does things he doesn’t particularly want to do—phoning your bank, filing a police report online, texting your landlord about a new set of keys—and several things he really does want to do. Once you’ve changed into your cozy clothes he practically swaddles you in blankets, putting a hot chocolate in your hand and that show you’re always watching on the TV. He makes you dinner, teases you until he gets a real smile, puts your mum’s number in his phone and texts her to let her know you’re okay. James touches you amply, lips on your cheek and hand smoothing the hair from your face and one knee pressing into your leg through the blanket. 

And you let him. 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Not an ask, I just wanted to tell you I love, love, LOVE your snippets. It always makes me happy to see a new post by you on my dash, then I know I'm in for a treat. I especially love your villains, they're so much more than just "the bad guy". I always find myself wanting to know more about them, even though they send a chill down my spine and I know I'd be terrified to run into them in a dark alley at night. Thank you for sharing your genius!

"Has anyone ever told you that it's a dangerous idea to walk down dark alleyways alone at night?"

The villain was well-concealed in the crisp evening, leaned slim as a shadow against the wall.

The air stank of a mixture of oncoming snow and the garbage bags piled up and threatening to spill. It wasn't, the hero thought, the sort of place that really suited the villain. They seemed the type best made for pristine conference rooms and expensive penthouse lairs. Spacious. Glittering. Cold, corporate monstrosity.

"Yes," the hero said. "But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of running into you, would I?"

"Is that what this is?"

"You don't think so?"

"I'm always a delight, but few fully recognise that facet of my personality. Most instead, should they choose to see me in a dark alleyway, walk swiftly in the opposite direction."

"Mm." The hero shook their head. "I admit, your general habit of instilling terror in everyone can sometimes overpower other impressions."

"But not with you."

"Oh, I'm crapping myself. Speaking of. If I aim my phone at you so I can see you properly are you going to hiss at me like a feral cat, eyes glinting, and scurry away? Or am I just going to spontaneously combust for daring to look at you? The rumours vary."

"No one would ever dare call me a feral cat, dear."

"Not in as many words. But you are sort of lurking in the shadows and stalking me, so I think its apt."

The villain snapped their fingers. A ball of light appeared shining at the tips, illuminating the few metres between them. None of the usual rats or cockroaches went skittering away from the villain's immaculate shoes, everything was eerily still, so the hero figured they (like most creatures) were smart enough to keep their distance. Vanish somewhere else, if they could. Hold their breath. Hide.

The hero eyed them and resisted the urge to move closer.

The villain offered a soft, mocking, snake-like hiss.

"You wanted to see me," the hero said instead. "At least, I assume that's why you're lurking outside of my workplace and doing the aforementioned stalking routine. You could come inside, you know. I don't bite."

"I do."

"You're not beating the feral cat allegations."

"If I came inside, your colleagues would pass out or start screaming. It would be a whole thing and I'm not working right now."

"Well-" The hero had no good answer to that. 'It would make my shift go faster' was not a good answer. "Anyway. My break is only ten minutes. What do you want?"

"To see you," the villain said. "Talking with you is a debatable experience."

"Wow, rude."

"You followed me out here. I was happy looking."

"Well, I wasn't just going to leave you to it!"

"Most people wouldn't notice."

"Good for most people," the hero huffed. "Do you want an autograph and a picture so you could take it away and maybe the photo would last longer than looking at me?"

"Yes, if you're offering."

The hero stared at them. The villain stared back.

"...I'm not offering," the hero said, after a beat. "God knows what you'd do with my signature."

The villain snorted. Their head tilted as they studied the hero, twirling their fingers idly, making the light shift and cast the world in strange uneasy fragments.

"Come to dinner with me," the villain said, after a long moment. "After your shift."

"I thought talking with me was a debatable experience."

"Yes. And I'm debating."

"Does inviting people to dinner normally work for you after you insult them?"

"Yes."

"Because most people are afraid to say no."

"Yes."

"No."

The villain smiled. At least, in the light, it looked suspiciously like a smile. There and gone in an instant. The hero couldn't tell if it reached the villain's eyes, cast in the alleyway gloom as they still were. It shouldn't have made a thrill run down the hero's spine, but it did.

"Another night," the hero said. "Maybe. When I'm not working."

"You're always working, be it here or in your adorable crime-stopping ways."

"Adorable doesn't win you any points either."

"I'm not trying to win points with you."

"But you're trying to take me to dinner. Why?"

"Novelty. I make a point to invest heavily in my own amusement."

"And I'm amusing you."

"You're...intriguing me. Whether you say yes or no," the villain said. "So entirely up to you if you want the free dinner or not."

"I can afford my own dinner."

"Is that why you're so skinny?"

"Again," the hero said, because the only other option was to be rendered speechless at the villain's audacity. "Rude."

"Politeness is for people too weak to say and do what they like. Dinner on Wednesday then?"

"They say you're horrifying. No one told me you were also insufferable."

"Well, most people are attached to keeping their tongues, so that's not really surprising." The villain continued, waving a dismissive hand, before the hero could possibly respond to that nightmarish gem of a comment. "They say you're generally brave and lovely, but five minutes alone with you already makes it clear that there's something desperately wrong with you or you would never have followed me here."

The hero spluttered.

"Death wish?" The villain asked curiously. "Adrenaline junkie? I didn't think you were especially stupid, but it's hard to tell watching you from the other side of the street."

"You really are something, huh."

The villain flicked the light off their fingers in the hero's direction in response. When the light reached them it didn't hurt, only popped like a bubble against their nose. They were plunged into darkness.

When the hero raised their phone, the villain was off the wall and right there in front of them.

The hero sucked a sharp breath, eyes going wide.

"As are you," the villain said. "Most people would have flinched."

The hero swallowed.

They felt suddenly infinitely aware that the silent darkness was also beneath the villain's power, as much as the light was, swallowing up every inch of space around the two of them one way or another. Who knew what was the villain's and what was just there.

Dangerous to walk down a dark alley indeed, as if it was the dark or the alley that was the real problem.

The hero had never felt so damningly alive.

"Wednesday," the hero said. "Tell me where to meet you."

"It's a date."

The rest of their shift passed in a blur.

[fvsm4x]

𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

synopsis. Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

+ warning/content. bully Gojo Satoru x female reader - reader is pregnant - mentions of abortion - mature themes/MDNI - usual warnings - suguru and reader are siblings - gojo is a fuckboy - angst angst angst:))

+ word count. 4.9k

a/n. Been a while since i‘ve updated this series…

<-previous - series mlist - next->

As your mother and father stormed out of your room, they slammed the door with a force that rattled the walls, leaving you alone with your brother in the suffocating silence that followed. The finality of that door slamming shut felt like an ominous punctuation—a statement that there was no turning back.

You stood frozen, your heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the echo of their footsteps retreating down the hall. A knot tightened in your throat as the weight of their words crashed over you, a tidal wave of shame and dread. You forced yourself to take deep, steady breaths, trying desperately to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. The last thing you wanted was for your brother to see you like this—vulnerable, broken, on the verge of falling apart.

Is that it? you wondered, panic clawing at your insides. Is this really it? Am I actually getting kicked out? The thought left you feeling hollow, like everything you had ever counted on had been stripped away in a single, merciless instant.

Your mind raced, leaping to thoughts of your future—or what little was left of it. Everything you’d worked for, everything you’d dreamed of, felt like it was slipping through your fingers, unraveling faster than you could piece it back together. You could see the edges of your life falling away. Your education, your home, the support you once took for granted. All of it was disappearing, leaving only the stark reality of an uncertain path ahead.

You clenched your hands, digging your nails into your palms to anchor yourself, trying to stave off the wave of despair building inside you. It felt like your world was caving in, each piece of your carefully planned life crumbling in a way that seemed beyond repair.

Your brother shifted beside you, breaking the silence as he cleared his throat, his face etched with worry. He reached out a tentative hand, hovering as if unsure whether to comfort you or respect the fragile space you’d created between yourself and your emotions.

Your brother’s hand finally found your shoulder, his touch gentle but grounding. His silence spoke louder than words, and for a moment, it was all you could rely on. Even though he didn’t know what to say, his presence gave you something solid to hold onto in the midst of the chaos unraveling inside you.

“You don’t have to leave,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’re just… angry. They’ll come around. Maybe if we just talk to them tomorrow, things will calm down.”

You shook your head, the harsh reality already settling into place. “No, Suguru.. you heard them. They were serious. They want me gone.”

He looked down, his brows knitted together in frustration. “But where will you go? You can’t just… be out there by yourself.” The helplessness in his voice mirrored your own fear, but even he didn’t have a solution.

You glanced around your room—the bed you’d grown up in, the books you’d loved and underlined, the photos on the wall capturing fragments of happier moments, times when things were simpler, manageable. Each item felt like a piece of the life you were about to lose, like a museum of memories that would soon be locked away from you forever.

The silence between you and your brother grew heavy, and as much as you wanted to break it, words failed you. What could you say? That you’d made a mistake? That you hadn’t meant for any of this to happen? (You hadn‘t) But they all sounded hollow, too small to carry the weight of what you were facing.

Finally, your brother spoke, his voice determined. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’ll figure something out. You can live at my apartment—until you have a plan, at least. I don‘t really use it, so don‘t worry. I’ll help you. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

His words offered a sliver of hope, but even as you nodded, uncertainty lingered. You knew your brother meant well, but deep down, you both understood how complicated it would be for him to go against your parents’ wishes. They’d raised him with the same expectations, the same rules—and while his heart was with you, his loyalty was torn.

But still, the idea of having somewhere to go, even if only temporarily, softened the blow just enough for you to breathe.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but your gratitude was genuine. You reached for him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. The hug was the only comfort you had at that moment, the only thing anchoring you against the overwhelming feeling of loss and uncertainty.

After a long silence, he pulled back slightly, his face determined. “Go pack a few things. Whatever you need tonight. We’ll get out of here quietly. I’ll take care of the rest.”

-

Gojo leaned back in his chair, the squeak of the metal legs against the floor barely audible over the low murmur of his classmates. He absentmindedly tapped a pen against his notebook, the rhythmic click-click of it matching the unease simmering in his chest. His gaze drifted out the classroom window, where the afternoon sun cast long shadows on the pavement. It had been weeks since he’d last seen you, and that last encounter in the classroom felt like it had happened yesterday, every moment still vividly etched in his mind.

He recalled the way the quiet hum of the school’s empty corridors amplified every sound—the soft, breathy gasps you made, the rush of your breathing as he pressed you against the cool surface of the wall. It was intoxicating, each detail replaying in his head like a film on repeat. But oddly enough, it pained him that he hadn’t seen you since then.

At first, he shrugged it off, convincing himself that you were just playing hard-to-get or perhaps needed some space after everything that had happened. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to need time to collect themselves after an encounter with him— he had that effect on people. But as the days turned into weeks, that initial dismissal turned into a dull, nagging worry that gnawed at him.

Gojo tried to push the thoughts aside, telling himself that you’d show up eventually, that it was just a phase. But your absence had created an odd emptiness in his daily routine, a persistent itch he couldn’t quite scratch. He was used to you being there, your presence a strange but comforting constant, and now that comfort was replaced with a gnawing curiosity.

Then there was Suguru, your brother, whose steady presence at school made everything feel even stranger. He carried on with his day as though nothing had changed, greeting Gojo with his usual casual indifference, yet he never mentioned you. Gojo found himself watching Suguru more closely than he intended, searching for any hint or sign that might explain your absence. He could feel the itch of curiosity clawing at him, but part of him resisted asking outright. He didn’t want to seem like he cared too much, but every time he spotted Suguru without you, that curiosity intensified.

Had something happened to you? Did you get sick? Or had you simply decided to avoid him? The thought was uncomfortably unsettling, and he brushed it aside, frustrated with himself for even considering it.

It was frustrating. Gojo couldn’t quite understand why you were occupying so much of his mind. At first, he tried to blame it on Suguru—your brother was a constant reminder of you, after all—but he’d grown accustomed to that long ago. It wasn’t like him to fixate on anyone, especially someone who usually melted into the background. And yet, here he was, replaying that last encounter in his mind, scanning hallways, and lingering just a bit longer outside your classes, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He could chalk it up to boredom, a simple distraction to stave off the monotony of his day-to-day life. But deep down, he knew that there was something more than that. The thrill of teasing you, the way your face would scrunch up in irritation when he pushed you down in the hallways—it was strangely addictive. You had become his little victim, a source of amusement that made the slow days feel bearable. Now that you were gone, it left a void he couldn’t fill.

He hated admitting it, but he missed picking on you. The thought made his jaw clench, and a twisted grin crept across his face. Maybe he’d overestimated his hold over you, convinced that you would always be there for him to mess with. Or perhaps this was some kind of game you were playing, deliberately making him feel your absence, and it annoyed him even more.

Days continued to pass without a sign of you, and then, one morning, Suguru didn’t show up to school. Gojo was caught off guard by the emptiness in the usual spots where he’d see his friend. Normally, Suguru was as dependable as clockwork, always showing up right on time, effortlessly composed and ready to move through the day. Gojo couldn’t help but feel a strange twist in his stomach, wondering if something had happened. Maybe Suguru’s absence was tied to yours?

When Suguru finally returned the next day, he looked…off. His usually neat hair was slightly disheveled, his clothes a bit rumpled. There was an exhausted heaviness in his steps, and dark shadows under his eyes made him look as though he hadn’t slept all night. Gojo’s eyes followed him as he trudged through the school halls, quieter than usual, avoiding small talk and slipping into his seat without so much as a glance at anyone.

It was unlike Suguru to be this way. He barely looked up during the lunch break, barely mumbled a response when someone tried to talk to him. And Gojo could feel the unspoken weight hanging over him like a shadow—an air of tension, of something strained and unresolved. It made Gojo’s curiosity burn even stronger, a gnawing need to know what had happened.

But when Gojo finally approached him, Suguru only glanced up, his gaze tired and distant, and muttered a soft, “Not today, Satoru.” There was a finality in his tone, a closed-off energy that Gojo hadn’t seen before. It was clear that Suguru was carrying something heavy, something he wasn’t ready—or willing—to share.

And somehow, that only made his thoughts drift back to you. The emptiness left by your absence grew sharper, more pointed, and with it came a sinking feeling that whatever was happening with Suguru…was connected to you.

Gojo scoffed, shaking his head at himself as he tried to push thoughts of you aside. Why was he even letting you get to him? It wasn’t like him to dwell on anyone, let alone someone who’d gone MIA after a single hookup. He had more important things to think about—better distractions to keep himself entertained. Besides, if you were going to play hard-to-get or whatever this was, then that was on you.

With a lazy smirk, he glanced around the classroom, letting his gaze settle on a few familiar faces. Plenty of girls would kill for his attention— he didn’t need to waste any more time thinking about you. He’d spent weeks hoping for some sign of you, but maybe it was time he reminded himself of how easy it was to move on.

After class, he slipped out of the room, his stride slow and confident as he scanned the hallways. Within minutes, he found what he was looking for—an upperclassman lingering by her locker, eyeing him with a coy smile. He’d seen her around before, noticed the way her gaze lingered whenever he passed by.

Perfect.

With a quick sweep of his hair, he put on that easy charm, the one that always drew people in, and walked over, leaning casually against the lockers beside her. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Long day?”

The girl blinked, caught off guard for a second before her lips curled into a smile. “Not anymore,” she replied, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

Gojo grinned, already shifting into the familiar rhythm of flirting that he knew so well. Within moments, they were leaning close, sharing secretive whispers and low laughs, her hand resting on his arm as she hung onto every word he said. He had a way of making them feel special, as if they were the only person in the world. He knew exactly what to say, how to let his gaze linger just long enough to make them squirm.

As he let the conversation drift into something more suggestive, he found himself glancing around, almost instinctively, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of you walking by. He mentally cursed himself for it, forcing himself to focus on the girl in front of him, but there was still that nagging sense of dissatisfaction. Even though he had her wrapped around his finger, it didn’t feel quite the same. She was willing, easy, and there was no thrill, no challenge. It felt…hollow.

For a moment, he wondered if this was just another way to forget you, a way to scratch an itch that wasn’t going away as easily as he’d hoped. The idea bothered him, and he dismissed it as quickly as it came. You didn’t matter—he was Gojo Satoru. He had girls practically throwing themselves at him every day. There was no reason he should be hung up on you.

-

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Days slipped by in a gray monotony as you tried to settle into a space that felt as foreign as a stranger’s closet. There was nothing in the room that felt like you, just the sparse furniture your brother had left behind: a sagging couch with sunken cushions, a bed pushed awkwardly against the wall, and a handful of mismatched kitchen items. There were no family photos, no cozy blankets, not even a single potted plant to add life to the place. It was a hollow shell, his empty, seldom-used apartment, and now it was yours—a place to hide, but far from a home.

When you first came here, you thought you might be able to reach out, maybe even find comfort in a friend’s familiar voice. But the silence on the other end of the line grew heavier with each unanswered message. Some of your texts were left unread, others were marked “seen” and ignored. You’d started to convince yourself that somehow, they knew. They had to know about your mistake, your situation, and it was easier for them to turn away than to get involved. You could almost imagine their silent judgment, the whispers they might share when you weren’t around.

You felt backed into a corner, as if the world had abandoned you just when you needed it most. The shame felt insurmountable, an invisible wall that stopped you from trying again, that convinced you this loneliness was what you deserved.

You could barely feel it —the life inside you, growing silently, quietly, but undeniably there. Sometimes, you’d catch yourself resting a hand on your stomach without even realizing, feeling for something that wasn’t quite there yet, but knowing soon it would be. A thousand questions swirled in your mind. What kind of life would this child have? Would they hate you for the world you brought them into, for the choices you’d made that they would have to live with? The thought was like a chill running through your veins, paralyzing and real in a way nothing else was.

Then, late at night, as the hours stretched out, other thoughts would creep in—thoughts you tried to push away, but that stubbornly returned. Abortion. You felt the word like a weight in your chest, a tightness that you couldn’t swallow, but that was always there. In the dead silence of the apartment, you sometimes let yourself entertain the thought, if only for a moment, thinking how much easier it might be to turn away from this path. But then the guilt would wash over you, sinking deeper with every beat of your heart. It was a decision you couldn’t bring yourself to make, no matter how overwhelming everything felt.

You weren’t even sure you could hold your own life together, let alone bring another one into it. You hated feeling so trapped, as though every choice led to pain, no matter what you did. The idea of being a mother, of taking on this monumental responsibility, filled you with a dread that was hard to admit. It was as if each new day only added to a burden you were too afraid to carry yet too scared to set down. The future felt murky and shadowed, a looming unknown that swallowed up every glimmer of hope.

Sometimes, you’d find yourself standing by the window, gazing down at the quiet, dimly lit street below, lost in thoughts of an alternate life. What would it feel like to walk away from all this weight, to leave the fear and uncertainty behind? You let yourself imagine it—a life where you were free again, unburdened. But even as the fantasy flickered in your mind, there was a small, stubborn part of you that held on, that whispered maybe. Maybe you could carry this through. Maybe, despite everything, you could find a way to make this work.

To keep yourself grounded, you tried to build a routine. Every morning, you’d scroll through endless job listings, though each one felt like a reminder of the uncertainty surrounding you. Most positions didn’t seem right or possible for you now, but you kept looking. It was something to hold onto, some kind of structure when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers. You even organized the sparse kitchen, setting up the cabinets with a kind of precise care, as if putting things in order on the outside could bring some calm to the chaos inside.

One evening, as you sat cross-legged on the couch, the hum of distant traffic barely filled the silence. You stared at your phone screen, absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. Loneliness settled over you, thick and heavy, amplified by the silence that had become so familiar. It was almost stifling, forcing you to confront thoughts you’d tried hard to avoid.

You missed your family, even if things between you had become strained. You missed the comforting predictability of home, the familiar sounds, the routine. Here, each day felt hollow and directionless, like floating in a fog with no sense of where you were headed. Sometimes, you’d sit there waiting, hoping for something to change, some sign that things would be okay, but the realization that it was entirely up to you weighed heavily.

A knock at the door jolted you out of your thoughts, sharp and unexpected in the stillness. Your heart gave a nervous jump as you hesitated, then forced yourself to cross the room. The apartment was usually so quiet, every sound amplified in the emptiness, and this interruption felt almost intrusive. Taking a breath to steady yourself, you opened the door to see the mailman standing there, holding a small, official-looking envelope in his hand.

“Here you go. Have a nice day,” he said with a nod, handing it over before turning to leave.

You mumbled a thank-you, barely audible, closing the door slowly as you stared down at the envelope. The stiff paper, the way your name was printed in impersonal black ink—it all radiated a sense of cold formality that sent a wave of dread curling in your stomach. You tore it open with shaking hands, telling yourself it was probably just another notice, a formality from the school.

But as your eyes scanned the letter, a sickening realization washed over you. It wasn’t just a reminder or a request for information. It was a notification—a final, official statement that you’d been dropped from school because of unpaid tuition. Your parents had stopped covering your fees without any warning, leaving the balance unpaid. And because you hadn’t attended in weeks, the school had processed it as a withdrawal.

You read the words again, trying to make sense of them, as if they would change on a second pass. But they stayed the same, cold and unyielding, spelling out a reality you hadn’t prepared for. The letter offered no alternatives, no appeal. Either you somehow paid the balance yourself, or you would be permanently removed from the roster.

A numb disbelief settled over you as you sank onto the couch, clutching the letter tightly. They’d actually done it. They’d cut you off without a word, leaving you adrift, stripped of the one place you’d thought you could depend on. A mix of anger and hurt bubbled up inside you, but the betrayal was what stung the most.

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding in a frantic spiral. What would you do now? Leaving school meant giving up on so many things—dreams you’d quietly held onto, plans that seemed so certain not long ago. It was like everything you’d worked toward, every late night studying and early morning hustle, had been erased in an instant. This wasn’t just a setback— it felt like a wall you’d crashed into with no way around.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you swallowed them back, forcing yourself to press your lips into a hard line. There was no one you could turn to for help, no one who could wave a magic wand and fix this.

You sat there on the couch, feeling the weight of the letter in your hand like a stone, its meaning sinking in deeper and deeper. The room seemed even colder, emptier, as if the walls themselves were closing in on you. Every step you’d taken had been building toward something, and now that path was gone, wiped away in the span of a single letter.

No matter what mistakes you’d made, you’d never expected your own family to cut you off 𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲. You wanted to scream, to call them, to make them hear you and see what they’d done—but that door felt closed too, like an argument already lost. The bitter realization settled in— of course they weren’t going to reach out- they weren’t going to help. Afterall, they were the ones that kicked you out in the first place.

You glanced down at your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen as you debated sending another message to one of your friends. Maybe you could explain everything, maybe they’d understand, maybe they’d reach back and give you a lifeline. But a familiar fear held you back. The weight of your situation, your mistake, felt too heavy to burden anyone else with, and every time you imagined reaching out, a voice in the back of your mind reminded you that they hadn’t been there for you before. Why would they be there now?

The silence in the apartment grew louder, pressing in on you until it was almost unbearable. Desperate for a distraction, you got up and wandered aimlessly through the small space, moving things around on the counter, straightening the already-neat cupboards, just doing anything to keep your hands busy. But the distraction was short-lived, and the reality of your situation crept back in.

The future felt terrifyingly empty, an open void where all your plans used to be. The only clear thing was that you had no other choice now but to figure this out on your own. Slowly, a stubborn resolve began to build beneath the panic. You were here, alone, but that didn’t mean you had to stay stuck. Maybe, somehow, you could make this work. You could find a job, save up, find a way to get back into school. It felt like an impossible task, but it was the only path left.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your laptop and opened up a job-search site, scrolling through the endless list of options. Most were dead ends—part-time retail or night shifts that didn’t even pay enough to cover the rent suguru is payinh. But you forced yourself to keep looking, moving through page after page, searching for anything that might be a start, a way forward.

The hours slipped by, the weight of the decision settling over you like a cold blanket, but you kept scrolling, kept hoping that something would spark the possibility of change.

After what felt like hours scrolling through listings and filling out applications, your eyes grew tired, the screen blurring in front of you. You needed air, space to breathe, to feel something other than the weight pressing down on your chest. With a sigh, you closed your laptop, abandoning it on the couch, and made your way over to the small balcony just off the living room.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the crisp night air, a chill that wrapped around you, cutting through the dullness. The street below was quiet, dim streetlights casting long shadows across the empty pavement. Leaning against the railing, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, letting the cold settle into your skin, grounding you, if only for a moment. The city felt vast from here, stretching out endlessly, full of people going about their lives, yet here you were, feeling like the only one left adrift.

As you opened your eyes, you gazed out over the neighborhood, the distant hum of cars a low, steady comfort. For a fleeting moment, you felt a strange sense of freedom, as if up here on this balcony, the problems inside couldn’t quite reach you. It was quiet, peaceful even, the world below carrying on, oblivious to your struggles.

You’d imagined such a different future, one where you’d be surrounded by friends, pursuing your passions, finding yourself. But now? It all felt like a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else entirely.

The sky above was cloudy, with only a few stars managing to peek through. You stared up, trying to find some kind of sign, something to remind you that you weren’t entirely alone, that maybe there was still a chance for things to change.

You stayed there a while, letting the cold numb the tension in your body, staring into the distance, thinking about what you’d do next. The thought of reaching out for help gnawed at you, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to take that step. Maybe it was pride, or maybe it was just the fear of rejection. Either way, you knew that whatever came next would be up to you.

Your gaze drifted downward, tracing the shapes of the buildings, the shadows cast by streetlights, when a familiar flash of white caught your eye. Your heart clenched involuntarily. Gojo.

He was strolling down the sidewalk, his stride as arrogant and carefree as ever, his laughter echoing faintly up toward you. His arm was draped around the shoulders of a girl who leaned into him, her face turned up toward him with a bright smile, entirely captivated. They looked close, intimate, like they were the only two people in the world. Watching them, a dull ache pulsed in your chest, stirring a cocktail of emotions you didn’t want to face.

You gripped the railing tighter, your knuckles whitening. Memories clawed their way up, memories of him—of his smirk, his mocking words, the way he’d cornered you like he had every right. Gojo had always been cruel, but he wielded his charm like a weapon, drawing people in only to watch them squirm when he showed his true colors. He had treated you the same way, toying with you, using you, and then discarding you without a second thought.

The girl beside him had no idea, you thought bitterly. She was seeing the Gojo who played his part so well, the smooth talker, the charmer, the boy who seemed like he could do no wrong. But you knew better. You knew what lay beneath that mask, the callousness he could hide behind his easy smiles. And now, there he was, laughing without a care, completely untouched by everything he’d done to you, while you were left to piece yourself back together.

A cold, bitter anger welled up inside you, mingling with the helplessness you tried so hard to ignore. He had stolen something from you—something you could never get back. He is the reason you got kicked out and have a hard life now.

And yet here he was, walking down the street as if nothing had happened, as if you didn’t exist, a careless reminder of how easily he’d been able to walk away from the pain he’d caused.

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[p0orbaby]

Life Was So Simple Then

summary: you and leah embark on a trip through Europe in an effort to save your marriage

warnings: a smidge of angst but you’ll live

a/n: i may or may not be considering making this a series…

word count: 1.4k

-

The train moves at a comfortable hum, soothing in its way, while London shrinks behind you in pieces, in windows, in corners. The world outside your window looks surreal, vaguely greenish, fragmented by flashes of trees and brick houses. There’s something almost too quiet about it, an uneasy softness to the edges of this journey that is meant to patch you both back together.

You’ve been married for—what is it?—six years now. But you were Leah’s shadow long before that. You’ve been her plus-one, her background feature, her silent assistant in uncountable ways that now feel petty to list. The bitter edge surprises you as it rears up unbidden. You take a breath and decide you’ll name these feelings, as if naming things might tame them. Resentment. Grief. Stubborn hope. You and Leah have been through worse. But also… maybe not.

You glance at her. She’s examining her nails, mouth set into that default neutrality she pulls out when she’s feeling strange or anxious or tired. It’s her ready face, the one she’s kept in her kit since she was just a gangly teenager at Arsenal, desperate to be taken seriously, to get noticed for more than her posture and a fast left foot. You remember those early days. You remember being eighteen, in the stands, showing up for her even when you barely knew her. When all she had to offer was coffee in half-cleaned thermoses and lectures about work-life balance that were one part playful, two parts scolding, and strangely magnetic.

When you finally pulled her into that first kiss, it was a Thursday. You remember that because she had a match the next day. She’d stood there with her mouth half-open, one eyebrow raised, until she laughed that strange, short laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something but willing to give it a go. Afterward, you’d watched her lace up her shoes, this careful process that she performed like ritual. The order mattered: left, then right, then another knot. The same attention she brings to everything—coffee, calls, stretching, the single glass of wine she never finishes at dinner because it’s “almost too nice to ruin.”

Back then, she’d just been Leah. But then she’d become Leah Williamson, and you, married to her, got folded into the package. You’d get, “oh, that’s Leah’s wife!” from strangers at the shops, from mothers of kids at school fundraisers, from friends of friends who never bothered with your name. You hadn’t known how strange that would feel until it did, like there was this parallel version of yourself, waiting in the wings, and now this strange person had overtaken you. You’re still working on making peace with that, though there’s little peace about it.

Leah raises an eyebrow as if reading your mind, which is a trick she’s only gotten better at. “You’re very quiet. Am I allowed to ask if something’s wrong?”

“You could,” you say, but it sounds a little brittle, so you reach for her hand, entwining your fingers, hoping the gesture makes up for it. She doesn’t flinch, which is a start. You’re not entirely sure where you left off, after the months of silent dinners, of days bookended by her rising before dawn for physio appointments and crashing in bed long after you’d fallen asleep. Now, as her fingers brush your knuckles, you can almost feel that old connection, an unexpected sliver of warmth threading through the silence.

“Fine, be cryptic.” Her mouth quirks in a half-smile, the kind that used to come so naturally but has felt harder and harder to coax out. She lets go of your hand and turns back to her phone, skimming news alerts and whatever else she’s curated into a daily distraction routine. That’s new, too, the constant scrolling. It used to be just the morning Guardian and the Arsenal forums, but now she reads everything as if she’s half-waiting for some seismic news, some validation that she made the right decision. Retirement. The word feels abrupt, like something has been shaved off the ends. The other day she’d admitted to reading the tabloids. Just the sports ones, she’d said, in that overly casual voice she uses when she’s trying not to sound defensive.

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Leah’s voice drifts up, and it takes you a second to process that she’s talking to you.

“Yes, your honour.” The words slip out like they used to, like you’re just starting out, laughing over drinks after midnight. You see her relax a little, a sign she’s actually been worrying about the sandwiches, and you realise she’s probably equally terrified that she’ll spend the entire trip thinking about where she’d rather be. The knowledge of her own shifting nature used to thrill her; she’d tell you she was “made of kinetic energy,” that she couldn’t ever be truly still. Now, it seems to disturb her.

“Well, just checking.” She doesn’t ask you to get them, and you don’t offer. You suspect there’s a silent mutual agreement that eating will come later, a familiar tactic she’s deployed whenever nerves or a big match made her too jittery to eat. You’ve read about married people developing shared instincts, unconscious patterns. But this knowledge, like all the habits you’ve developed over time, somehow doesn’t offer the comfort you’d expected. It’s like putting on a jacket that’s become a touch too tight, and you find yourself oddly self-conscious.

As you both sit in this semi-awkward silence, you try to remember the last time you truly sat together like this, uninterrupted. The thing is, you can’t. Even on the few weekends she’d been around the last season, it had always been meals with other players, birthday parties with people you barely knew, her agent dropping by with a sheaf of papers and a grin that you’ve come to resent, though you never say so. Leah had been “there” in a vague sense, the way a familiar armchair is there: functional, comfortable, reliable in theory. But Leah herself? The woman you fell in love with—that particular version of her seemed more and more like a house you once lived in but that someone else owns now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks finally, in that deceptively soft tone that makes you feel like you’re on trial. She’s always done that, approached difficult conversations like they’re penalty shots. Direct, unflinching, too close to your heart.

“You, mostly.” The honesty slips out before you can stop it. “Us, I mean”

She lets out a soft sigh, nodding as if she understands something specific, though you suspect she doesn’t. Her understanding has become like that of someone who’s learned a language only halfway. There’s the ability to navigate, but no intuition, no rhythm.

“Does it feel strange to be doing this?” she asks. “Like, taking this whole trip to—what’s the word?—to reset?”

You nod, though it’s more than strange; it’s surreal. You’re on a mission to resurrect a version of each other that you barely recognise anymore. The stakes are uncomfortably high, like someone’s dared you both to restore something irrevocably broken.

“You know,” she says, “I used to imagine us doing something like this. But I thought we’d be sixty or something, grandkids on the way, planning things for fun, not… whatever this is.” She looks down, expression somewhere between regret and wonder.

“Yeah. Me too.” You allow yourself a small laugh. “I thought we’d be the kind of couple who’d stay on for tea in strange little pubs and get lost in French villages and drink wine in the countryside”

She snorts, “I’m not sure if I’d drink the tea. Have you seen the quality of some of the pubs out there?” The joke feels just shy of funny, but you force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice the effort.

“But you’re right,” she says, finally. “I thought the same. That’s the dream, right? And I don’t know…” She trails off, staring out the window, at the blur of countryside, the unremarkable patches of brown and green that scroll by. “I don’t know if I even know what I wanted anymore. Or what I still want”

The words hang heavy, a confession too thick for this tight, narrow train car. It’s too early in the journey to delve into it fully, too fragile a moment for honesty of this weight. You reach for her hand again, a steadying anchor. Her grip is warm, though her fingers feel a little too light, as if she’s not fully committed to the touch, a detail that pierces your heart like a needle.

“Then maybe…” you start, pausing, wondering if the words are too simple for what needs to be said. “Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out”

[dearieshima]

MOONLIT DREAM

✦ SUMMARY

╰┈➤ Based on Zayne's Moonlit Dream card, but expanded. Zayne and you are transported back to the Qing Dynasty by a jade pendant infused with protocore energy after it activates unexpectedly in Zayne's car. Reunited after being separated, you both set out to recover the pendant and return home, leading you to a skilled but strict jade craftsman.

"I pride myself on my thoroughness," he added, his voice now a deep, sensual rumble. "I promise I won't miss a single detail."

✦ C.W

╰┈➤ AFAB!reader, a little nibbling, some boob worship (f. receiving), teasing, switch!zayne, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, a little roleplay with Zayne's status, praises, 4000+ words, idk public sex maybe, established relationship

As the sun began its slow descent, casting warm hues across the sky, Zayne decided to skip class, inviting you to a secluded picnic on the hillside, just beyond the city's edge. The air was fragrant with the scent of wildflowers, and time seemed to stretch lazily, each moment steeped in tranquility. You both lingered there, speaking in hushed tones as the world around you softened, the village fading into the distance like a dream.

The day gently gave way to the cold of dusk and Zayne’s modest home, nestled within his shifu’s Siheyuan, beckoned you back with warmth. The evening sky, now awash in the twilight’s embrace, slowly surrendered to the rising moon. Its soft, pale glow spilled across the landscape, transforming everything into silvered stillness.

After sharing a quiet dinner, you wandered together to the riverbank, where Zayne’s work table stood. Scattered across its weathered surface were fragments of jade and a small carving knife. Your gaze drifted to a jade pendant, rutty yet holding a quiet charm.

The pendant was rough and dulled in its crevices as you traced the intricate patterns with your fingers. Curiosity tugged at you, “Zayne, can I try?”

Half-expecting a gentle refusal, to your surprise, Zayne stepped aside, offering you the knife. “Go ahead then.”

Settling into his lap, you tried to mimic his movements from earlier, the jade cool beneath your fingers. Your hands fumbled awkwardly and it made you look like you were sharpening the knife sgainast the rock, when Zayne’s warm fingers enveloped yours, steadying them.

"Here, you need to use a little more force," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear. “Try again.”

As you grew more confident, he quietly let go, allowing you to work on your own. Minutes drifted by in the soft silence of the riverbank, where the boats occasionally knocked together, their gentle echoes lulling the air. You’d long since abandoned the pendant, drawn instead to the lake, dipping your feet into its cool waters as you gazed at the rising moon through its reflection.

“Do you think there's a moon as beautiful as this watching over Linkon right now?” you mused, your voice soft as the night, turning to look at Zayne.

His head was supported on his hand, eyes once cradling hazel nebulas, now sealed in peaceful slumber. He was propped facing you, as though he had watched you until sleep claimed him.

With a mischievous smile, you scooted near him and reached for the ink brush on his table and lightly trailed its tip down the bare skin of his chest, revealed by his loosely draped robe. His breath hitched, a shiver coursing through him at the gentle stroke. It was only when the brush dipped toward his stomach that he stirred, his hand catching yours in a swift yet lazy motion, his eyes fluttering open with a smile that matched the moon’s glow.

"Someone gets distracted easily between carving jade and admiring the moon," he teased, drawing you into his lap.

You laughed, wriggling in his hold, but Zayne wouldn’t let you go. In a playful tumble, you both fell together, with Zayne landing gently on top of you. His weight was warm, grounding, and for a moment, you simply stared into each other’s eyes, the world around you fading. Almost caught in a trance, you let go of the brush that was hanging from your hand over the patio, feeling the tiny splash kiss your fingers.

With a subtle motion, his fingers intertwined with your newly-found free hand, warm and steady, sending a shiver down your spine. You wrapped your legs around Zayne's waist, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of his body against yours. His breath quickened, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "During this period," he murmured, his voice teasingly casual, "the only practice in protection was abstinence."

"Really?" you purred, your voice low and sultry.

He shifted his weight, his body pressing firmly against yours, the heat between you discernible. His fingers traced a delicate path down your arm, forcing your sleeves to ball downwards. "Yes," he murmured. “Abstinence was considered the only effective birth control and prevention for sexually transmitted infections.”

"Interesting," you breathed, your eyes lowering to meet his desire flickering in their depths. "And why is Dr. Zayne enlightening me on this?"

"Consider it an added benefit of my profession,” Zayne said, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. His fingers continued to trace your skin, each touch igniting a fire within you. "As a doctor, I should make sure my patients are well-versed in the dangers of reckless sex,”

His fingers trailed back upwards to the pulse on your wrist. “And as a gentleman, I'm being cautious. But—"

His gaze darkened, a smoldering desire burning in his eyes.

"As a man, I'm testing the limits of my own restraint," he murmured.

"...Your shifu won't be too thrilled if you fail to hand over the finished pendant tomorrow."

"Then perhaps,” he murmured, his voice lowering to a sensuous tone before lifting off of you, “As a craftsman, I should direct my focus on finishing that pendant."

You pouted, your lips forming a perfect pucker as you reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his neckline. The fabric of his shirt bunched up in your fingers as you pulled him closer, your eyes locked on his. With a sudden burst of passion, you pressed your lips against his, the softness of your mouth contrasting with the firmness of your grip.

Zayne's breath hitched in surprise at your boldness, his body tensing for a moment before relaxing into your embrace. He returned your kiss with equal fervor, his lips parting slightly as they moved against yours. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes as he pulled you flush against him. You could feel the heat of his body radiating through your clothing, igniting a fire within you.

His tongue darted out, tracing the contours of your lower lip with a feather-light touch. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, sending a tingle down your spine. His eyes, dark with desire, locked onto yours, silently asking for permission to deepen the connection.

Parting your lips, you welcomed his tongue into your mouth. A low groan rumbled in his chest as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. The slight sting only fueled his growing arousal. Zayne's lips parted against yours as his tongue explored your mouth. He groaned softly as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly. His hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as if he was afraid you might transform into water the next moment and slip through his hands.

As you both broke out of the kiss, gasping for air, you couldn't help but use your first gasp to call out Zayne's name.

The sound sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him, his arms encircling you tighter, almost involuntarily. You felt his nose press against the dip of where your shoulders and neck connect and giggled as his harsh exhales tickled you. His lips trail a hot path along your jawline, like hot wildfires spreading across it. When he reaches your neck, he nips at the sensitive skin, his voice a deep, husky murmur. "You're making this difficult," he confesses, his breath hot against your skin.

"Then should I make it easy?" You murmured as you hooked your finger over the open neckline of your robe. The anticipation was visible, and you knew that Zayne was watching your every move.

Slowly, you began to pull the fabric down, revealing the center of your chest where your breasts parted. The cool air against your newly exposed skin sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp.

Zayne's eyes darkened with desire as he watched the fabric slide over your skin. His throat constricted, the dryness making it difficult to swallow, and he had to force his Adam's apple to bob, trying to regain control of his body's reaction.

His gaze, now heavy with hunger, lingered on the newly exposed flesh, as if tracing the landscape of your body, feeling himself get lost in the soft, inviting curves of your breasts, parted like two lush mountains on opposite sides of a valley. The peaks, hardened from the cold, were a delicate shade of rose, as if a secret garden of roses bloomed at their tips. Each breath you took sent shivers through your body, causing the peaks to quiver, as if tiny earthquakes were tearing through these mountains.

Zayne's mind drifted, imagining the weight of your breasts in his hands, the softness of your skin against his calloused fingertips. His imagination painted vivid pictures, each more explicit than the last, until he could almost feel your nipples hardening further under his touch.

Slowly, Zayne reached out, his fingers trembling with anticipation as they brushed against your skin, sending shivers through you. He cupped one breast, feeling the softness envelop his hand, and then the other, savoring the contrast between the warmth of your body. Your arms lingered above your head, curling into fists as you allowed him to do whatever he pleased with your body.

Zayne's heart raced as his fingers explored the curves of your breasts, tracing the delicate lines and contours that made your body uniquely yours. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a stark contrast to the coolness of his own. As he gently squeezed, he marveled at the way your flesh yielded to his touch, soft and pliant beneath his fingertips.

"You're beautiful." He squeezed them in his hands once more before lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.

He sucked gently, the soft pull of his lips causing you to arch your back and moan softly. Zayne switched to the other nipple, repeating the tender ministrations, reveling in your responsiveness. He trailed kisses down to the center of your chest, turning his head slightly to nip at the swell of the breast.

"Your pulse has picked up," he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

The deep timbre of his voice resonated within you, making your heart race even faster. "I would be nervous if it didn’t," you said, your voice coming out breathier than you intended. "Yours did too."

“I wonder why that could be," he said, his voice laced with mock innocence.

"You're the heart doctor, you tell me why."

A slow smile spread across Zayne's face at your choice of words. "’Heart doctor’?" he drawled. "Yes, as a heart doctor, it could be because we're sitting so close together," he murmured, his voice dripping with innuendo. "Or it could be that I'm thinking about how you look right now, underneath me."

He shifted closer still, his body pressing against you more than before. "It's hard to say," he added softly, his breath warm against your neck. "Without a thorough evaluation, of course.”

"Evaluation?" you whispered, maintaining a playful tone. "That sounds scary."

Zayne's warm breath tickled your neck as he smiled. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "It's nothing you haven't gone through before."

His hand on your hip slowly gilded upwards, finally fully parting the two sides of the silky robe that had been hiding your curves. The cool air caressed your exposed skin, sending a shiver down your spine. His thumb shifted lower, rubbing against the soft, sensitive skin of your abdomen, inching ever closer to the bundle of nerves below.

"I pride myself on my thoroughness," he added, his voice now a deep, sensual rumble. "I promise I won't miss a single detail."

Zayne noticed the subtle change in your breathing, and the way your eyes darted away from his. A soft, dark chuckle escaped his throat. "You're getting shy now," he teased, his hand slowly making its way down your body.

His strong, calloused fingers gently gripped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, smoldering gaze. His dark eyes bore into yours, demanding your full attention. "No hiding," he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. "Look at me while I touch you."

His command was both thrilling and intimidating. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to. Your heart raced as he slowly, deliberately, pushed one long finger inside you. The sudden intimate invasion made you gasp and arch your back. He watched your every reaction, drinking in the way your body responded to his touch.

"That's it," he encouraged, his finger sliding deeper, stroking along your inner walls. He added a second finger, pumping them slowly, teasingly. His thumb found your sensitive clit, circling it maddeningly.

You were panting now, your hips rocking instinctively against his hand. Pleasure built inside you with each thrust of his fingers, each brush of his thumb.

He added his third finger to your tight space, the forefinger. He quickly put it to work, pushing it deeper and curling it just so to hit that perfect spot within you that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

You whimpered, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping them spread wide for him. The obscene squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt filled the room, mingling with your needy moans. "Keep looking at me," he commanded, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. You looked back into his eyes, swirling with lust.

Zayne held your gaze, his eyes intense and unwavering. "Good," he murmured, his movements slow, methodical, almost torturous.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as waves of pleasure coursed through your body. "Are you still with me?" he murmured, a hint of a tease in his voice.

"Yes," you groaned, your voice thick with desire. You weren't sure if it was an abrupt groan or a response to his question, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the feeling of his hands on your body, igniting a fire within you.

Zayne lifted an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I fear I might’ve lost the patient. I think I should check her vitals," he whispered, his voice low and rough. His free hand found its way trailing up your body with deliberate slowness.

He pressed his palm firmly against your chest, feeling the rapid, fluttering beat of your heart beneath his touch. "Mmm, listen to that," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "Your heart is racing, thundering against my hand. It's like a wild animal, desperate to break free."

Your skin was hot to the touch, flushed with arousal and need. He could feel the heat radiating off you in waves, could see the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. "You're so responsive," he breathed, marveling at the way your body reacted to even the slightest touch. "Every inch of you is alive, quivering, aching for more,"

As if to prove his point, your legs suddenly clamped down around his hand, your muscles tensing and quivering as you teetered on the brink of release

"All signs of a healthy woman.”

He could feel your body trembling, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the brink of ecstasy. With a final, gentle touch, he sent you over the edge. Your body arched, back bowing as the pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. A groan escaped your lips, his name falling from them like a prayer as you surrendered to the intense sensations. He held you close, his strong arms supporting you as your body shook with the force of your climax.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "You're in perfect health," he said, amusement lacing his tone.

You huffed, breathless, your chest heaving as Zayne's lips trailed searing kisses along the column of your throat.

Zayne chuckled at your huff, his touch growing gentler as he traced patterns on the skin of your hip. He lifted you up, moving to sit with his back against the siheyuan walls, his legs stretched out before him.

You gasped softly as your fingers brushed against the prominent bulge straining against Zayne's jeans. "You're hard," you breathed, a delicious shiver running down your spine at the realization of how much he wanted you.

A deep, rumbling chuckle vibrated through Zayne's chest at your words, unnatural to his vocabulary. "I know," he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. "You can blame that on you."

His teeth caught your earlobe, tugging gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your head fell back, granting him better access as your pulse raced beneath his lips.

"I can help," you offered breathlessly, even as you knew Zayne was notoriously strict about safe sex. His hips rolled forward, grinding his hard length against your core, and you couldn't help but moan. "Please, Zayne... I want you.”

Zayne chuckled again, his hands squeezing your hips ever so slightly. "You're getting bold," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his expression a mix of amusement and desire.

"I can take a Plan B when we return to Linkon," you said with a playful pout.

Zayne's jaw grew taut, his grip tight on your hips. He was clearly struggling with the temptation you were offering. "We shouldn't," he said, a hoarse whisper against your neck.

But his body betrayed him, his hands roaming further up your body, trailing up and down your back. He was clearly very tempted.

You straightened and kissed him, luring him in. Zayne groaned, his resolve slipping as you kissed him. His hands came up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing the curves of your features. He hesitated for a few more seconds, his eyes locked with yours, before he finally caved.

Zayne groaned as you sat in his lap, his hands gripping onto your hips. The sudden heat and friction sent a jolt through him, he swallowed another groan, his breathing becoming shallow.

He kissed a trail down your jaw, his teeth grazing against your skin as he reached your neck. His body grew taut, every part of him screaming for contact.

His robe hanged loosely around his shoulders and with a slow, deliberate motion, he let the silky fabric slide off his body, revealing his muscular form inch by tantalizing inch. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, his eyes burning with a desire so intense it could ignite a wildfire.

As the robe pooled around his waist, you couldn't help but let your gaze wander over his perfectly sculpted body, taking in every detail. The way his abs rippled with each breath, the defined lines of his pectorals, and the powerful thighs that could easily pin you down in a heartbeat.

With a gentle touch, you reached out to help him remove the last remnants of his clothing, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. Zayne's hands found their way to your thighs, sliding up.

His hands, slick with your arousal, reveled in the warmth of your skin beneath them. His gaze traveled over your exposed body, taking in every curve and dip, his eyes darkening with each passing second.

Without hesitation, you reached for his thick, pulsing cock, guiding it to your entrance. You felt the tip brush against your slick folds, and with a slow, deliberate motion, you entered him. Zayne's breath caught in his throat, a low, guttural groan escaping as you claimed him. His fingers dug into your hips, trying to maintain control, but the pleasure was too overwhelming, and he failed.

Your eyes met his, both of you lost in the haze of lust and desire. Zayne's pupils were blown wide, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. The room was filled with the wet slap of your bodies connecting, and the guttural moans that escaped both of your lips.

You began to move, setting a slow, sensual rhythm. Zayne's feet were firmly planted on the patio so he could thrust his hips forward to meet yours, his thick length stretching you in the most delicious way. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, building and building and building until you thought you might combust from the sheer intensity of it all.

Zayne's hands roamed your body, caressing every inch of your skin as if memorizing it. His lips found your neck once more, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a breathy moan escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your pulse point.

The open night was filled with the sounds of your lovemaking, the slick sound of your bodies connecting, and the symphony of moans and gasps that spilled from your lips. It was primal, raw, and utterly intoxicating.

Zayne's movements became more erratic, his thrusts harder and deeper as he chased his release. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within him, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. His hands gripped your hips even tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you closer, burying himself deeper inside you.

"Hah,"

You could feel your own release approaching again, the pleasure building with each passing second. Your body tensed, your muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.

As Zayne's body shuddered with the force of his release, his hot seed spilling deep inside you, you felt your own climax crash over you like a tidal wave. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as a wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over you. You cried out his name, your voice raw and primal, lost in the throes of ecstasy.

Zayne held you closer, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding against your chest. You could feel the warmth of his shin, slick with sweat, pressed against yours.

The man's breath came in ragged gasps, his broad chest heaving with each shuddering inhale. You'd never seen him like this before - usually so composed and in control, but now he trembled against you, his powerful body wracked with the aftershocks of intense pleasure. His hair was mussed, dark strands falling across and sticking to his forehead in tousled waves.

He kept his face buried in the crook of your neck, his fuzzy jawline, from the days he spent here, scraping deliciously against your sensitive skin. His eyes were pinched shut, long lashes fanning out against his cheeks as he tried to regain his bearings.

"I'll... I'll accompany you to the pharmacy store," he managed to get out between labored breaths, his deep voice slightly hoarse.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers unconsciously scratching and massaging the back of his head. Your own body still hummed with residual pleasure, your mind floating pleasantly in the clouds. "Okay," you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips.

Swallowing thickly, you gathered your courage and uttered the three words that had been on the tip of your tongue. "I love you."

The man's eyes fluttered open at your declaration, his dark gaze meeting yours with an intensity that took your breath away. A slow, tender smile spread across his handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice low and filled with emotion. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple before reluctantly pulling back to look at you fully.

His hands came up to cup your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with a reverence that made your heart swell. "You're incredible, you know that?" he said softly, his eyes roaming over your features as if memorizing every detail. "I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side."

The jade pendant rests quietly in its box.

The old craftsman lifts it, his weathered hands gentle yet precise. His brow furrows, and for the first time, you catch a flicker of unease in Zayne's eyes, a vulnerability that rarely escapes him.

“Hmmm…” the craftsman murmurs, turning the pendant between his fingers. “The edges… a little rough. The details, perhaps, not as fine as they could be.”

Yet, even in his critique, a softness lingers in his gaze, a glimmer of admiration woven into his stern words. He pauses, studying the pendant as if searching for the heart of its creation. “Did you remember what I told you? To steady your hand… clear your mind… as you carved this?”

You glance at Zayne, and in that brief exchange, a shared warmth passes between you, but neither of you can hold the moment for long. Your eyes drop, averting away from each other in sudden shyness.

The old jade craftsman, wiser than you both, sighs, the weight of years in his voice. “Ah, nevermind. Take it back. I cannot keep it… for it was shaped from love, and that cannot be sold.”

[stellaefelices]

On Angeal’s Wings

I just want to put forward some information I’ve come across in the Crisis Core Complete Guide because the developers have provided us with some details that go a long way towards helping us understanding his character.

Angeal receiving white wings was intended to be an indicator of his moral alignment. In Crisis Core, he is positioned as antithetical to Sephiroth because he resisted the malignant influence of Jenova and did not wish to be a force of destruction or suffering as Sephiroth did. The implication here is that Angeal and Sephiroth both had a choice.

“Nomura wanted the three SOLDIER 1sts to have different varieties of wings. He says that Angeal's wings are white to symbolize that he didn't go in a negative direction, and that Sephiroth could have been like Angeal.” (Crisis Core Ultimania, 2007)

This is further supported by the Crisis Core Complete Guide, which has this to say about wing colour:

“The wing which Genesis has on his left shoulder in this game, and which Sephiroth has on his right shoulder in FFVII and AC…According to the development staff, the wings were made black based on the notion of good and evil.”

Angeal and Sephiroth receiving their wing on the same side shows that they are directly opposite. Genesis was fundamentally different from them both, and thus received his wing on a different shoulder, but his purpose before his final battle with Zack was world destruction, and so his wing colour was black. The white wing was unique to Angeal, and the series continues to use white feather symbolism to represent him. More on that under the cut.

“Angeal teaches the principles of humanity with his words, actions, and his whole self. His honest way of life is something indispensable Zack cannot forget.” (Crisis Core Ultimania, 2007)

“Even though he succeeded Angeal’s will, Zack finds himself not only unable to help anyone but also confined in Nibelheim, and is racked by a sense of despair and powerlessness. Angeal gets him back on track, and Zack decides to rise up from it again. This decision is represented by the mental image at the start of chapter 9.

The white feature, as well as being a symbol for Angeal, is also a symbol for ‘wings’. The “wings” which cross the ‘blue sky’ is Angeal, and it also includes the hint that in order to reach those heights, dreams, he needs to overcome many difficulties.”

Given the prior information, this scene in Rebirth is of particular interest.

“Asked if there's any meaning behind the single white feather that flutters by Cloud and Zack in the opening of FFVII Rebirth, Nomura jokes that it might be hinting at something, punning on the Japanese word "anji" (暗示) and the first half of either Angeal or "angel." (FF7 Rebirth Ultimania, 2024)

This makes sense, especially considering the ending scene of Crisis Core:

I get the impression that no matter what world/timeline/Lifestream fragment Zack is in, Angeal is there to watch over him, as his will had always been to help him (as well as Genesis).

“He has said, "If you are to live as a hero, as a SOLDIER, and as a decent person, you must never forget your honor." Those words made a deep impression on his younger colleagues, especially Zack, and lived on in them.” (Crisis Core Ultimania, 2007)

Angeal is portrayed as a lasting positive influence in the world of FF7. His legacy is carried on first through Zack, and then Cloud. They are all dedicated to Angeal’s cause:

There were definitely issues with how he was presented in Crisis Core, but I think they’re trying to rectify past mistakes regarding Angeal in The First Soldier. Maybe give them a chance to do so? PSP was a highly restrictive format to try and tell a fully fleshed out story, after all.

[marysfics]

Through the Dust

Alexia Putellas x DownhillRacer!Reader

Status: Ongoing

Other Chapters: click here

This is a multichapter fic, and trust me, you’re in for one wild ride. No warnings so far. Just awkward fluff for now.

Word count: 2k

Chapter 2: "The Unsteady Ground Between Us"

You spent the night nursing a bruised shoulder and sore muscles, wincing as you applied ice to ease the swelling. But none of that discomfort compared to the restless buzz in your chest, the memory of that moment when you locked eyes with her—Alexia, as you’d learned from some fellow riders who were as intrigued as you were by the famous visitors. Her gaze had stayed with you, imprinted in your mind, sparking a strange thrill every time you thought back to it.

The next morning, the trails were less crowded. The early sun was low, casting long shadows across the mountain, and the chill of dawn clung to the air. As you prepared your bike, checking the tires and adjusting the suspension, you felt a familiar prickle on the back of your neck. Someone was watching you.

You looked up, and there she was again—Alexia, standing with her teammates just a few yards away. She had a distant look on her face, as though she hadn’t expected to see you this early. Her mouth was a straight line, her arms folded across her chest in that careful, almost protective way. But her eyes—those expressive eyes that seemed to flicker between fascination and doubt—told you a different story.

Your heart did a strange little leap. You weren’t used to feeling self-conscious, not on the mountain, not with your bike and the rush of the course to distract you. But with her here, it felt like every move you made was amplified, as though you were performing for an audience of one.

“Go talk to her,” Mapi’s voice teased Alexia from the sidelines, jolting her out of her stare. “You’ve been staring since yesterday. She’s going to think you’re some kind of creepy fan.”

Alexia scoffed, her cheeks flushing as she quickly turned her back. “I wasn’t staring,” she muttered, brushing off Mapi’s remark as if it was absurd. But her heart pounded in a way that felt foreign and dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff.

Mapi laughed, nudging her shoulder. “It’s okay to be interested, Ale. She’s clearly interested in you too. I saw the way she looked at you after the fall.”

Alexia’s jaw tightened. “I don’t get it, Mapi. She risks everything for what? A thrill? A medal? I don’t… I don’t understand her.” But even as she spoke, she could feel the lie hidden in her own words. She wanted to understand, wanted to know why anyone would choose to be so reckless, so daring. There was something almost… alluring about it.

Or maybe, she thought with a jolt, it’s not just about the sport.

The next few hours passed in fragments. You caught Alexia watching you again between your runs, her gaze intense, almost assessing, as though she was trying to solve some unspoken mystery. You couldn’t deny that the attention thrilled you, even if you tried to focus on your training, forcing yourself to ignore the way her presence made your heart stutter.

During a break, you decided to take a walk along the edge of the trail, needing a moment to clear your head. The thrill of speed, the adrenaline, the freedom—all of it was different with Alexia here. She seemed to add a new layer of complexity, a subtle tension that wound its way through your focus.

As you rounded a sharp corner on the trail, your tires screeched as you had to brake hard to avoid colliding with someone standing right in the middle of the path. The abrupt stop sent your balance wobbling, your back wheel skidding on the loose gravel. You barely managed to steady yourself, irritation flaring as you pushed a foot against the ground to keep from tipping over.

“Hey!” you blurted out, breathless and annoyed, “Are you kidding me? Who just stands right on a blind—”

But the words died on your lips as you saw her face.

Alexia turned to you, her eyes widening in surprise as she took in your frustrated expression. She looked so different from how she did on the field or even in the company of her teammates. Her gaze softened as she registered your surprise, her posture a little awkward, as if she’d been caught somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

You fell silent, the rush of anger melting into something else entirely. The sight of her here—alone, bathed in the soft, dappled light filtering through the trees—disarmed you completely. She didn’t look like the superstar you’d seen between her teammates, the assured captain who commanded attention on the field. Instead, she looked… almost uncertain, her brow slightly furrowed as though she was lost in thought.

“I’m—sorry,” she said finally, her voice quiet, and you noticed the faint trace of a Spanish accent, the unexpected softness in her tone. “I didn’t realize this was such a dangerous spot to stop.”

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers closing around her wrist in a quick, instinctive movement. Before either of you had time to react, you gently tugged her to the side of the trail, out of the dangerous blind spot and safely off to the edge.

“Come on, you can’t just stand there,” you said, your voice softer now, the frustration melting as you became hyper-aware of the warmth of her skin under your hand. Your fingers lingered, and for a brief, suspended moment, neither of you moved.

Alexia looked down at where your hand held hers, her eyes wide, surprise flickering into something more as her gaze lifted to meet yours. She didn’t pull away, and you didn’t let go. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of you standing there, the forest around you quiet and still.

Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Her expression was caught somewhere between surprise and… something else, something intense that you couldn’t quite read. You realized, with a jolt, that your hand was still on hers. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you released her wrist, feeling the loss of warmth as your fingers slipped away.

“Sorry, I just…” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly flustered. “Didn’t want you to get, you know… run over.”

Alexia’s lips quirked into a small smile, a hint of color rising in her cheeks as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice so soft it barely reached you. Her gaze lingered on you, her usual composure faltering as she looked at you with an expression that was open and unguarded, her eyes filled with curiosity and something deeper—something hesitant, almost like uncertainty.

For a moment, you were both silent, the sounds of the mountain fading into the background. You were caught in the intensity of her stare, feeling your heartbeat quicken as her presence washed over you, grounding you yet somehow leaving you breathless.

“Guess I’ll stay out of the way,” she finally said, her smile growing as she held your gaze a beat too long. Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes told a different story, a silent question you couldn’t yet answer.

Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “You… you don’t have to, really.” Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended, and suddenly you felt a strange flutter of nerves. You cleared your throat, looking down and kicking at a loose stone on the trail. “I just… I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

The words hung between you, and when you glanced back up, you caught the look in her eyes—a spark of surprise, her expression softening as if you’d given away more than you meant to.

For a moment, her teasing smile faltered, and she looked at you with a gentleness that caught you off guard. Her gaze softened, her lips parting just slightly as if she wanted to say something but was searching for the right words.

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. She shifted a bit closer, her smile turning into something warmer, something real. “Thank you.”

You felt your cheeks warm, the air thickening with a tension that felt as fragile as it was electric. The confident Alexia you’d seen yesterday, was nowhere to be found—instead, here she was, looking at you as if you’d just broken down a wall she’d been guarding carefully.

Summoning the courage, you took a deep breath, feeling the words form before you even fully decided to say them. “Hey, if you’re interested, I could… show you around sometime?” You hesitated, a little shy but hopeful, the invitation hanging there, vulnerable and unpolished. “I mean, if you’d like to see the mountains up close…”

But before you could finish, a voice cut through the stillness.

“Ale!” Mapi’s voice rang out from down the trail, unmistakable and playful as it echoed off the trees. You both startled, the moment between you snapping back into reality. Mapi appeared a second later, jogging up the path, eyes scanning until she spotted Alexia. “There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere.”

Alexia’s expression shifted, a small flash of reluctance passing over her face as she glanced back at you. She looked like she wanted to say something, her eyes lingering as if memorizing the moment.

“I—” she started, but Mapi gave her a nudge, clearly in a hurry to drag her back.

“You coming, or what?” Mapi teased, oblivious to the moment she’d interrupted. “The team’s waiting.”

Alexia exhaled, a faint crease in her brow as she looked back at you. “Maybe… another time?” she said, her voice soft but warm, as if she, too, wished things could’ve paused just a little longer.

“Yeah,” you replied, managing a small smile even as the moment slipped away. “Another time.”

----------------------------------------------------------

End of chapter 2.

[sorceresssundries]

Until We Wake

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Warnings: Talk of death, afterlife, angst.

Word Count: 1000 words

A/N - I wanted to try and write something different, and move away from my usual overly-descriptive style.

I hope you like it <3

You are dead.

It was easy in the end. Like taking off a coat you’d been wearing too long.

There’s no confusion. You know you are dead, and it’s okay…Was okay? Is okay? Time is strange here. Slippery.

You are sitting at the edge of a great lake. Well, not really sitting, not really by a lake, but that’s how it feels. There is no sunshine, but you can feel the warmth of it on your—skin? No, not skin. There isn’t any skin. There isn’t a body at all. You just… are.

It’s nice, actually.

“God?” A voice, though not a voice, fills the space around you.

“Erm, no. Sorry. There may be one around somewhere, though,” you reply.

You sense a kind of exasperation.

“No,” it says, more insistently. “Which God is yours? Who did you worship?”

“Oh!” That’s funny. If you had lungs, you would laugh. “I didn’t really worship one.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

You’ve probably given the wrong response and are now going to drift here for eternity in silence. That doesn’t seem so bad. There’s peace in it.

“But, uh, I felt close to Selûne. I knew her daughter, actually. Aylin? I saved her once—no, twice! From an eternal cycle of ritual torture and sacrifice. Twice!” You pause, waiting for the weight of your heroism to settle in. “Can you write that down? Are you writing things down? I don’t really know how this works.”

“I am not writing things down.”

“Right. Okay.”

More time passes—seconds, hours, centuries. It is hard to tell. If experience has taught you anything, it’s that you should probably be a little hesitant about listening to mysterious entities who appear in your unconsciousness. But, for whatever reason, you have no doubt that you’re safe.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Nobody.”

“Oh.” Another eternal pause. “Sorry, I don’t know what that means. I know you don’t have a body. I don’t either. What I meant to ask is... what’s your purpose here?”

“To help”

“Ah.” You think about that. It feels distant, though, like the thought isn’t entirely yours. “Can Withers bring me back? He usually does.”

“No. Not this time.”

That’s alright, you realise. Everything ends.

“Can you tell me how you died?” the voice continues, unhurried.

If sadness existed here, you would feel it.

“I failed somebody. I couldn’t convince him he was deserving enough to live. He sacrificed himself. I stayed with him.”

“Gale Dekarios,” comes the response. Even now, even here, the sound of his name warms you.

“Yes! That’s him! Have you met him? Is he here too?”

“He is not.”

You pause, a moment of confusion or relief, it’s hard to say. Perhaps he’s with Mystra.

He had followed her order, hadn't he? He had used the orb. Perhaps he was cradled back in her starlit palm. Perhaps he was finally fulfilled.

“He’s probably with his Goddess,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“He forgot his Goddess. At the end, he thought only of you.”

Right. He had said something like that once. On a boat he had built out of hope and stardust. It felt like a lifetime ago. You wish you had said more to him—something different. You should have been more convincing, made him see he was more than magic, more than martyrdom. He was kind. Funny. So very human.

Not anymore.

“Will I see him again?”

“Maybe”

This voice that’s not a voice is not hugely helpful. It feels distant. Somehow big and small. Like many voices, or none, all at the same time.

“I let him down,” you whisper, though no sound leaves you.

“He forgives you.”

What do they know of Gale? This mysterious spectre. Maybe it’s just your own thoughts, your desperation, trying to clutch at forgiveness. Maybe death has splintered you into fragments of yourself whispering back and forth. Maybe the afterlife is nothing more than talking to yourself in the quiet, with no one left to answer. A conversation in circles, where you are both the call and the response.

“You loved him" they say. It isn't a question.

“I did. I do. I always will.”

It's lucky you don't have a heart. It would be in splinters.

“Would you like to try again?” The voice offers.

Your thoughts pause, grasping at the idea. “You mean, go back? To the start? Is that possible?”

“Sometimes. Under certain circumstances.”

A chance to try again. At what? Saving Gale? Having a better life? A better death? Eventually finding your way back to this place, with no regrets holding you back?

You would like that.

“Will I remember this?”

“No.”

“Will he?”

“No.”

You could have had this conversation hundreds of times before, or perhaps it is the first and only. It is impossible to know.

“Ok. Yes, please.”

You can feel the pieces of yourself starting to come apart, like threads of a tapestry being unspooled by the oldest and gentlest of hands.

You reach out for those delicate, golden threads on instinct, but they slip away, and it is hard to know whether you are letting go of them or they are letting go of you.

Scratch the Dog. Karlach’s laughter. Night Orchids. Sunlight on scarred skin. Homemade cookies. Gale. Magic. A kiss.

You try to hold them tighter.

“How do I know I won’t make the same mistakes all over again?” you ask.

“You don’t,” the voice that wasn’t a voice says.

A silver sword. A man with horns dancing. Pipe smoke and bear fur. Taverns and temples and soft touches. Gale.

You’re trying to hold so many of them, you have to let others go. What is your name again? How old are you? Who were your parents?

Moonlight through shadow. A boat on make-believe water. A hand in yours. A purple dagger.

“Will I still be me?” You’re no longer sure what that means.

“That depends.”

The lake that wasn’t a lake, the warmth that wasn’t the sun, all of it begins to fade. You feel yourself pulled away, or maybe pulled together. You aren’t sure which—you just know you’re going somewhere, somewhen.

The voice speaks a final time as everything ends. As everything begins.

“Who are you?”

[thegnomelord]

sof and cute hcs of eldritch reader trying to learn how to people (and maybe some raunchy ones about learning how human "mating" works) hhhhnnnngggh

Imagine Learning To Be Human

CW: SFW and NSFW First TF141 with SFW, then NSFW headcannons, sexting, masturbation, sex toys, morning after (no sex), sexual nudity, nonsexual nudity, implied poly141. GN reader, 500-900 words for each blurb, so somewhere around 5.5k words. Imma be quiet for the next week or so as I prepare for an exam so I'm feeding ya'll :Dd

Imagine SOAP— It's safe to say you're not the best with expressing what you think, especially not in this hollowed out corpse a tiny fraction of your consciousness inhabits. The more you try, the less human your attempts come out, only remembering that humans don't bend that way or don't do something after you've done it. You find yourself gravitating to Soap because he is the opposite of you, so open and responsive like an open book.

Imagine; observing Soap as he tries to piece together the fragments of a bomb, muttering curses under his breath as if the object had just called football 'soccer'. He's so concentrated he forgets the rest of the world exists, oblivious to you sitting across from him. But that's not a problem as it gives you a chance to watch and try to mimic what his face does; the slight hint of teeth as he nibbles on his lip, the furrow of his brows, the tenseness of his jaw pulling on his throat muscles…

You try to mimic every emotion he goes through as he tries and fails and succeeds and fails again to fit the pieces together like a jigsaw, but the hardest one to do is that smile of his. For some reason you just can't get it right, lips pulling back too far, teeth too much on display and brows too furrowed so you end up looking like an old savage.

Then as if to spite you, Soap looks up at you and immediately snorts. "What're yea doin' there Bonnie?" He coughingly laughs as your facial features return to your statue like state.

"Trying to look like you." You huff; at least you can do that correctly.

"Oh, look strapping don't I?" He snorts, doing what Ghost calls 'fishing for compliments' (though you're unsure how one can fish for abstract ideas).

"No more than the rest." You shrug and see him roll his eyes, though the corners of his lips are still quirked up, a hint of teeth on display and vestiges of dimples framing his mouth. "How do I do that?" You ask and motion to his face.

"Do what? Smile?" You snorts, already beckoning you over like you're a dog. "It's easy."

You lean across the table, tilting your head to indicate confusion but leaving your face a blank canvas. It takes all of your presence of mind not to give an earth shattering purr when his hands cup your jaw, distant stars quivering as his blunt nails scratch at your throat for a blissful second.

"Here," His thumbs settle at both corners of your lips, putting gentle pressure until he pushes the flesh back and up in a way that's natural to the skin suit but not you. "There yea go." He grins and pulls his thumbs away after a few moments, grinning when you hold the expression.

"Now yea're as dashing as me." He chuckles and you two must look like utter buffoons just grinning at one another; you wouldn't have it any other way.

Imagine GAZ — You're not exactly alive, technically you're the antithesis to life and existence, so to you, simple rules like eating or sleeping are no more than chalk guidelines after a rainstorm. Gaz doesn't subscribe to this idea, he's always trying to get you to indulge in these human comforts and you always allow him, even if it does include eating more things in a week than most of your kin have consumed in a millennia, if that.

Imagine; wandering the halls on a lazy Sunday morning, no drills to run or missions to prep for, and being drawn to the communal kitchen by the sound of boiling water and banding pans. You find Gaz cooking breakfast for the boys; he's the only one who can cook (according to him) seeing as Price seasons his food with hope, Ghost burns everything into coal and Soap's not allowed into the kitchen after he'd tried to make tea in the microwave (which Gaz had later asked you to exorcise).

"Mornin'." Kyle yawns and smiles at you, dressed in shorts and one of your 'lost' shirts. You do your best to replicate his expression. "Help me, yeah?" He asks and nods his head at what he's cooking.

Your expression falls back to neutral. "You'll need to show me how." You admit as you get next to him.

"Not a problem," He chuckles as he shifts behind you, pressing his chest flush with your back with his hands hovering over yours. You feel his warmth when he rests his head on your shoulder, his hands firm and steady as he shows you how to chop tomatoes and sausages, how to hold the knife correctly and pulling your fingers back when the blade draws too close to the flesh, talking you through it until you can do it on your own.

After that he leaves you to your task as he almost dances around the kitchen, stirring a pot here then putting the kettle on there and so many more little things while you remain where you are because you, by nature, are slow; to adapt, to age, to change.

But you do it for him.

"Those look great." He grins when you're done and then herds you in front of the cooking pans, and you're a little apprehensive about the bubbling oil when he dumps what you'd cut up into the pan. But his warmth is at your back again, steady hands guiding you on how to cook the food without burning your skin and leaving you to it when you catch on.

Then you feel a tug on your shirt, his presence once again next to you, but this time he's holding a piece of sausage on the end of a fork, a hand beneath it so it doesn't drop, "Hey, taste this for me."

You contemplate arguing you can't actually taste food the same way he does, but he gives you a look that has you letting him feed you. Though it tastes no different from everything else, from his hand it may as well be sweeter than ambrosia.

"Tastes good." The way he brightens up at your words makes the food only taste sweeter.

Imagine GHOST —You and him are similar in some ways, you both prefer to stick to what you know, who you know. It's harder for you to contain what you are inside your flesh body when there is so much life around you that every additional heartbeat pulls at the edge of your cold existence. So you stick to close to the people who's warmth has grown so familiar it's indistinguishable from the burning starts making up your real body.

Imagine; attending a celebration held by both TF141 and Los Vaqueros after a mission gone well, loud music and lewd lyrics blaring in your ears as men drink like teenagers at their first frat party. You're in a more secluded part of the bar next to Ghost, both of you nursing drinks while you watch the rest act like fools.

You're a little confused when you see Gaz and Soap move in a strange way, grinding against one another and pressed so close you'd think they're trying to mate, their hands roaming the other's body so roughly you're surprised no pieces of clothing come flying your way.

"Got a free show for my drink." Ghost chuckles next to you.

"What are they doing?" You finally ask when you can't contain your curiosity.

"Dancing." He answers and swallows the last inch of booze in his cup, setting it down on the bar. "For fun." He adds, already expecting the line of questioning, as if that's supposed to make you understand.

"They just look like they're trying to mate." You point out, receiving a long sigh in return.

"How 'bout I just show you." Before you can say anything he nicks the cup of untouched alcohol in your hand and swallows it all down in one go, putting the empty cup next to his before grabbing you by the arm and pulling you outside through the back entrance. You go along with him, but you're confused when you catch Soap's eyes and he wolf whistles at the two of you.

The world outside is calmer than the busy bar, the air much colder; closer to what you are. You turn to him once he lets you go, tilting your head and furrowing your brow to convey confusion. "So…what do I do?"

"Just follow my lead." A gravely chuckle escapes Simon as he closes the distance between you two, his rough hands settling on your waist as he begins to slowly rock both of your bodies along with the music, though his movements are more contained than what you'd seen, a steady push and pull compelling you to follow him.

"Why is this different than what Soap and Gaz were doing?" You ask, clutching his shoulders in return, your forehead almost resting on his chest as you look at your feet so you don't step on his toes.

You feel his chest vibrate as he chuckles, "They set a low bar." He rumbles and his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up so you two lock eyes, the intensity in his brown irises drowning out the sounds of the bar. "Eyes on me."

You nod. Your eyes stay firmly on him as you sway together to a tune he hums, finding a common ground in the way your cold and his heat mixes together. Above you millions of your eyes peer down at him, for as vast as you are, for this moment your attention is on him.

Imagine PRICE — He can tell how tired you are, not physically but mentally; having to communicate and understand people without the use of a mental link, when even the most complex ideas can be conveyed easily, was starting to fray the edges of your control over your human body. He decided to do something about it.

Imagine; Price taking you and the boys fishing to a remote cabin next to a lake. Knowing you don't sleep he pulls you out by the lake at the ass crack of dawn, having you watch as he sits down on the dock, his pants pulled up to his knees so he can dip his feet in the water while he sets up the fishing rods.

"What are we doing?" You ask but follow his example and sit next to him, the cool water of the lake similar enough to the cold abyss your true body resides to calm your nerves, though you're unsure of what to do when he gives you the fishing rod.

"Fishing." He says as he shows you how to cast out the line. "You look like you need it."

You don't argue with him and just try focusing on fishing, letting him teach you how to watch the line to see when something takes the bait and when to reel it in. You’re unsuccessful your first few attempts, and you have half the mind to just jump in and wrangle the fish in the lake with liquid abyss, but he stops you.

"Catching isn't the point." He says as he smokes his cigar while he takes an old boot off your hook. "It's about relaxing, the fish are just a bonus."

You let out a low sound that vibrates the water, but you settle next to him and cast out the line again. You don’t know how long you sit there next to him, your sides touching with the fishing rod sitting loosely in your hands. After some time you manage to yank out your first fish, and you certainly don't gloat when you pull a few more fish out of the lake while he only pulls out seaweed, but the look of pride in his eyes makes it even better.

Any prospects of catching any more fish are dashed when Gaz and Soap wake up and take running jumps into the lake, scaring all the fish with their splashing. "Like school boys." Price remarks as Ghost comes up to you both, offering beers as he sits down on your other side.

"Summer vacation, captain." Ghost says and slips into the water, and you realize this is calming; in the way you haven't felt before, doing something familiar like watching Soap and Gaz trying to dunk each other in the water but feeling like you’re right there with them, laughing alongside them when Ghost scares the shit out of them by lunging out of the water.

“See sweetheart? ‘S not hard.” Price hums, adjusting his hat though his shoulders are already reddened from sunburns. He offers you his cigar and you accept it, breathing in the nicotine and smoke despite not having lungs or a circulatory system to be affected by it, before you give it back. “Taking it easy is good for you.”

You nod your head, content to sit next to him until something tugs on the line of your forgotten fishing rod and you scramble to reel it in. You give a small grunt as whatever is on the hook struggles, "Yank on it." Price tells you and you do, nearly toppling on your back when you finally win the tug of war. You blink as you look at what you've caught.

A Speedo.

"Well would you look at that." Price chuckles.

Judging by the way Johnny's suddenly bare assed and throwing obscenities in Gaelic your way, you assume that it's his.

“Caught a big one there.” Ghost notes, not yet laughing but his shoulders shake with silent laughter as he slaps Soap's cheeks (of his rear).

He yelps, confident enough to be naked in front of all of you, but not shameless enough to where his cheeks (on his face) don't redden from the way Gaz cackles and wheezes with laughter so loudly he nearly drowns. You give Johnny back his trunks before he can drown Gaz but, maybe you should fish any more.

NSFW:

Imagine SOAP— If anyone ever asks Soap why he would ever send a dick pick to an ancient god, he'll blame anything and everything; on being stood up, on loving himself a little less, on mixing up the numbers, in being black out drunk…

Imagine; him being stone cold sober when the thought invades his mind and he spends the next hour trying to take a good picture: in front of the mirror, on the bed, no clothes, some clothes, the list of positions goes on. He doesn't want to come across like he's compensating by just holding his dick in his hand like some cunt; as silly as it is, he wants the picture to actually tempt you, to make you feel something, though the question of if you even can doesn't cross his mind. He ends up with a picture of him on the bed, the tip of his hard cock peeking out from beneath the band of his boxers.

He won’t admit he holds his breath when he sends the suggestive picture to you alongside a ;) , watching the text bubble appear and disappear multiple times before you just leave him on seen. He deflates and has half the mind to delete the picture and chuck his phone to the other end of his bed but he’s stopped when he gets a message from Price.

‘My office. Now.’

Turns out you were with Price when you saw that photo and without a second thought had shown him it and asked what it meant. Granted Price had seen more than just his dick, but he was less than happy about Johnny sending you unsolicited dick pics.

You quiz Soap for nearly an hour, stone faced and unbothered while he gets redder with every question (what can you send, what not to send, how much to send, etc.) and he gets the impression that's how his ma' felt when she gave him and his sisters 'the talk'. “So, yeah.” He clears his throat, whole face feeling hot. “Don’t do it ‘lest yea’r asked or yea like ‘em.”

Thankfully Price finally lets you go when you’re satisfied with his answers and Soap can’t scamper fast enough out of his office with his whole face in flames.

He deletes the photo soon after but you've already burned it into your memory where it will outlast the stars, and the idea to reciprocate festers in your ageless mind like rot until you find yourself in front of your mirror after a shower. You play with the phone for a long time, snapping a few blurry close up shots of your face while you attempt to change it from the front to the back facing camera.

It takes even longer to figure out what to send as Soap wasn't that clear with his answers. Your siblings give you pointers, and first you attempt to take a picture of your most private part — bones snap as your rib cage splits open into a maw, vines full of eyes wrapping around your ribs like ivy as tendrils of darkness unwind just enough for the anti-light of your very essence sucks up all the light in the room — but the mirror cracks and your phone just shuts off with a pitiful whimper.

After fixing the mirror you end up doing what you do best; you mimic one of the statues you'd seen the Greeks make, the towel wrapped just along the V where your thighs connect to your pelvis, exposed from the waist up with your skin still wet. Your body isn't as demure as the muses that sculptor had used, but you hope Soap will appreciate it as you snap a few more photos and send them to Johnny with the same ;) he'd sent you.

Soap nearly chokes on his spit when he gets the photo, all the blood in his brain flooding south as his eyes rake over every exposed inch of skin, every curve and every dip in the muscles making him drool and cock harden and he's racing to your room before you even have the time to turn your phone off.

Imagine GAZ — For all of your pitfalls and misunderstandings he likes the little hints of inhumanity in your speech, in your mannerisms, in knowing you could be anywhere and anytime but you choose to be next to him. He couldn't imagine himself being enamored with an ant, yet you hang on his every word like he's revealing secrets you don't know, making him feel special; he feels so bad when his thoughts of you stop being innocent.

Imagine; He tries to keep things respectful, but his imagination runs wild when you do the simplest things. Bend down to tie your shoe? He's checking out your arse from the corner of his eyes. Stand behind him? He's suppressing a shiver just imagining your body draped over his in post-coital bliss. Check his skin for injuries? Gaz has to bite his lip to keep from begging you to touch all of him, to explore his body. Work out? Kyle's lucky if he doesn't start drooling imagining going over and licking the sweat off your skin, of feeling your muscles tense beneath his tongue while you continue to work out with him between your legs.

When he can't think of you without popping a boner he ends up having to compromise before the shame eats him whole. He goes on a random porn site; he usually prefers just using his imagination but when his mind keeps circling back to you he has no other option, and his conscience gnaws on him when he ends up finding a porn star with similar features to yours. It's not wrong if he's wanking off to a different person, right?

Heat's already burning in his stomach when he slouches in his chair, his back to his room and one earbud in his ear. Shame continues to eat at him when he's both delighted and disheartened by the fact the porn star sounds nothing like you, that his bones don't shiver like they do when you talk.

He keeps the volume low and instead focuses on rubbing and squeezing his cock the way the porn star does to a second actor, and he can't help imagining what you'd sound like; high pitched and whiny? Husky and low? Completely silent or animalistic? The idea of pulling sounds of pleasure out of your throat has him leaking. His head lolls back and he moans as he squeezes the base of his cock, his eyes open just enough to blur the fine details on the porn star's face so you two become indistinguishable.

His heart stops when you burst through his door, a random question leaving your lips before your ears pick up the moans and slick sounds coming from his direction. You're next to him in an instant, looming over his chair and caging him in with your eyes stuck to the screen. "What are you watching?"

"Get out!" He yelps and tries to push you away but it's like trying to move a mountain.

"Why does that human look like my vessel?" You persist, "And why are you watching humans mating when you told me it's wrong?" You tilt your head, luckily not seeing his hand on his hard cock, the porn reflecting in the blacks of your eyes.

“It’s on the net it’s different! People upload it for others' pleasure and-” He sputters and cuts himself off when he registers your words, freezing in place and that accidentally gets him to squeeze the head of his cock.

Your pupils widen like a cat’s when you hear the little moan escape his chest, your head automatically dropping down to see where his other hand is. "Oh,” is what comes out of your mouth when you see his hard weeping cock. “Can I?” You ask, making an odd motion with your head.

He thinks you're asking to leave and nods. "Yeah-" Gaz wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole, his cheeks burning red like he's a lobster in a pot. “-can you pl-please leave-”

He wheezes when your cold hand suddenly wraps around his cock, your hold firm and just at the edge of pain but still making him throb. A few more eyes spread across your skin to see him while you watch the video still playing on his computer, giving his cock a small pump and shaking the stars with your purr when he moans.

"What are-" He neck nearly snaps to look at you, a shiver raking his body and another moan escaping him as you squeeze the head of his cock, your skin like ice yet it makes him burn with arousal.

"Watch." You order and turn his head with your free hand so his eyes are back on the screen. You don't know why he's watching a fake 'you' mate when he could just ask you, but you know one thing; the person on the screen is competition, and by the way you roughly stroke his cock until he's whining and leaking like a tap, Gaz can tell— you don't like competition.

Imagine PRICE — He never imagined he'd need to have 'the talk' with a god; sure, you may understand how sex works, but you're hopeless in understanding the nuances of it all. If someone doesn't directly say 'let's fuck' you assume any touches from them, even groping, is just them being friendly. It makes his blood boil, seeing you be taken advantage of like that.

Imagine; You're in the bar with the boys and Price is a couple of drinks in when he sees being felt up by a stranger and you're oblivious to his advances. A green eyed monster nips at Price's heels and he doesn't notice when he puts himself next to you, 'accidentally' shoving the other guy back with just his bulk. His presence, his demeanor, and the few harsh words spoken in a clipped tone has the other guy scampering off.

He doesn't remember much after that, only the way you'd looked at him — with the intensity of a ravenous void, like he was a bright star you wanted to devour.

What wakes him isn't his clock, but the rays of sunlight gently streaming through the curtains. He groans as he registers the awful ache behind his eyes before he even has a chance to open them. He feels his bed shift and his eyes snap open automatically, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you laying on your side as you stare at him.

"Jesus!" He jumps up, nearly topples over from the sudden vertigo but your steady hand on his shoulder keeps him upright, making him realize he's nude.

"He's not here." You shrug and as you sit up his sheets pool around your waist, making him realize you're naked from the waist up, though he doesn't want to think if you're naked naked. His fists clench when his eyes roam over your exposed body against his will, settling on the various hickeys decorating your shoulders and neck.

His heart sinks. "What…what happened last night?" He asks and doesn't want to know the answer, his stomach churns with shame.

"Oh, uh, you got drunk, I got you home, you started kissing and biting me." You say, tracing the numerous hickeys and indents of his teeth across your human form like they're medals. "Then you pulled me into your bed and wouldn't let me go. Then you passed out." You say as if nothing's wrong, and even if no sex happened it's little consolidation to the fact he took advantage of you.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” He asks as he takes a shaky breath, shoulders hunched up around his ears and eyes downcast, bile burning in his stomach.

"Why would I?" You tilt your head and shift positions to face him fully, the sheets falling away to reveal you are naked naked. "I may not understand you fully, but I would have stopped you if you did something I didn't want."

Price hates himself for how he can't tear his eyes away from your body. "But you let me." He insists and tries to get you to see reason, to be as angry and disgusted with him as he is with himself.

“Yes.” You are growing annoyed as well, silently cursing the frailty of the human mind; things would be easier to explain if you could just use mental communication… “You are less than insects to my kin.” You sigh and move to straddle him before he can get away, pinning him under you. “You are a sun to me.”

Even calling him a sun doesn’t do him justice; suns die out like firecrackers when your immeasurable body passes over them, when you devour them, him, you want to keep, to protect, to wrap in your cold abyss until he’s warm and safe.

He sucks in a breath, the gears in his head turning as he tries to understand. “What?-”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, your hands respectfully on your thighs as if you’re not pinning him in place with your weight. There’s a dark intelligence in your eyes, the same ravenous void staring at him behind the black of your eyes. You are not a child, you are a god.

"Why?" He sucks in a sharp breath as he breathes in your smell, the scent of dying stars and burn ozone tickling his lungs. "You don't have to." He says weakly, because what would anyone, god or not, want with him?

"You left marks on me, I want to do the same." The way you say it makes him think of godhood; not the bleak madness you are, but the type humanity romanticizes. Your lips part as if you're thinking of marking him, bits of oblivion staring back at him from the darkness of your throat when he looks too closely at your mouth.

He submits so fast. "C'mere then," He pulls you close by your head, kissing you like he's trying to steal your ichor, his body burning hot when your hands grip him tight enough to leave moon shaped bruises in his skin — the first of many you intend to give him, until you've marked him as yours and yours alone.

Imagine GHOST — Ghost prefers to show you rather than spend hours trying to explain things to you, he's more stricter with you when you try to do things you're told not to, both for your and everyone's safety. You never do quite learn.

Imagine; Ghost recently confiscated your phone when you tried to see what humans thought about you, or what they imagined you and your kin to be, on a website called 'Rule34'. Ghost had snatched the phone out of your hands before you could even click the link. After a week he gave you the go ahead to take it back, but got called to run a drill so just said to go find it.

Now, you've been told not to go rooting around other people's belongings, but while searching for your phone you'd fallen back into your old habit and snooped around until you found a small box in the bottom of his dresser. Thinking nothing of it you opened it and found…something. A lot of somethings; handcuffs, rope, weird egg shaped thing, a weird tube with a hole in it that squished like a stress toy but had a cunt molded at one end, but what drew your attention — was the dismembered black cock in the middle of the box.

You and all of your kin scratched your collective heads over the thing you now held in your hand, you'd been under the impression humans didn't carry around body parts anymore so you were stumped why Ghost had a dismembered dick and balls in his dresser. Besides the pitch black color and flat base it looked so realistic and the way it flopped when you turned it in your hand made you feel the same way humans did when seeing you.

So you got up and wen to ask Ghost about it, the thing held out in your hand when you found him with the rest of the boys. "Ghost, why do you a have body part in your closet?"

Your question made them all turn to look at you, Ghost made a strange sound like a strangled dog while Gaz and Soap fell over laughing and Price shielded his eyes with the rim of his hat.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” He snarls and before you know it he’s stomping over to you and dragging you by the front of your clothes, “What I tell you about snooping?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” You try to argue but don’t struggle and just let him drag you somewhere like you're a kitten until you find yourself in his room with the door firmly locked behind him.

"Right." His tone makes it sound like he doesn't believe you, his rough hand pushes you down on his bed and he yanks the thing from your hold. “You want to know what this is for?” He asks and holds the the cock with the head pointed at you like a knife.

You nod your head and try to rise up but he pushes you back down, you're not even sure where he gets the handcuffs from but there's cold steel around your wrists before you can notice it. It's his order to "Sit and watch." that actually keeps you down, and you see the corners of his eyes shift to denote a smirk. "Do what you're good at."

You don't blink as you watch him disrobe until he's only wearing his mask, and your surprise is obvious when he sticks the thing on the floor and it stays up right. "This," He growls and sinks to his knees on the floor, a towel under him, "Is a fuckin' dildo." He reaches over and takes a small tube, squirting viscous liquid on his fingers. "You don't ever take it out of my room. Got it."

He leaves no room to argue and you rapidly nod your head. You find yourself breathless as you watch him reach behind himself and you don’t even notice how a bit of your oblivion leaks from your pores and spreads across the ground like spiderwebs, eyes blooming in the small pools all around him so you can see the way he roughly pushes a finger into himself, your hands clenching as his rim flutters around his large fingers.

"What is it for?" You find your voice, the sound ringing like the inside of a dead star the longer you watch him roughly stretch himself, pushing two then three fingers into his ass.

"Fun," He chuckles and feels so powerful when your eyes have all but turned black with hunger you've yet to notice. "It's a toy, for adults." He pulls his fingers out and squirts more liquid on the dildo, before sinking down on the toy in one fluid move that leaves him hissing at the stretch, his rim fluttering around the thick base.

Something about the way the toy is of a similar color to your real body has you wriggling beneath your human skin, the air vibrating as you groan and try to reach out to him, wanting to cover him in your body and have all of him feel all of you.

"No." Just one word has you sitting back on the bed like a dog, a pitiful sound rumbling across the void as you can do nothing but watch. "This is what you get for snooping." He's so smug with the way he has such control over you without even touching you, his thick thighs tensing as he slowly bounces on the dildo, "Now watch. Maybe if you're good I'll let you touch me."

You'll do whatever he says so long as you get to feel him.

[cherryredstars]

uhm, well..i did not send that mariah carey and busta ryhmes ask anonymously. however if you do decide you’d like to could you respond to this anonymous one?😭</33

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Cheating (Reader cheats with Miguel), Penetrative Sex

A/N: Here you are, love!

Unedited

This is below him.

He isn’t some low-level security guard, he’s fucking spiderman. He has a city to protect, entire universes that require his full attention. Yet, he finds himself lounging in front of blue screens with black and white security footage. The chair makes his back hurt, and the blurry, flickering video feed that is beyond outdated makes his eyes hurt.

Miguel doesn’t have many friends in his universe, too busy with so many other things that are completely unfathomable to the normal man. So when an old friend- a friend of a ghost from his childhood that he barely remembered- had contacted him for a favor, the feeling of obligation struck and hooked him in. It would have been wrong of him to say no, especially since the favor was not that great to begin with. A simple house watching gig for the weekend, one that didn’t really need much attention and could be a backdrop as he did out of office work for the Society.

But, it wasn’t just a house sitting job.

He found himself distracted every time the pixels of the old security cameras flickered, eyes snapping up to the screens to see you moving around and going about your day. He was surprised to see you- another fragment from his past that sprang to his head on occasion. You looked older now, but everything else about you was the same. Even the way you quickly had his hands sweating and his heart stumbling.

It was…weird coexisting with you in the same space. You always seemed to find him when he was wandering the house instead of being holed up in the security room. You just suddenly appeared, dressed in your usual nighties used for lounging and stalking past him with a smile and fluttering eyes.

It drove him crazy, his senses picking up on your presence from miles away and zoning in on everything that was you. It made his mouth salivate and his hands itch and for his dick to thicken in his pants. It was painful, having to constantly chastise himself that everything in the house, including you, was like a museum. He could look all he wants, but under no circumstances can he touch.

Doesn’t mean he stopped you when you did, though.

In fact, he welcomed every brush of your arm against his body. He liked the way you held eye contact with him as you tried to squeeze past his hunkering frame, lips slightly parted and forming a brief smile as you walked away. His spine tingled each time you walked by him, feeling the way your eyes tracked his body as he watched you.

He was infatuated, subtly trailing after you like a floating cartoon character every time you entered and exited a room. Physically restraining himself every time you disappeared into your bedroom or the bathroom with a sultry, beckoning look. He hated the guilt he felt when his cock twitched and he had to ignore it because he simply refused to jerk one out in his friend’s house to his girlfriend.

But fuck if he didn’t see how lonely you were through the screens. How you spent every moment where you weren’t riling him up, bored and lost in your own home. It made him wonder how many times his friend has left you like this, traveling away for work and leaving you stuck at home all by yourself. Miguel was a busy fucker too, but his thoughts snobbishly protested that if you were his, he’d never let you go to sleep alone or leave you cooped up in such a big house by yourself.

And maybe you sensed that.

Because you were always trying to coax him like a mythical siren. With pouty lips and smooth swaying hips that paired well with doe eyes. It was embarrassing easy for you to absentmindedly draw Miguel in. Planting small seeds in his head that he could have you if only he let himself. That the only obstacle in his way was himself. And damnit, he deserves a reward for all his hard work.

Even if that reward was as dishonorable as fucking you in the bed you shared with your boyfriend. But was it really? Miguel figures if he wasn’t ever here to keep you company then it isn’t really his bed. It’s your bed. And it wasn’t any of your boyfriend’s business what- or who- you decided to do in it. At the end of the day, your boyfriend had no say because he wasn’t here, Miguel was.

And he was fucking enjoying it.

You made the prettiest noises, mewling into his shoulder as your pussy squelched with each thrust of his leaky cock. You took it like a champ, his head spinning from how fucking tight you were. All lonely and left with nothing but your dainty fingers to stuff yourself with. Your walls practically ushered him in, clinging to his dick until he was balls deep and in danger of shooting his load too quickly.

“Poor girl.” Miguel practically growled, pressing his hips against yours and drawing out those pretty sounds as he grinded into you, “Been so lonely with no one here to take care of you, yeah?”

You nodded shakily, mouth dropping open with a hum as you bucked your hips. Miguel’s hold tightened around them as he hissed, giving you a small thrust to sedate you momentarily.

“Just needed someone to take care of you and this pretty pussy.” He cooed, hand traveling into your hair and cupping the back of your head.

“M-Miguel,” you sniffled, desperately trying to get him to move inside of you. “Please.”

He gave you a devilish smile, slowly pistoning his cock into your gummy walls. “Hmm, what is it mamí? This what you need, huh? Use that pretty voice to tell me what you need.”

You sobbed, hands digging into his shoulders as you nodded. “More. Please, Miguel.”

He groaned, eyes locked on the way your chin wobbled with a pout as you begged so sweetly. His sweet, lonely girl. Miguel gave you a sweet smile, kissing the corner of your lips before withdrawing his hips and snapping them forward. The gasp you let out was beyond beautiful, hands raking down his back as you arched into him.

Miguel had to be careful about marking you. He couldn’t follow his instincts and bite marks into your neck or leave hand shaped bruises on your ass or hips. They’d never heal before your boyfriend came back. Instead, while you left lined welts on his back, he’d have to work on molding your pussy to the shape of his cock and filling you to the brim with his release.

And you would happily take it all.

You sound like an angelic chorus with the pearly string of moans you gifted him, eyes rolled back as you clench around him. He can feel his cock nudging against that pretty spot inside of you, making him twitch as he draws the two of you closer to release. Your smooth skin quivers under his hands, your body jolting with each of his thrusts and your tiny clit throbbing each time his pelvis brushes against it.

Your tiny hole stretches so beautifully as he pulls in and out, stomach showing just how far he reaches inside of you. It takes less than a second for you to explode around his cock as his finger traces the outline of it, your legs locking on either side of his waist. Miguel can feel the vicious grip your cunt has on him as you try to milk out his release, his hips stuttering until his tip is right against your cervix.

A weak, fluttery moan tumbles from your lips as you get filled with his warmth. Your head falls into the crook of his neck and shoulder, breathing beginning to normalize as you come down. Your walls weakly pulse around his softening cock, and Miguel’s eyes stray to the red, blinking light in the corner of your room.

He’s definitely saving that recording.

[revelboo]

Angelina Jolie, please (TFE megatron)

I need more content, there's almost none of it here 😞😭👍

I’m crying, hating that y’all inflicted that mental image on me and created that connection in my brain from now on. Thanks, I hate it 😂

Give Up/ Give In Pt 3

TF Earthspark Megatron x Reader

• Being trapped in his alt mode for an extended time is almost a form of torture, claustrophobia clawing at him. But it’s his penance. He could have let Alex and Dorothy remove you from his interior, but hadn’t wanted you out of sight. That guilt twisting in his spark because you weren’t the first innocent caught in the middle of a fight between the factions and hurt. There had been so many, Cybertronian and human. And while he can’t undo the past, this time he can try to own up to his actions. So you stay where he can watch over you, saving and protecting one human to try and atone for so many.

• Everything hurts as you come awake in degrees. Moving pulls at your side and leg, and hissing through your teeth, you clench your eyes shut as a wave of nausea crashes over you, body shaking with it and heart racing as you remember fragments. Cybertronians fighting. The impact and fiery pain. Megatron reaching for you. “Easy, little one. Breathe.” That low, growling voice comes from all around you, chaining the panic running wild in you. “Breathe.” It’s a command and you cover your eyes and try to obey. Deep breath in, pain from your side making your eyes sting as your breath hitches. Then let it out, shuddering in pain. Again. “That’s it.”

• Trembling against him, you press your palms against your eyes, but listen. Calming slowly, laying inside his alt mode tangled in the blankets Alex had brought you. When you finally lower your hands, your head turns to survey his interior, eyes dull with pain. “You’re Megatron, right?” You ask, voice a raw rasp as you lay your cheek back down, likely already exhausted again. Hurting. Will confirming who he is ease your mind or just send your little heart racing again? He doubts it will be the former, knows what everyone thinks of him. That just because he’s playing nice now, doesn’t mean he’s actually changed. No matter what he does, they all still expect the monster.

• “That’s right,” comes the voice surrounding you from everywhere and nowhere as you try not to be weirded out by the fact that you’re sprawled inside him. He’d freed you from your car when he hadn’t had to. Taken pity on you even though to him, humans must be so pathetically helpless and weak. Maybe even contemptible and he’d saved you. Brought you to help? You think so as you run a trembling hand under the sheets and find bandages. Trying to explore the wound to see how bad it is under the dressing feels like touching a live wire, your brain shorting out with pain and vision going gray at the edges as you swallow convulsively. “You need to rest, little one.” There’s an edge to those words in that warm brogue. An admonishment that’s almost sweet, like he’s worried. Like the big, scary former warlord cares. You’d laugh, but it would hurt.

• “Thank you,” you murmur and he’s not sure if you mean for pulling you from the car originally or for just now. What he does know? He doesn’t deserve your thanks. Shouldn’t have engaged the Seekers so near a population center. He hadn’t spared a thought for the humans at the time, only focused on the fight. And you’d paid for it. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, how to form an apology, but you save him from that. Your breathing shifting as you sink under again, and he focuses on monitoring that little spot of warmth in need of his protection.

Previous

Next

[theblueflower05]

Crawling Back to You

(Part Two of First Love/Late Spring)

A/N: So like, I’m really excited that you guys seem to be digging this story. I was hesitant about it just because there’s so much of my own Na’vi/Metkayina lore thrown in there. Thank you for all of the kind response.

Word Count: 8k+

Warnings: From here on out, this story will be extremely explicit. Minors DNI. If Aged Up! Neteyam isn’t your thing, please exit to your left. Let’s all respect each other's boundaries, please.

Angst. Self deprecation. Alcohol consumption. Smut. Mutual masturbation. Fingering(fem receiving). Nipple sucking. Breeding kink. Scent marking. Public sex(if you squinttttt)

Summary: Neteyam returns from his Motnaui and isn’t in much of a celebratory mood when he realizes that he’s scrapped any chance of having a mate for Fertility season…or has he? Neteyam x Reader

Series Masterlist(all parts can be found here)

Previous< First Love/Late Spring

Next>: Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

Secret's that I’ve held in my heart

Are harder to hide then I thought.

Maybe I just wanna be yours- Artic Monkeys

The brilliant Pandoran sun beats down on the crystal blue waters, fragmenting into bursts of light under the surface of the waves.

The Motnaui is intense, Neteyam’s lean frame isn't made for the open ocean but over the months as he trained intensely with the Metkayina hunters, he gained muscle he didn't even realize his body could retain.

His shoulders are broader and thighs thicker. He can keep up with the clan, he can help row the boats without his arms giving out on him.

Neteyam hasn't felt this way since they had fled the safety of the forest. He’s useful again. He’s worked hard to regain his title of Hunter.

Warrior.

Brother of the people.

He sense’s it as they jump between the endless maze of isles. Hunting and sleeping on the beaches under the open night sky. Swapping stories around the small campfires.

They don't see him as an outsider anymore. No, he is Metkayina. All of the hunters treat him as such. Clapping his back. Embracing him tight. Sharing in the whopping joy as he makes a clean, merciful kill.

They listen to the Omaticayan legends he tells the and fill him in on the lore of the sea.

The four days out at open ocean are needed and he feels sure footed now. Knows that he will always have a place in Awa’atlu. He can't wait for Lo’ak to complete his Iknamaya next cycle, to get to feel this feeling of deep belonging. Of acceptance.

The tattoo forever etched into the the skin on his on his shoulder burns. Throbs all the way down his elbow, ends right above his wrist. The permanent swirling ink a symbol of his place among the reef.

His third birth is as beautiful as his second. He is a man, twice recognized.

Neteyam reminds himself of that fact as he sits down next to Tonowari one night. The stars are sparkling and the dimming light of the dying fire makes the hulking chief look larger than life.

Still, the younger man gathers his courage.

“I wish to mate with Y/N” Neteyam states firmly. He had been Olo’eyktan in training for over a decade back in the forest. He uses the voice he’d take on when speaking of important matters “I would like your blessing to do so, sir”

Their brothers and sisters in the hunt surround them. Either asleep at the late hour or lost to their own conversations.

Or maybe they just know not to interrupt this important exchange. They only listen in with peaked ears and envious hearts.

Tonowari’s features go stern, his strong brows pulling together “Before my T’smuke returned to the great mother, I promised her that I would always take care of her daughter as though she was my own. I love Y/N as I do my children. Do you understand that, Neteyam?”

Neteyam is nodding “Yes sir, of course”

“She is a good woman. A very important member of our community, if I allow this courtship I have to be certain that you will honor that. That you will honor her place among us, and be serious about what that means for your own”

Neteyam mules over the words, thinks he knows what they mean. He will be marrying into the royal family of the Metkayina. He will be bound by blood to the clans chief. His future children will have a claim to the title of Olo’eyktan or Tshaik, third in line should anything ever happen.

“I am very serious about her, I will work hard to give her all that she deserves. I will build us a Mauri to raise our family in. I will dedicate my life to her and the tribe” It is not a vow lightly made, Neteyam knows this.

He had never been one to be fickle about responsibility.

It’s only when the intense expression on the Olo’eyktans face shifts, a broad smile stretching across his mouth, that Neteyam feels his posture untense.

Tonowari claps him hard on the back and offers him the leather flask of strong liquor that the hunters pass amongst themselves-

“Then you have my blessing” Tonowari laughs as the younger Na’vi man almost chokes on the burn of the Kava.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When they return to the main island of Awa’atlu with their abundant catch they are greeted warmly by the clan. The giant horns are blown, drums play rhythmically. Children scream joyously and women dance scantly clad in ceremonial drab.

Its busy and blustering but there's only one thing on Neteyam's mind.

Only one person.

The same woman who had plagued him since his arrival all those months ago. You’re as elusive as the receding tide and he had become accustomed to having to look for you. To having to seek you out in a crowd, to go searching for you.

You hadn't seen him off and he hasn't spoken to you in many days. He misses you. It's an ache that he wants to soon remedy, that he knows he’ll never have to feel again. Not with Tonowari’s blessing fueling him.

Since he was young, Neteyam had wanted to be bonded.

He’d dreamt of sharing that special connection with another individual; the way that his parents did. He craved someone to cherish him, to take care of him and in return he’d do the same for them. He itched for a woman to braid his hair, to bear his children. To bury his cock in every night and wake up to every morning.

He was a simple man with a big heart and a lot of love to give. And he wanted to give it to you.

He just has to find you first.

Neteyam tries not to worry when he can't catch sight of your petite frame. Not one peek of your long hair or seafoam eyes. He couldn't scent the natural perfume of florally herbs that always seemed to surround you-

“Neteyam!” It’s Tuk.

She collides with him hard. Many years of being a climbing post for his siblings is the only reason he doesn't topple over. Is able to catch her mid air and hold her to his chest.

He’s greeted by his family-

And only a moment passes before he can notice that something is wrong.

It’s written all over Kiri’s face. In his mothers expressive eyes and the glances his father throws him as he embraces the Olo’eyktan from across the way. Even Lo’ak gives him something akin to a small glare.

“Whatever is going on, it will have to wait” Neteyam decides out loud, slowly lowering his baby sister to the ground. “I need to find Y/N, have any of you seen her?”

Kiri’s mouth opens and shuts, as though she’s trying to figure out what to say and it frays his nerves. His legs are antsy, burning with the need to run. To seek you out- still on the high of the hunt.

“I don't have time for this-”

“Brother, wait. It is about Y/N” Kiri grabs his elbow, keeping him still.

He doesn't like her tone.

Likes the expression on her face even less. She looks too serious, it doesn't suit her at all. Kiri had always been as airy as a tree sprite- carefree and bubbly.

Call it a gut feeling or the simple ability to read the room. He just knows whatever she’s about to tell him isnt going to be pleasant.

“What happened?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His sister pulls him aside, into the mangrove tree’s and away from prying eyes and ears so that she can relay what she’d heard. Fill Neteyam in on what he’s missed.

He listens to every word…and they settle like stones in his stomach.

“Y/N thinks that you have accepted an offer of courtship from another woman”

“I didn't- I’d never!” Neteyam hisses in protest, shaking his head. It’s all one big misunderstanding. He has to make find you, shake these thoughts out of your head. Make you see-

“But you did,” Kiri replies firmly, her mouth pulled into a grim line.

She explains the meaning of the Lei’s.

The gravity of him accepting one from another female and Neteyam hasn't felt so small in many years. He’d been forced into adulthood early. Taken care of his siblings from a young age and then was thrust into the war with the RDA before he had even fully come out of adolescence. He was wise beyond his years, that’s what everyone had always told him.

He doesn’t feel that way now.

He’d fucked up, made a mistake that could very well cost him the future that he had worked so hard to secure since coming to the reefs-

And he hadn't even meant to! He’d been as naive as a baby, as ignorant to Metkayina traditions as an untrained child-

He wants to scream in frustration. Wants to kick the absolute shit out of himself. Instead he listens to his sister, his hands shaking as he balls them into fists.

You had been devastated. Heart broken. Wouldn't talk to anyone or come out to eat. Couldn’t stop crying-

“Enough” He pleads, he can't hear anymore of it. Guilt rises in his chest like bile.

Imagining what the last days had been like for you as he’d spend them having the time of his life, galivanting with other hunters. Getting drunk and having carefree fun-

“Kiri, what do I do?”

She sighs. It’s so rare to see her older brother like this. He’s always so solid. So strong and stable. It’s unnerving when he loses his composure. When his carefully built walls come down

She had known that the whole thing was a miscommunication and had tried along with Tsireya to convince you of that fact. But you wouldn't hear it, and avoided her at every turn.

You and her brother are both such stubborn dumb asses. Rubbing at her temples Kiri prays to Eywa for strength. Sully’s stick together.

“We fix this”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

As the evening eclipse starts and the sun disappears in the sherbert sky the beach lights up.

Bonfires roar, their flames tall and burning bright.

The air is filled with the smell of roasting Paokpak(island boar) and fish. Huge pots full of dishes that Neteyam had never seen line the long wooden table set up at the center of the celebration. Barrels of Kava have been brought out. The strongest of Metkayina liquors, brewed and stored for decades in airtight containers. Made from berries that are extremely hard to harvest.

This is a time for celebration, to gorge on the hard earned harvests the hunters have brought back. To celebrate the newly rited adults and prepare for the Fertility Season.

The beat of the drums is hypnotic. It's sexy and primal. It's a tune that all Na’vi know in their chest, one that their hips move to as if of their own accord.

Children play, Women sing, stories older then the briny deep are told. The air is electric; so full of magic and unity.

And yet, Neteyam is on edge.

He had been since his rude awakening earlier in the day. He’d spent his afternoon running around like an Austrapede with its head chopped off. Desperately trying to solve the issues that he hadn't meant to create.

After hunting down the culprit to all of this mess, a pretty lei made up of sunset orange lilies which he’d given to Tuk almost automatically after it’d been given to him, he returns it to its owner.

Seychelle is haughty. Rightly upset and shrilly confused as she takes the token of her affections back. Neteyam’s apology is poor and he knows it, he backs away before she can throw her drink in his face.

Tsireya had told him this was the only way to remedy the issue- to refuse the offer for courtship so that he could be open to be with another. The younger girl had been so relieved when he came to her, begging her to help him win back your affections.

“I knew you are a good man, that you don't have a mean spirit”

Tsireya is as eager as Neteyam to see her cousin happy. She doesn't think she could spend another night listening to your inconsolable weeping.

The last obstacle is the hardest.

You refuse to be anywhere near him. Are forced into the festivities because of your family standing, but pretend that Neteyam simply does not exist.

At every turn you evade him.

Sandwiching yourself between the hulking muscle of Ao’nung and Tonowari at the buffet table. Dancing in an enclosed circle of swaying women. Flitting away in a plume of smoke when he approaches you with your favorite ripe fruit in hand; leaving him standing there stupidly. Palms stained by the juice of the Lionberry as he squeezes it in frustration.

You’re hauntingly beautiful in the firelight.

He hates the fact that he’s not the only who notices it. The way the other males consume you with their carnivorous gazes makes him sick. His fingers clench and his knuckles crack of their own accord.

Long dark hair pours down your back in bouncing waves. The top that you wear clings to you like a second skin; the pearls and seashells glittering in the warm hue of the flames. Your own Lei, pink and pristine, is still resting on your throat. Many intricate bracelets and anklets clink as you walk and he cant take his eyes off of the way that the back of your tweng sits on your pert ass-

“Go talk to her” His dad suggests gruffly as he watches his son watch you. It’s getting hard to stomach at this point, all of that longing palpable and souring the atmosphere.

“She doesn't want to speak to me” Neteyam mutters. Trying not to feel too bad for himself. And failing.

Neteyam hadn't thought his return from Motonui would be like this. He’d envisioned a lot more kissing, and alot less moping.

“Woman aren't as complicated as they seem, son. You don't need some grand gesture-”

“Says the man who tamed Toruk after his first fight with his mate” Neteyam interrupts and Jake snorts at his unusual outburst.

His eldest son is usually so very put together- it's entertaining to see that a woman could bring out this side of him.

“I have nothing to offer her. Back home in the forest I could have given her- everything” Neteyam sighs as he admits what's been on his mind since he’d begun pursuing you “There’s no reason why she’d want to be with me, I’m aware of that”

Jake pulls his son close.

His first born. The apple of his eye. Neteyam was good to his core, and anyone who knew him could see it. Jake was so proud of him and wondered if this lack of self confidence came from the fact that he probably didn’t tell the boy of that fact enough.

“All that girl wants from you is reassurance. That’s all you need to give her, everything else will come with time. If she wanted to mate for status she would’ve done it long before you got here, kid. ”

Jake had been shitty at motivational speeches since his stint in the military. You would think his time as reigning Olo’eyktan would have given him some kind of skills. But still, his words are a bit clunky. But sincere.

After a moment, Neteyam gulps at the Kava in his hand. Drains his cup and then squares his shoulders before he’s off.

Eyes set unyieldingly on the prize.

Jake grins. If a good ol’ pep talk doesn't do it- liquid courage sure will.

You’re half heartedly participating in the conversations going on around you, just distracted enough that Neteyam’s able to stalk over. Unnoticed until he’s standing right infront of you-

“Y/N” His voice is firm, he wonders if you know how hard it is for him to keep it as such. “I see you”

Up close he can see how swollen your eyes are. How exhausted you look. You just nod, muttering out a quiet “I see you” in response.

Everything about your body language screams that you want to be left alone. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your ears tipped low. Your tail curls around your ankle and your nose keeps scrunching up.

He wishes he could let you be,

But you make him selfish. You bring out a side of him that wants to take. Has to be satiated or he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I must speak with you” He states his intentions, clear. Ignores the way Ronal glares daggers at the side of his head.

“I don’t think-”

“It will only take a moment. But I ask for the privacy to explain myself to you. If after you hear my words you still do not wish to talk to me I will respect that”

You glance at your family before responding to him. Sharing a look with both Ronal and Tsireya. Your cousin smiles encouragingly, your aunt gives a barley tolerant tilt of her head.

You sigh and nod, but step away from his hand when he offers it to you. It's an obvious rejection, but Neteyam tries not to dwell on it. His tail flicks anxiously behind him.

“We may speak in private. Come” your voice is low, before you begin to lead him away from the festivities. Down the beach until the firelight is in the distance and the beat of the drum is a low hum on the howling wind.

The storms will start soon. The sea is choppy, the clouds rolling in and the breeze cool.

It’s hard to find privacy on the sandy shores, intertwined couples can be found scattered along the waters edge. Lips locked. Speaking lowly and intimately.

Neteyam is pretty sure that one of his fellow hunters has his mate twisted into a mating press- if her breathless whimpers are anything to go by.

He avoids their writhing bodies, ignores the way it makes his own core tingle.

Fertility Season is all but here. The entire clan falling under its low boiling energy.

All he could think about as he had been out on the open ocean; is that this cycle he wouldn't have to spend it alone.

He’s not sure that is the case anymore.

After more walking, completely in silence, the two of you come to a mostly desolate area. Quiet and still, as private as it’s going to get.

You stare out at the cresting waves and Neteyam knows he needs to say something, anything. But all he can to is look at you.

At the way that the moonlight illuminates your silhouette, at the dusting of turquoise bioluminescent freckles that are scattered across your nose.

“I-Um-” You start, and that wont do. He cuts you off quick.

It is only him who needs to explain himself. “Let me start by apologizing to you. I am so sorry, Y/N”

You appear as though you’re going to start crying and if you do, he’ll lose all his carefully cultivated cool.

So he presses on.

“I had no idea that accepting Lei’s was a courting symbol here. I don't know how to make you believe me but if I had know I would’ve never-” Neteyam lets out a long shaky breath “I can only swear to you that in the future I will be more mindful of your clans traditions”

Time ticks by. The moon shines and the waves crash against the shore.

“Our clan” you break the silence, your voice gentle and melodic. “You passed your Iknimaya. It is your clan as much as mine”

He wants so desperately to hold you. He has for months, but the need is almost unbearable at this very moment.

“If I have lost my chance. Please, tell me now” it’s a plea. Because it hurts to look at you. If he can not have you- if you do not want him, he will accept it. Somehow. But being alone with you like this and not knowing is killing him. “I will…I’ll leave you alone, if you want me to”

You scoff, not looking away from him. Refusing to meet his eye, still staring blanky at the waves. “You act as though I am the one who accepted someone else’s offer. I have never wanted you to leave me alone, Neteyam”

“I’m sorry” Does he sound as idiotic as he feels? He surely hopes not.

“You already said that”

“Please, look at me”

“I can’t” you whisper- hissing at him warningly when he outstretches his hands “I- I don't want to ever feel like this again. You need to tell me what you want from me because I do not know. I will get confused again, if you do not tell me what we are doing”

He can tell by your expression that you are serious, and even so. He cant fucking believe it. Had he failed at courtship so immensely that you really don't know? He’s stuck in his head for a moment too long.

It makes you anxious, makes you back even further away.

“Please-” He’s all but begging, yet

you avoid his touch again and it feels like blades.

Your shrill warning hiss rings in his ears.

He returns it with a snarl of his own when you continue to refuse to let him touch you. Can't help it, the need to rebuff all of this uncertainty around the union that is so special to him is strong.

He grips the top of your arms, his long fingers holding your biceps.

You finally look at him. Your round eyes wide and vulnerable. Filled with unshed tears and unspoken questions.

“I want to mate with you” He starts because if you need to hear it all, word for word, then he’d tell you. “I want to build my life here with you by my side. I want us to have a home that will never know war-”

A tear rolls down the swell of your cheek.

“I-I want you to choose to be with me” He swallows, the lump in his throat getting bigger, higher. Threatening to choke his vocal cords “I will be good to you. If you let me”

His family had always required him to be the rock. Had leaned on him to take on the role of caretaker, he had had to keep it together. Keep them together. It wasn't easy for him to break open like this. It went against his very nature, all that self preservation he’d learned early.

But you need this. And he thinks he might too.

“Neteyam-”

“I will ask you again. If I have lost my chance tell me now”

Have mercy on him.

“I understand if you want to be with someone who can offer you more. I won’t fault you for it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to tack that on. Why the self deprecating thoughts manifest their way into words that hurt for him to speak “I don’t have much here. But I’ll build it, for you”

Your muscles tense under his palms and he prepares himself for the rejection. The physical blow of it-

But then, you melt. Loosen. Your entire body sags fully into his grip. That pinched expression on your face slips away. Your full lips part and your eyes soften, brows furrowing together.

You look at him like he is something precious. Like you can see him- and he thinks you might be the first one who ever has.

He’d known it in his bones. Since the day he’d arrived. Since he’d first spotted your face in the crowd.

“Oel ngati kameie” you whisper, your hand coming up to cup his jaw. “Oel ngati kamei, Neteyam. I see-”

He leans heavily into your hand. His forehead clunking against yours, pressing hard. The contact stings, but its welcome. He needs it.

He needs.

“I don’t care about any of that. I don’t care what you have or don’t have. You know I don’t.” you murmur urgently, he can feel the words against against his skin.

When you press a whisper light, tentative kiss against the sharp of his cheekbone, something snaps. Something that had been strained and barely held together just breaks.

His control, he realizes as he crowds you.

As his fingers dig into your arms and he presses the line of his body against your own firmly.

You’re so soft everywhere. So much smaller than him. He’s all lean muscle, tall and hard. You’re pliable skin, a layer of blubber to keep you warm in the deep. So different from the women he’d grown up with. Your hips are wide, thighs pillowy.

You’d give him healthy children. His hindbrain howls.

When he captures your lips he hopes you realize that there’s no going back. That this is until death. He’d go to his grave before he was robbed of this again.

You gasp, sweet and small, and he eats it. Consumes all of the air in your lungs. You’re good at holding your breath anyway, right?

“Neteyam” you whine, pulling away, your lips wet and your pupils wide. You’re shaky, already a bit disoriented and he wants to keep you. Protect you. He’ll give you anything if you just keep looking at him like that.

“Are you ok-”

You reach up on the tips of your toes, slamming your lips back against his before he can finish his words.

Your hands tangle into his braids as you try to gain traction, pull him down to your level. Get a better hold on him.

Its intense, dizzying. You kiss him like you’re dying and maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been slowly dying since he first got here. Every moment that you hadn’t been able to be held by him had killed you- a slow torturous death.

You drag him down. Do you know he’d follow you anywhere? Under the waves, down onto the soft sand. He cups the back of your head, shelters your neck as he bullies his thin hips between your dense thighs and pressed you against the ground.

The months worth of tension isn't released gently, because it can't be.

The kisses are bruising. Wandering hands and desperate tongues. It’s carnal, Fertility season making both of your minds cloudy as you try to dig into each others flesh.

Nothing is close enough.

With a whine, your fingers slip under Neteyam's multilayered choker. Using it as leverage to tug on as you thrust your hips up violently. The heat at the apex of your legs grinding against his covered erection dangerously.

“Ah-” he gasps wetly “Easy, Narlor. Easy”

“Sorry” you simper, panting. Trying to get a hold on the feelings rushing through you. One hand gripping his necklace, the other slipping into the back of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck “I want- I dream about it all the time”

Fire rushes down Neteyam’s spine, both at your words and your feather light touch to his kuru. He wonders if you touched yourself after those dreams. If you had to take the edge off like he had. He shudders at the thought-

You’re kissing at his neck again, at all of that sensitive skin under his braids, near his ears.

Your quick touches are everywhere. Rushing all over his body. Manicured nails scraping over his skin-

“Ugh,” he warbles out as your curious hand disappears under his tweng.

Its a tight fit as your fingers dance along his hard cock. Delicate and teasingly light. He’s going to come all over himself like some inexperienced teenager that had never gotten a taste of pussy before if you don't. Slow. Down.

“Tell me about those dreams of yours. What’d we do in them?” Neteyam teases, his lips moving against the corner of your mouth. A distraction for both you and himself.

You can't form words, not as you feel how big he is. As you cherish the fact you’ll never be empty again. He's hard and pulsing in your hand and you want him inside of you. Your mouth, your cunt. You don't care. You want to be the only one who gets to feel him, no one else can ever-

There’s only one way to ensure that.

“Tsahelyu” you whimper, “Please Neteyam. Need it”

He slows down a bit, his head spacy but not totally lost. The bond is everything. It’s the most important aspect of Na’vi culture “I can't bond you here”

“Why?” its a petulant whine, your hips pressing against his again.

“I’m not going to bond you on the cold ground, Yawne. Out in the open”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind” you press and he chuckles, shaking his head “you could have me anywhere you want me”

It’s the raw honesty in your voice that drives him crazy.

Devotion in a way that makes him lightheaded.

He can't give you Tsaheylu yet, he wants it done right. He wants you tucked in a mountain of blankets with a warm fire going- at the height of Fertility Season. The ancestors watching over you as he intertwines himself into your soul for the rest of time.

“I will have you” He assures you, dragging his mouth across your clavicle, his long fingers working the strings of your intricate top loose “And you’ll have me. But you have to let me do it right”

You hate waiting. You tell him as he suckles his way across your chest. Moaning as he finally gets his mouth on your soft breasts. Your fist his braids, shivering as he feasts on your skin.

“I’ll make it worth your while” Neteyam promises between mouthfuls of supple flesh “You’ll want for nothing. I’ll give you anything”

He’s humping down into you, unable to stop his hips from shifting. His cock seeking your warmth. You’re right there, he could just-

“Please” you shiver, like you know what he’s thinking. Like you can read his mind and all the dirty thoughts that cross it.

You can't take it. All of his hesitating.

You’d heard that the Omiticayans were more reserved, more traditional when it came to mating but he was going to drive you crazy.

You push on his chest. Gentle yet demanding.

He doesn't want to remove his mouth from your breasts but he allows it all the same. His lips swollen, a thin string of spit connecting him to your tender nipple as he stares at you with questioning eyes.

Neteyam lets you push him off of you before he goes down onto his back, the sand grating against his shoulder blades as he lays flat. You grin the entire time. Your eyes sparkling with excitement. With hunger.

You look as horny as he feels and it kills him.

Your fingers pluck at the at the delicate ties of your tweng, loosening it until it falls from your curvy hips.

“Y/N” he warns as you then reach for his own. Tugging at the leather straps of his loincloth. He raises his hips, helping you shimmy it down his long legs.

“You can't bond me” You whisper as you straddle his waist, your small hands using his broad chest for balance, palms on his pectorals “Not yet anyway”

“Mhmm” Neteyams murmurs as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You're hot and dripping wet, the center of your legs steaming as you rub it against his groin.

“That doesn't mean you cant touch me” you coo at the man under you as you slowly begin to undulate above him. Your hips circling as your head lowers to tongue at the underside of his jaw.

“Shit” He curses in English, gasping at the night sky as you drag damply across his lower stomach .

“Yes?” you question him as you reach for his hand, leading it exactly where you need him most.

“Yeah” Neteyam assures, fingertips dipping where you're skin is plush and dripping- right in between your spread thighs “Yeah, Yeah”

Your hand is still leading his, cupping him firmly against your pussy as he feels how much you need him. You hadn't been the only one dreaming of this. You had danced behind his eyelids for months. His brain had played tricks on him, desperately splicing together mismatched audio in an attempt to conjure up what you would sound like when he finally got to have you.

A shivery keen escapes you when he presses on your swollen bundle of nerves and nah. His imagination couldn't hold a candle to this.

It’s not just how you sound its how you look.

Sat on top of him, resting on your knees with your chest bare save for that brightly hued Lei. Your kiss bruised bottom lip is skewered between your sharp teeth as you worry it in keyed-up concentration. Blue eyes low, your long eyelashes almost fluttering against your cheeks as you stare down at him.

It’s how you smell.

Ripe and earth wet- his mouth floods as he inhales lungfuls of it, your juices are all over him. His waist, coating his hand . Everywhere but right on his tongue where he wants it the most.

Exploring you where you’re the most vulnerable is slippery, your pussy swollen as he traces along the folds. Your clit beats with your pulse under his touch, inflamed and you cry out.

“Awe, baby” he tuts. Your hips chase him in jagged little movements, unsure and needy and it’s enough to get him grinning. You’d been so sure of yourself when you’d pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

Yet here you are a whining mess of his thing in his lap.

There’s no room to tease, he wants to watch you come all over him. Everything still feels too over sensitive. Too new and easily breakable. You’d spent the last near week questioning his feelings.

Neteyam had his words. He could wax to you poetic until your ears bled,

But he had this too. He needed to make you feel a way that no one else could and as he sunk his long digit inside of you he realized that this was better then any conversation. This felt like the most natural way to express all of his emotions, you sucking him in knuckle deep felt so right.

Velvet soft and vice tight, he’s hard between his own legs from just the feel of you. Just knowing that this was his.

You, your heart. Your body. Your tiny little cunt.

Tiny but taking him so well, not just one finger. But two. Then three. Your body moves like the crashing waves behind you, intense and wild. Shoving down onto him so hard that his wrist starts to ache with the demanding press.

“More” you pant wetly into his neck “Faster. Net-please”

He figures out that faster means harder, and harder means he has you all but vibrating on top of him. Bouncing in time with every thrust of his digits. The arm that isn't preoccupied comes around you to hold you steady as he finger fucks you until you're a squealing mess.

This isn't the first time Neteyam has done this.

There’d been girls back home. One girl in particular that didn't take it too personally that he needed tension relief from the war raging around them and not the arranged soon to be wife that everyone had been trying to shove down his throat back them.

This isn't the first time he’s done this but it’s the first time he’s felt this.

He nuzzles your head out from its hiding place in his shoulder. He has to watch your face, needs to see the way he’s making you fall apart.

This is the first time he’s felt the all consuming pull to be with another person. He wants you like this always. So close to him that he could taste the perspiration from your panting breaths.

You tighten up in his arms, going rigid as your pleasure crests. Your pussy fluttering and mouth gaping. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You’re orgasm is ethereal, raw and fervid.

It’s a glance at Eywa. He sees the great mother on your face as you writhe atop of him.

It’s alot, he can tell. Fuck he can only imagine what you’re feeling if it had been this intense for him. Neteyam lets you hide again after a moment. Your hair covers your face as you shake and he thinks you might be crying, but he just brushes a hand down your damp back. Soothing you back down from the high.

The stars are brighter, even as the clouds gather in gluggy gray storm clusters. Everything seems a little bit more beautiful with his fingers still inside of you. It pains him to slide them out, missing the tight clutch of you once his wet fingers are exposed to the cool night air.

Tsaheylu, you’d begged him earlier. His kuru throbs and gooseflesh erupts all over his body just thinking about bonding with you. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything.

You nuzzle against him, nosing at his cheek. Your lips ghosting at the corner of his own.

“You okay?” you wonder. Your voice deep and husky. So sexy it makes his eyes close for a second.

“I should be asking you that”

“Mmm, no need to ask. I feel so so good” you assure him, starting to sit up a little “I um-I kind of got really into it. I’m sorry”

“Sorry?” Neteyam questions, keeping his grip on you as you start to squirm. Not in pleasure this time. But in shame, the embarrassed kind. Coming down from the pleasure haze, that anxious edge comes back. Unsure even as you’re on top of him. “Don’t say that. Why would you be sorry right now?”

You huff, nose scrunching. Ears flicking “I made a mess all over you”

It might not be very nice but he can't help but laugh at you. His pearly white canines on display as he hoots, the belly laughs jostling you from your perch.

“What!” you grumble, but smile all the same. “Stop”

“Hmm. I love messes like this. Feel free to make messes like this anytime” his fingers, still glistening come into view as he brings them to his mouth. Your eyes widen, glued to him. At the slight suction of his cheeks as he licks them in earnest “See. Easy clean up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pretty”

You taste as good as you smell. His tastebuds tingle as he swirls the new flavor around. Complex; a sweet musk that he wants to bathe in. He’s acutely aware of the way you watch him, your sweet cheeks burning at his lewdness.

When he frees his fingers with a pop, he gasps as your tongue surges in his mouth.

Tasting yourself on his spit.

Fuck.

He lets you kiss him breathless. Lets you run your sloppy kisses all over his face, down his chin. Across his neck. He arches into it all, gives you all the room you need. He’s well aware of what you’re doing. Working your strong scent into every inch of his bare skin.

Scent marking is a vital part of Na’vi courtship. Ancient, ritualistic and respected. Practiced by your ancestors before the first songs.

It’s makes something in him pur, knowing that you want him to smell like you.

“I think that's enough” He grins when your tongue dips into his navel “They can smell me, baby. You did a very thorough job”

The pout on your face is beyond cute as you sit up on your knees. The little ‘hmph’ sound so adorably out of place in the highly sexually charged situation “But I wanna smell like you too. How will anyone know I’m yours if they can’t smell it?”

Neteyam's nostrils flare. His ears swivel on his head and his tail gives a good lash at that. You want to be marked by him too. Are willing to parade his scent around all of those assholes in the clan that have been trying to win your affections, even when it was clear you were uninterested.

“Lay down” It’s an order, spoken softly but directly and you follow it at once. A giddy smile on your face as you lounge on the sand.

You are a vision.

Hair sprawling and messy behind your head. Your legs spread, back arched. Pretty nipples pebbled hard and on display. The only thing covering you is the floral necklace around your svelte throat.

It doesn't take him long at all. He strokes his striped cock firm and efficiently. Too many years of having to get himself off fast enough not to be caught has made his practiced movements almost perfect.

You’re looking at him like that again. Adoration clear as day on your face. Soft for him. You see him-

“Ol Ngati Kamiel” your voice is saccharin as you speak and he grunts violently as he comes.

Ropes of it land on your belly, across your exposed chest. It’s almost too much when you reach down swiping into the translucent, sticky, mess and start rubbing it into your smooth skin. He collapses shakily beside you, needing to collect himself for a minute before he helps your cause.

It’s the most intimate thing the two of you have done all night, laying together. Basking in the afterglow. Your scents mingle, dancing together in the evening breeze and Neteyam wants to imprint this memory somewhere deep.

The festivities are still raging- and you really do need to get back. It’s an important night. Your clan wants you there, the two of you need to make your rounds. Keep appearances. He won’t keep you from your duties, no matter how much he may want to.

After a quick dip in the ocean, removing the filth of love making but still wearing the strong scent of each other's pheromones, you begin to redress.

Neteyam watches. Highly distracted as you shimmy back into your tweng before looping your top around your shoulders. He works clumsily at the leather of his loincloth.

“Wait-”

The two of you are starting the trek back to the bonfire when he reaches out to halt you. His fingers play with wreath of lilies around your neck and his eyes bore into yours pleadingly.

The smile you give him is more radiant then the silvery moons that twinkle in the inky sky.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Even at the late hour the ceremonial bonfire still crackles with life. The festivities have ebbed into something slower, more intimate.

The adults of the clan are all that’s left, children long gone and tucked into their beds or dozing off against their parents' side.

Kiri sits on a carved log, in a circle of familiar faces.

Her mother and father had left not long ago. Tuk had been fighting slumber but succumbed after the Elders crooned a particularly slow song about the Sky and Sea’s forbidden love. Jake had hoisted the young girl up and bid everyone adieu, swaying on his feet as his wife hissed at him about how after all these years, he still couldn’t handle his liquor.

Now, Kiri listens to stories as she sips slowly on her cup of Kava. Enjoying the pleasant burn;

But not willing to end up like her dumb as rocks brother who is sprawled on the ground. Lo’ak is all but unconscious, every time he opens his eyes they are unfocused and hazy.

That’s what he gets for trying to out drink clan members twice his size. He’d been on the losing end of the drinking competition from the start- he was just too stubborn to see it.

Lo’ak is lucky Tsireya doesn’t care much for drinking, and is more than willing to tend to him. She keeps trying to force him to drink water and nibble on bits of food.

Ao’nung isn’t faring much better; he stares at the moon with a dopey smile as he sings, incredibly off tune, to the song that fills the air. A gaggle of girls surround him. Each hoping to catch his eye.

It’d been an all night thing, affections being thrown at him while he ignored it all too easily.

“My bed will be full this season, I’m not worried about a thing” he’d shrugged it off when asked about it.

Roxto’s boisterous laugh had dwindled down when Kiri shot him an extremely unamused glare.

She’s debating on leaving Lo’ak to sleep on the beach for the night when out of the shadows comes her eldest brother; who had been missing for most of the evening.

The hours had bled away and Kiri had tried not to worry too much about the confrontation that was going on just beyond the jovial bubble of the Metkayina celebrations. You had been distraught and Neteyam had never been good at voicing his own emotional needs-

Huh.

It looks like she had nothing to worry about.

The grin on Neteyam’s face is shit eating. It’s the smuggest she’s ever seen him. Even at his first Inknimaya, back with the Omiticaya, he hadn’t reacted like this. All head raised high and walking on a cloud.

You tug him along behind you, you guys’ fingers tightly intertwined. Your hips sway excitedly as you bounce along the sand. Kiri’s brother's chest is puffed out in obvious pride as he follows your footsteps.

Around his neck is Lei made up of vibrant pink flowers. It matches the one in your hair, that sits kind of lopsided now.

As the couple gets you closer, and Kiri catches a whiff of your approaching bodies, she wants to wretch. You’re drowning in each other's scents and it’s quite obvious what you had been up to all night.

“So gross” Kiri gags in accusation once you’re both in earshot.

You two owed her so big. She thinks naming one of your future children after her would suffice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Okayyyyy. This was so fun to write and I already have Part Three brewing! TAGLIST IS CLOSED.

So like. Lots to address here. Tons to talk about. I’m gonna start the conversation but I hope you guys continue it in the comments.

1. The Motnaui is something I completely made up(…yes after watching Moana and taking inspiration for the name) lol it’s a ritualistic hunt that newly anointed hunters and warriors go on after their Metkayinan Iknimaya’s. I know all the different clans Iknimaya traditions would be different and I thought this would be cool.

2. I read a story in the Avatar fandom where the liquor they drank was called Kava and it just stuck in my brain. I know Kava is a drink in real life too, but for the sake of storytelling, please think about them as completely different things. The drink in this story is more of a wine/moonshine mixture deal. Would really fuck your ass upppp.

3. Fertility Season is obvs totes made up. Why is it rainy during it? Because I myself would want a week of non stop loving making with a nice little fire going, under lots of blankets with it chilly and rainy outside. And at the end of the day I’m writing for me lol

4. NETEYAM IS A SWEETHEART WHO STRUGGLES WITH HIS SELF WORTH JUST LIKE THE REST OF US. Please listen to the Artic Monkeys while you read this chapter(wanna be yours, do I wanna know, 505. THE LONGING)

5. Expect more POV’s to come! It will always be mostly rooted from Y/N’s point of view but I love touching base with all of the other characters. It’s so fun. I’m thinking a snippet of Neytiris in Part Three!

[slowd1ving]

THIS CHURCH SURE HAS WONDERFUL ACOUSTICS! ✦ . 　⁺ MALLEUS DRACONIA NSFW

“I just miss my friends, I guess,” you admitted, tracing your fingers on the hem of the shirt as you spoke. “I just want to hold someone I know and let my sorrows melt away.” There was a brief pause as Hornton tilted his head slightly in thought. “Holding someone, will it make you happy?” in which a dragon and a human find comfort in each other warnings: amab!reader but no pronouns, nsfw, hurt/comfort, sacrilegious, explicit sex wc: 5.2k

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Cold night air swirled through the cracked windows of Ramshackle, stifling all hopes you had of a good night’s sleep. You could almost see your breath fogging up in the diabolically cold room; really, were you surprised Crowley hadn’t provided you with adequate insulation? Only Grim’s warmth at the foot of the bed gave you any semblance of heat - alas, it was simply not enough.

My toes are going to freeze off and roll away, you thought mournfully. Shivering, you stared up at the rickety ceiling, as if it would provide any other comfort. Slowly but surely, your thoughts turned away from Crowley’s nasty little shack he gave you to call home, and instead became retrospective.

Homesickness. It wasn’t just that you missed your room back home, and all the little oddities within. Friends. Comfort. You missed the casual touches of friends back home. The bone-crushing hugs you’d give, clinging on for dear life whenever you wanted. Holding hands with friends while hanging out; the skin-to-skin contact reminded you there were others with you.

Why did it have to end?

Sure, you had Ace and Deuce (maybe even Jack?) as your new chums, pals, bosom buddies, etc. It was nice to have friends in this odd place. But you longed for the familiarity that old friends carried; the lack of shared memories and touch with Ace and Deuce made them, quite frankly, mere acquaintances in your eyes.

Hollowness. That was what you felt at that very moment. It was unbearable. There were no tears to be shed, only a deep apathy for your situation. You supposed it wasn’t all that healthy, but it was probably your brain in shock.

What could you really do? Your teeth gnawed on your bottom lip as you shifted out of bed. You weren’t getting any sleepier, so the next best thing was to get some fresh air and maybe even water. Like a plant.

As you ambled downstairs towards the porch, you found your mind wandering to that boy with horns who often appeared by the porch of Ramshackle Dorm, who Grim had nicknamed Hornton. For whatever reason, the boy hadn’t taken offence to the name, though you supposed he did ask you to call him whatever you wished.

At least Grim hadn’t suggested something like Horny McHorn the Horned…

You shook the thought from your mind, mentally gagging. Would Hornton even be here at your porch tonight? A small part of your mind yearned for the comfort of another presence, even if it was someone you had only a handful of encounters with.

Quietly, you unlatched the front door (the poor thing almost keeled over with the slightest nudge) and slipped outside. Only the cold air greeted you; surprisingly, it was warmer out here than in your very bed (maybe it was the ghosts?).

Disappointment wormed its way into your stomach. It was silly. Hornton didn’t have an obligation to be here at all, so why were you feeling this way? You slunk onto the front step and sat down, wrapping your arms around yourself.

At least the cold air was slowly becoming refreshing? Or was this an attempt to gaslight yourself into making the most of this situation?

“Child of man, what has prompted your sadness?” a voice spoke from above, and you almost squeaked in surprise as you looked upwards to see the glowing eyes of Hornton.

“Hornton!” you scrambled to stand up, brushing off the rickety fragments of Ramshackle that no doubt clung to your sleepwear. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“I am here now,” Hornton’s patient voice seemed to have a touch of concern for your slightly dishevelled appearance. “Still, you have not answered my question. Would you like to talk about what ails you so?”

You met his eyes. His brows were drawn low in contemplation. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him, right?

“I just miss my friends, I guess,” you admitted, tracing your fingers on the hem of the shirt as you spoke. “I just want to hold someone I know and let my sorrows melt away.”

There was a brief pause as Hornton tilted his head slightly in thought.

“Holding someone, will it make you happy?”

“Yeah, it just reminds me I’m not alone?” the end of your sentence curled up into a question when you furrowed your brows trying to think of a good answer.

“Then-” Hornton took a step closer to you, gazing at your face. “-may I do the honours?”

Your eyes widened involuntarily. You hadn’t thought he’d actually volunteer to hug you, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

“Yes, please,” your voice came out a lot softer than you had hoped. He held out his arms (quite awkwardly, you had to admit). Your arms enveloped his upper torso, and your head fitted right into the crook of his neck.

You could feel his hands, almost fluttering with the amount of care he held within them.

“You can put them anywhere on my back,” you murmured with your eyes closed. A smile wriggled its way onto your face when you felt a light pressure on your scapula and upper spine. In response, you put more pressure into your hug, letting your strength create a comforting weight upon Hornton.

You felt him sharply intake air with the added pressure, before softening into your grasp. Sharp claws brushed over your back as he curled his hands slightly inwards to grip onto the back of your shirt.

He wasn’t cold, exactly, but he was pleasantly cool to the touch. Your body, pressed against his, could feel the rhythmic thump of his heart. Slow and steady. As you slowly breathed in, you could smell on him woodsmoke and what smelled like the wind during rainy autumn days.

Your hands slowly worked their way upwards before they settled higher on his spine, where his hair cascaded over your hands like an obsidian waterfall. You pressed even tighter against him, but not overwhelmingly so - whatever homesickness you had earlier slowly ebbed away.

Slowly, you began to pull away to take a breather. Hornton loosened his grip on your shirt and furrowed his brow at you before speaking.

“That was… nice,” Hornton stated. A rosy hue painted the tips of his pointed ears.

“Can I be selfish and request another hug?” Hornton continued, his eyes crinkling as he smiled down at you tentatively.

“Yeah, you’re really good at this,” you smiled back at him encouragingly, breath caught in your throat as he let out a little laugh. Burying the feeling, you pressed back into his body, allowing yourself to collect your thoughts before holding him tighter.

Who the hell allowed him to be so goddamn beautiful? You felt your pulse rise to an allegro. To make matters worse, Hornton wrapped his arms around you in a very similar manner that you employed when hugging. Such close proximity felt as though the two of you were becoming one.

Your heart almost jumped into your throat as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath fanning out onto your collarbone. Gleaming onyx horns jutted out past your shoulder; really, every part of Hornton was perfectly polished.

His claws brushed against your back once again as he held you closer. An inkling of understanding trickled through your brain; he was also desperate to be held. Tentatively, one of your hands left its post at his spine and carefully made its way to the nape of his neck. You cradled the back of his neck, running your fingers through the hair on his scalp.

His breathing rapidly quickened against your collarbone, and you felt his pulse sync up to your own, the staccato beats assuring you in continuing your ministrations.

How long had it been since he had been held? From the snippets of conversations that had been about him, you had gathered that he was generally feared by the student populace and distanced from the outside world; it was definitely a possibility that he was touch-deprived, especially if he was someone in a position of high power or responsibility.

In response to your own contemplation, you simply locked your arms around him, making sure the pressure around him wasn’t going to be unpleasant, but rather like a weighted blanket. You felt him relax even more into the hug, and you mentally patted yourself on the back.

“Child of man..” his voice brushed against your throat, and you felt your face heat up. Surely he felt your pulse spike upwards? You stifled your shiver and looked down upon him. Piercing green eyes focused on you as you nervously swallowed.

“Yeah?” Whatever hopes of sounding composed were dashed as your voice almost warbled. At best, it was just shaky.

“Thank you,” Hornton’s voice reverberated with pure sincerity against your sternum. He was going to be the death of you, you thought. You took it as a cue to slowly disentangle your arms from around him as his head slowly raised.

“Can I..” his voice was laced through with hesitation as his eyes searched your face for an answer, even before he finished his question. Heavy heartbeats resounded through your entire body as you waited for him to finish.

“Can I kiss you?” Pause. Blood rushed through your entire organism. You could almost count the number of capillaries extending through your body as you suddenly rushed into a state of transcendent awareness. Goddamn. You couldn’t think straight, especially since he was still holding on to you.

“It’s alright if-” his voice was cut off when your fingers curled around his striped tie (really, why was he still in uniform?!) and pulled him closer. Your other hand gently made its way to his chin to guide him to you.

You heard his breath stutter as your lips brushed over his. Distantly, you were aware of his hands choosing to cradle the back of your head. He really was adorable; you smiled into the kiss ever so slightly as you deepened it, feeling him stiffen marginally.

Hesitation was clearly present in his kiss as you guided him through it. Your pace was languorous to allow him to adjust, especially when you opened your mouth. Sharp fangs brushed over your tongue as he opened his own mouth for you. Good.

Your eyes squinted open slightly in shock when you felt his forked tongue. Holy shit. He clearly felt your surprise, since his grip on the back of your head suddenly became more solid and his movements a lot more confident. Seemed like he had adjusted. Your hand trailed from his tie and settled on his waist, pulling him towards you while simultaneously pressing yourself towards him so he’d step backwards. His back pressed against the sturdy beam of the porch, and you could feel surprise radiating at your boldness.

“Mmph-” you saw his eyes flutter open when he gasped slightly at the impact. Once again, you could feel the corners of your lips tugging upwards into a smile, and he felt it too, since you could feel his eyes burning into you.

You pulled back to take a breather, watching a string of saliva connect the two of you. He was enraptured with it, with his cool lips slightly parted in what could probably be described as awe as he watched the thread bridging the distance.

His eyes flickered back to yours, watching for any sign of discomfort. When he found none, he tilted his head slightly. A question. You leaned in, sealing your answer. But instead of his mouth, you tilted his head sideways and pressed a kiss to his neck, loosening his tie to allow for a canvas for you.

“What-” his question was cut off by an exhale of breath that was suspiciously close to a moan when you lightly bit his pulse point, sucking on it to leave a bruising mark. “Keep- keep going.”

You were going to do just that. A burning trail of marks made their way from right under his ear to his collarbone, accompanied by his slightly strangled breathing. Your knee found its way between his legs, almost subconsciously, but it didn’t pull away as he sank down onto it slightly. Goodness, he really was eager.

Then again, so were you. Your body pressed further into his to hear his irregular breathing. Your mouth continued its feverish ministrations. All to further fluster him. The smugness almost creeped out of your pores with how satisfied you were feeling at that moment.

You could almost feel him slightly moving against your thigh, desperate for any sort of friction. Pulling back, you gazed at him with a shit-eating grin (one that was quickly stifled). His eyes were half-lidded with a sultry gaze, lips glazed over with spit.

“Do you want to continue this?” you asked him seriously. When he nodded, eyes still slightly hazed over, you frowned slightly, leaning in closer.

“Use your words, pretty boy,” you commanded, tilting your head. His eyes met yours, the sharp green gaze slightly softening.

“Please, I want to continue,” he said with a touch of desperation. His eyes flickered between your heavy gaze and your slightly swollen lips. You felt that shit eating grin almost rise again within you at this powerful being reduced to such a state.

“Do you have anywhere we can go?” you inquired, gesturing to the rickety building behind you. No doubt it would probably collapse with any sort of frisky activity.

“Yes, actually,” with that, Hornton pulled you close to him and a cloud of warm fireflies obscured your vision. You couldn’t see much, only his comforting presence pressed against you.

“Call me Malleus,” his voice brushed against your ear as the two of you were carried off to who knows where.You could almost hear his smile as you shivered slightly. “I would like to hear my name out of your mouth when you cry it out.”

You almost felt your jaw drop with his audacity. Strangely, that name was really familiar. Malleus. Malleus? That Malleus? Your brow furrowed, making connections between the rumours of the terrifying Diasomnia housewarden and the boy with horns next to you. Ah. You had just wrapped potentially the most powerful mage in this school around your pinkie finger.

Still, it was bold of him to assume he wouldn’t be the one crying out. The fireflies slowly began to fade out, and you braced yourself for wherever Malleus had taken you.

Hold on.

Was this a cathedral? Your eyes surveyed the abandoned building. Under the watchful eye of the moon, shimmering stained glass patterns cast themselves onto the stone and marble friezes. Some of the roof was missing, leaving dust motes to swim around languidly in the harsh streams of moonlight.

The altar before you was covered in a pristine white cloth, unmarked by blemishes. Beside it was a vase of freshly cut lilies. Who could’ve-

“I come here to think,” Malleus admitted to you sheepishly. He looked around the building with you. “I’ve been trying to tidy it up a bit, but it’s secluded enough that it can wait. The acoustics here are wonderful.”

You weren’t even surprised. Although, sex in an abandoned cathedral was a first.

“How sacrilegious!” your eyes widened with mock-incredulity. You didn’t give a shit, in all actuality. Carnal desire began to pump within your veins. You grabbed his arm and pulled him to the altar, smoothing the edge of the cloth against what could only be stone.

“Allow me,” Malleus pressed a chaste kiss to the edge of your mouth before lifting you up onto the cloth. You stared down at him, slightly amused by his boldness. What could he be planning? Your questions were answered as he gestured to your pants inquiringly. Was he going to suck you off?

With deft hands, Malleus undid the ties that held the pants to your hips, before tugging them off and letting them pool on the stone steps beside the vase of lilies. You watched in surprise as he ravenously stared down your boxers.

“Eager, aren’t we?” you crooned, feeling the pressure on your thighs tighten as he gripped them. Your words didn’t seem to register as he swallowed audibly. The piercing thralls of desire suddenly consumed you; wordlessly, you hooked a thumb around the waistband and pulled them down, hissing as the cool night air hit the skin of your dick.

You watched him observe your movements with the gaze of a predator, lustfully looking at your exposed skin. This time it was your turn to swallow audibly as he bent down between your legs and pressed a cool kiss to the soft skin on the inner thighs. His flickering green eyes held your gaze and you felt your face heat up as he smiled.

You leaned back, pressing your palms flat against the altar to attempt to quell your lust. His eyes never left your face as he kissed the base of your dick. You fought the urge to bury your face in your hands when he thumbed the slit, spreading the precum along the head, eliciting a small gasp from you. Malleus’ fangs flashed at you as he opened his mouth to suckle the top of your dick.

“Fuck,” you groaned, shifting onto one palm as the other buried itself in his hair. You could feel a low rumble in his throat at the action, which in turn stimulated you further. He began licking in earnest; you thanked whatever ancestor it was that gave him that heavenly forked tongue. Malleus looked divine like this, with the pale impressions of the stained glass upon his body.

Without warning, he took you in his mouth. The sensation of the cool saliva enveloping your dick was almost enough to make you scream, and you grabbed onto one of his horns without thinking. The action made Malleus stiffen, before a deep groan emerged from his throat.

“Good boy,” you praised him as he took you deeper, thumbing the ridges of his horn. So. They really were sensitive, you duly noted. Your gentle ministrations along the edges of his horn, coupled with your praises, almost gave him heart arrhythmia with how fast his heart was beating. And he knew you could feel his pulse through your thighs, with the way you smiled at him with that look in your eyes.

He quickened his pace with his mouth, wanting to hear more of those gasps and praises from you. You matched his tempo with his horns, grinning as you felt more vibrations of his groans on his dick. Could you make him come from just this? Your second hand raised from the altar to set on his other horn, mirroring your actions. His eyes squeezed shut with the pleasure, and you could feel more saliva than usual.

“Fuck, Malleus,” you groaned when he took you all the way down. His name on your tongue sounded absolutely divine echoing within the cathedral, and his dick throbbed within the confines of his uniform pants.

��I’m going to-” you cried out when he hollowed out his cheeks, feeling so absolutely tight. You saw white as you came in his mouth, and felt him swallow as best as he could. Fuck. He felt unbelievably good.

The taste of you on his tongue caused Malleus’ mind to go haywire as you kept stroking his horns. He felt his own climax fast approaching; desperately, he squeezed his thighs together for any semblance of friction.

“You did so good, Malleus,” your thumb wiped up some of the fluid leaking from the corner of his mouth, driving him over the edge. He released into his pants, feeling the fabric soil.

Malleus let out a strangulated moan as your dick left his mouth, and you blinked. Once. Twice. Surely he hadn’t.. You gazed down at the wet spot slowly spreading across his pants and grinned. Seems your earlier question had been answered.

“Did you come untouched? What a desperate little slut,” you cooed, lifting his face to yours by grabbing his chin with your hand. At your words, for some inexplicable reason, Malleus felt his dick twitch once again.

You pressed your lips to his, tasting the salt on his tongue as he eagerly opened his mouth once again. You left him chasing after you as you hopped off the altar, grabbing his hips to prevent him grinding against you to relieve that need for friction.

“In all due time,” you murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the marks you made on his collarbones earlier. Malleus’ eyes followed your motions as you tugged off his blazer and unbuttoned his pants. You could feel the tension as you ran your fingers across his poised abdomen.

In one swift motion, you tugged down his pants, exposing his skin. Yippee. Your eyes traced his figure, noticing his gaze lingering on your hands.

“Do you want me to continue?” you asked, enunciating every word. His eyes snapped back to yours.

“Please, touch me,” he begged you. Something about his desperation lit a fire within you. Who were you to deny his wish?

“Open,” you gestured to his mouth. With a quizzical look, he complied, allowing you to place two fingers in his mouth.

“Coat them,” you grinned as he obediently sucked on your fingers. Oh, you were going to enjoy ruining him. You took your fingers out of his mouth, turning him around to face the altar using his hips.

“Bend over,” you instructed, guiding his hands with your free hand to rest on the altar. He’d most likely need the support. Malleus complied with your request, upper body tense.

“Relax, I won’t bite,” you deftly pulled down his boxers, hearing him hiss at the frigid air. You traced circles on his ass with your dry hand, before using your spit-covered fingers to tease at his entrance. “Unless you want me to.”

You heard him gasp as your fingers slid into his tight hole. The ring of muscle didn’t offer much resistance as you allowed him to grow accustomed to the feeling. A grin wormed its way onto your face as you saw the sheen of sweat on his brow. You didn’t even know fae could sweat.

Before you could ask him if he was adjusted, you felt his hips try to rock on your fingers. That wouldn’t do.

“Ah-ah,” you tutted, grabbing his hips with your free hand. “Not so fast.”

Your fingers moved agonisingly slowly inside of him, rhythmically pumping in and out so as to not allow him to release too quickly. With an absolutely devilish grin, you located that sweet spot of spongy nerves inside him, pressing it with enough pressure for him to moan uncontrollably until the very rafters of the cathedral echoed the sound back.

You didn’t allow him to climax though, pulling away everytime he was close. The sight of him, panting beneath your careful touches, made you unbelievably horny. His expression was one of desperation when he looked back at you.

“Please, fill me,” Malleus gasped out as he was once again denied release. Who were you to deny that cute face? You slipped your fingers out completely, hearing him whine at the loss. You grabbed his chin and worked at the buttons on his shirt while kissing him feverishly. Once his shirt was open, you loosened his tie completely before pulling away. You swiftly slipped your own shirt off your body, allowing Malleus to drink in the sight of your bare upper body.

“Get up onto the altar,” you breathed into his ear, feeling your self-control on the verge of snapping as he shivered from the warm air. He easily climbed onto the spacious expanse of the stone slab, with you following. Using your hand to press him down until he leaned back onto his back, you grabbed his tie. You deftly pinned his wrists above his head, tying them firmly but not reducing any of his circulation.

“What are you-” Malleus’ question was interrupted by your sweet kiss to the side of his mouth.

“Let me take care of you,” your voice was hushed as you trailed kisses across his chest, using your fingers to play with his nipples. He let out a strangled moan at the new stimulation, driving him closer and closer to the brink. Before he could use it to get off, you pulled away with that teasing smile. Damn you.

Your eyes never left his as you leaned in above him, and all he could do was shut his eyes as he felt your dick rub against his. The friction was unbearably agonising; every time he tried to buck his hips upwards, you’d laugh and push his hips back down, before kissing his chest once again.

With a final kiss, you slipped the tie off his wrists. Malleus was left blinking at this sudden change in attitude, before you entered inside of him and he swore he saw stars. His back arched at the intrusion and you greedily drank in the sight. His unrestrained moans were like a heavenly choir to your ears. He was right, the acoustics were unparalleled here.

Transfixed, you gazed at your dick entering him again and again. The sound of skin on skin, of his moans and of the wet sloshing sounds was growing too much to handle. Your eyes half-closed in the pure bliss you were beginning to approach.

Malleus’ mouth was half-open with pleasure, his mouth leaking drool. His eyes were glassy with pleasure, and you knew his time was fast approaching. Your hands deftly angled his hips so your dick would slam into his prostate dead on. With the first collision, his back arched and hole tightened around you.

White ropes of cum shot from his dick, splattering torso and your abdomen. Malleus let out a string of broken moans as he climaxed, the overstimulation from your constant well-timed thrusts causing tears to leave his eyes.

“Just a few moments longer, Malleus,” you leaned over him, supporting yourself on your forearms. His hole fluttering around your dick was slowly driving you to your climax, and that long awaited heaven was going to arrive very soon.

“Please- please don’t stop,” Malleus sobbed out, his claws scraping down your back. The pain made you hiss, but you were interrupted by the wave of pleasure soon after.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” you groaned out next to his ear. “Do you want me to breed you?”

“Please,” Malleus babbled, calling out your name; your vulgar language made his dick stiffen once again. You could feel him beneath you, and your hazy mind registered this with a great deal of surprise. Maybe fae refractory periods were a lot shorter? Regardless, this was something you could definitely work with.

The obscene sounds below you were doing a number on you. Your mind creeped towards that blissful, all-consuming state.

“Please come in me,” Malleus’ words, coupled with your name being moaned out, drove you over the edge. Your mind hazed over as his insides were splattered white. The sensation of your warm fluids inside him drove him to his own climax, and he bit down onto your shoulder.

The sharp tang of your blood and the salt of your sweat made his dick twitch, before releasing more ropes of cum. His moans were mixed with incoherent babbling and praises, which only added to your blissful state. You were only distantly aware of the throbbing pain in your shoulder, which also quickly gave way to an overwhelming pleasure.

Your hips came to a slow stop. Malleus’ hands grasped the nape of your neck and he pulled you in for a heated, sloppy kiss, still rocking his hips on your overstimulated dick, milking you for all you were worth.

“Fuck, Malleus,” you moaned into his mouth as he greedily kept the friction going. Your mind felt as if it were about to break from the pleasure, though you could last a while longer if he still wanted to keep going. You moved your mouth to his horns, licking a strip at the base using the flat of your tongue while he kept rolling his hips.

The obscene moans he was releasing echoed around the stone ruins. You feverishly worked to absolutely reduce him to a mess as you suckled on one of his horns and used your hand to pump up and down for the other one.

You could feel his back arch and his hips stutter to a halt as he came for the fourth and final time. Hot rivulets of cum streamed from his abdomen and pelvis, and down your legs. He wore an absolutely fucked-out expression, with tears streaming from his eyes, swollen lips, and flushed cheeks. His normally sleek hair stuck to his face, strands coated in sweat. You noticed the dried blood, most likely your own, remaining on his fangs as his mouth was parted.

You were sure your expression was also one of fucked-out bliss. You didn’t want to pull out just yet, so you admired his beautiful face as he slowly opened his eyes.

“You were so good for me,” you murmured, using a finger to trace patterns around his nipples and chest. He gently grasped your wrist with a shaky hand and pressed a little kiss to your inner wrist.

“I’m going to pull out,” you whispered to him, rocking back. The friction caused Malleus to let out another moan, and you wished for nothing more than to hear his sounds forever.

Agonisingly slow. That’s the pace in which you moved your hips outward, so you could observe the cum gush out of him. You could only hear heavy panting and breathy moans leave Malleus as your dick slowly exited.

You looked on in ecstasy as you finally exited him completely and a thick, steady stream of cum left his hole. Malleus whined at the loss of your dick filling him up. Almost involuntarily, your fingers scooped up some of the mingling fluids, his and yours, and held them out to his mouth. You almost moaned with how eagerly he lapped up the juices off your fingers.

You slowly made your way off the altar, wincing at the rush of cold air against your bare skin. Picking up the discarded clothes, you were transfixed by the sight of Malleus gazing at you ever so tenderly.

“You were beautiful,” Malleus reached out for your hand, shivering as you took it. Wordlessly, you kissed each of his fingers, then the back of his hand, with his eyes on you the whole time. You could say the same about him, with his pale skin dappled with the radiance of the stained glass, glossed with the sheen of sweat.

“Let’s get cleaned up, shall we?” you helped him sit up and slide down the altar, mourning the soiled altar cloth. A flurry of fireflies is all that remained in the ruins of the cathedral, and even then, they slowly winked out of sight.

The bath at Diasomnia was already drawn for the two of you. How Malleus managed it was beyond you, though it was probably his magic. Regardless, it was a relatively straightforward clean-up.

Tomorrow, when he goes to his lessons, he’ll walk with a slight limp. No one will be any the wiser, save those who notice his carefully ironed collar conceals odd bruising marks.