#woven lace fic

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[winterarmyy]

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation. 

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence. 

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family. 

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time. 

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile. 

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.” 

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her. 

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed. 

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs. 

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart. 

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core. 

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?” 

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied,  “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again. 

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure. 

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue. 

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything. 

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction. 

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them. 

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar. 

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

[hoe4hotchner]

Ink | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, I mentioned haley once WC: 0.9k Summary: Hotch has tattoos

@lavenderspence my beloved, here's the tattooed hotch fic ����

           You stirred from your slumber, groggy and warm, wrapped up in the sheets as the morning sun filtered softly through the curtains. The familiar rustle of fabric and the quiet creak of the floorboards made you aware that Aaron had gotten out of bed and was getting ready for work. Through heavy eyelids, you saw him standing by the dresser, his broad back to you as he slipped his shirt over his shoulders. Your gaze lingered on the arm that had yet to disappear into his sleeve, taking in the sight of the black outlines covering it from wrist to shoulder.

           The ink swirled in intricate, detailed designs, tribal patterns that blended into abstract shapes and pictures, and hidden among them were symbols that meant something so profoundly personal to him. It was a side of him that still felt like a secret between the two of you, something he kept tucked away beneath the sharp, professional exterior of his suits.

           A soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. No one at the BAU, except perhaps Rossi, had any idea of this hidden layer to Aaron Hotchner - the loving, soft man who hid beautiful art that told the story of him under his perfectly tailored attire.

           You shifted under the sheets, drawing his attention as you yawned and stretched. “Morning,” you murmured, your voice was thick with sleep but laced with affection.

           Aaron turned, his lips curving into a gentle smile as his eyes met yours. He was already nearly dressed, his pants on, tie draped around his neck, but the buttons of his shirt remained undone. He moved with the same grace and composure you’d come to love - always so calm and collected, yet with you, there was an undercurrent of warmth.

           “Good morning,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

           You shook your head, sitting up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows. “No. Just woke up to a nice view,” you teased, your eyes dipping to the few parts of ink on his arm still exposed.

           He chuckled softly, a low sound that rumbled in his chest as he stepped closer to the bed. “The view, huh?” His tone was playful, his eyebrow slightly raised.

           Your fingers reached for his arm, gently brushing over the designs. You traced the lines of one of the patterns, something abstract and fluid, before shifting to the more personal details - the initials of Jack woven into the design, a small symbol from his days as a prosecutor, and something you knew was tied to Haley, but never dared to ask about, it was a reminder of his past.

           "I still can't believe you hide all this every day," you murmured, your fingers following the art up to his forearm.

           His smile softened, a glimmer of something fond in his eyes. "Not exactly professional to show up with tattoos on full display at a federal agency," he replied, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

           "Yeah, because Morgan doesn't do that every day," you teased, rolling your eyes, and then smiled more softly. "But I love that this part of you is mine to see," you whispered, your hand now resting on the inside of his forearm. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you felt the steady pulse of his heartbeat there.

           He watched you for a moment, there was something tender and unguarded in his expression, and then he leaned down, bracing his hands on the bed on either side of you. "You like the tattoos?" he asked softly, his lips close to yours.

           You nodded, your breath catching slightly as his proximity made your heart race. “I love them. It’s such a contrast to the Aaron Hotchner everyone knows at the BAU.”

           His gaze flickered down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I like that you get to see all of me,” he admitted, his voice lower now, rougher, as if confessing something vulnerable.

           You smiled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of his hair back. "And I can't wait to see more when you come home," you murmured, your voice teasing but sincere.

           Aaron smirked, leaning in to brush his lips lightly against yours, a fleeting kiss that left you wanting more. “I’ll show you as much as you want,” he whispered against your lips before pulling back slightly, his breath warm on your skin.

           “Promise?” you asked softly, your fingers trailing down the front of his shirt, still unbuttoned, leaving a trail of warmth where they touched.

           He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing for a brief second as he took in the moment. “Promise," he said, his voice soft but full of intent.

           Reluctantly, Aaron pulled away, straightening up as he finished buttoning his shirt, hiding the tattoos once more. You watched as the last bit of ink vanished beneath the crisp, white fabric, a small part of you already missing the sight.

           He reached for his tie, looping it around his neck with ease as you propped yourself up further on the bed, watching him with a mixture of admiration and affection. He caught your gaze in the mirror, smirking slightly at your look of longing.

           "Don’t worry," he said as he tucked the end of his tie into place, "Tonight, I’ll make it up to you.”

           You grinned, biting your lip. "You better."

           With a soft laugh, Aaron grabbed his jacket, leaning down for one last kiss before he headed to work. It was slow and lingering, a promise in itself that he’d be back later tonight.

           As the door closed behind him, you flopped back into the pillows, already counting down the hours until he returned. Because tonight, the suit would come off, and his ink would be on full display, and all of him would be yours once more.

[forest-hashira]

Bunnies & Bite Marks

i was able to hop onto @lorelune's spring fever a/b/o event super last minute last night, so this is my entry for that! (technically i did finish this fic before midnight but i didn't have the energy to format it then, so it's going up now, haha). i apologize in advance bc this is definitely the filthiest thing i've ever written. i don't know where most of this came from (i think the boys possessed me and ghostwrote it tbh). i was enabled by aleks to put this on paper, so... thank him lol

read on ao3 here | wc: ~8.1k | cw: a/b/o dynamics/omegaverse, hybrid au (fox geto, bunny reader, bunny gojo), gn afab!reader (afab anatomy terms used), alpha geto, omega reader, omega gojo, established stsg, oral sex (reader receiving), threesome, multiple orgasms, knotting, biting/claiming, mating bonds, intersex omega (gojo has a penis & a vagina), unprotected sex, creampies, gojo has a praise kink & a degradation kink, a little bit of voyeurism, multiple discussions of consent, i'm pretty sure that's everything! 18+ only, ageless/blank blogs & minors dni.

You were still trying to figure out how you’d ended up in this situation.

Growing up, your parents had warned you countless times about Big Bad Wolves, told you to watch out for their pointed lies and pointier teeth, but they’d never warned you about foxes and their silver tongues.

Now that you thought about it, your parents were probably being more metaphoric than you thought as a child, but it was a little late to come to that realization, seeing as you were already underneath a particularly sly fox and completely at his mercy.

But how were you supposed to not trust him, not fall for him? His dark eyes were so kind, his little smile so warm… and he’d had another bunny hanging off of him, inviting you to spend time with them, to get to know them. And somehow in just a few short months, you were coaxed into bed by that same welcoming bunny and kind fox.

A small tug at your ear brought you back to the present, and you blinked, looking up into those dark eyes, now a few shades darker with desire – hunger, your instincts told you, making your heart pound even faster in your ribcage.

“Where’d you go, little one? You left us for a second there.” Suguru’s voice was low and rumbling, but you could hear the genuine concern woven in with the lust that laced his tone.

“They zoned out because you’re taking so damn long,” Satoru retorted from behind you before you had a chance to say anything. He hugged you a bit closer to his chest, trailing his lips across your cheek as he murmured, “Maybe we’ll just have to start without him, hm? Who needs an alpha, anyways? They're just knotheads, after all.”

Despite his bravado, you could feel the way your fellow bunny’s heart rate picked up as you both watched Suguru for his reaction.

To his credit, Suguru’s composure was nearly unshakeable; the only outward reaction to Satoru’s half-threat was a slight twitch of one of his elegant black fox ears, and he cocked his head slightly. “Is that so?” he questioned, then looked away from Satoru to focus on you. “You can believe him if you want, little one, because I know you’ve never been with an alpha before, but you should know he doesn’t even believe that himself. You should hear the way he begs for my knot like a cheap whore, even when he’s not in heat.”

Satoru shuddered behind you, and a soft puff of air ghosted across your skin as his grip tightened further around your waist. You’d known he was aroused before he held you so tight, but now it was undeniable, his hard cock pressed against your back, and the size of it made you jump slightly; if he was that big as an omega, then what the fuck was Suguru hiding in his pants? You shuddered at the thought, and you couldn’t stop the hint of fear that tinged your scent.

Both men stopped then, detecting the change in your scent. They exchanged a glance, and Suguru’s entire demeanor softened as he spoke again, lowering himself so he no longer towered over you where you sat on the bed with Satoru. “Do you want to stop?” he asked quietly, tilting his head slightly. “We don’t have to go through with this if you’re not comfortable.”

“We won’t be upset,” Satoru added, lightly rubbing his thumb back and forth across your stomach in an attempt to soothe you. “If you’re not enjoying yourself, we’ll stop. Your comfort and pleasure are really important to us.” 

Though you knew they were expecting an answer, you could tell they would be patient with you, even if it took you hours to decide one way or the other. You hesitated, taking a few moments to really examine how you were feeling, both physically and emotionally. The fear you felt was undeniable, but it was strongly rivaled by your desire, your prey instincts warring with your human wants. 

And really, you knew you were safe with them, even if Suguru was a predator. His self control was stronger than anyone else you’d ever met, and even if he somehow did lose control of himself and begin to succumb to his instincts, you were certain Satoru would do everything he could to protect you; he was stubborn and aggressive, especially for an omega, and a prey animal hybrid on top of that. 

Feeling comforted by that knowledge, you once again met the alpha’s gaze. “I want this,” you confirmed. “I want you – both of you.” 

Almost before the words were fully out of your mouth, the smell of arousal grew thick in the air, so heavy it should have choked you, but really you couldn’t get enough of it. Suguru’s was more potent, but it just made his scent a little smokier. Satoru’s, on the other hand, was sharp, a burst of cinnamon against the syrupy sweetness of his usual scent. Everything combined was so heady, so overwhelming in the best way possible, that your eyes fluttered shut, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning out loud.

“Ah-ah, none of that,” Suguru chided, reaching up and squishing your cheeks together slightly until your bottom lip was no longer caught between your teeth. 

Your eyes opened again at the touch, your pupils blown wide as you gazed down at the alpha in front of you.

“We want to hear you, little one. How else are we supposed to know if we’re making you feel good?”

“Sugu likes it noisy,” Satoru added, leaning in to whisper in your ear. He trailed one hand down your stomach to your thigh, rubbing little circles on the soft flesh of your inner thigh with his thumb as he spoke. “You’ll see soon enough, but he’s a talker… loves when I talk, too. Loves when he fucks me dumb and all I can do is moan and whine and whimper, all because of him…”

Though the other bunny was speaking to you, both of you had your eyes locked on the fox, all of you waiting for someone else to move first. Your heart pounded in time with Satoru’s, your bodies finding an odd, instinctual sort of comfort in each other; two prey hybrids against one predator.

Said predator’s gaze was still locked on yours, his lips curling into a hungry smirk, now that he knew that you wanted him – wanted them – just as bad as they wanted you. He shrugged slightly at Satoru’s words, and he pushed himself up from where he’d knelt on the floor in front of you, once again towering over you. 

“Since you were so quick to insist that you didn’t need me,” he cooed, taking a step back from the bed. “Why don’t you two get started, hm? Get them ready for me, pretty boy.”

Before you even had time to fully process the alpha’s words, Satoru was moaning in your ear, then practically dragging you further up the bed with him. 

A rather undignified squeak of surprise escaped you at the movement, but you were too taken aback to try and fight it at all. Next thing you knew, you were on your back, staring up at Satoru with wide eyes. 

“You ready?” he asked, eyes glinting as he stared down at you.

“I, uh… ready for what, exactly?” You felt your cheeks burn with both arousal and embarrassment, your brain already feeling a little unfocused, and they hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Sex, duh,” he replied, but he couldn’t quite stifle the giggle that accompanied his words. The sound helped relax you a bit, and you smiled up at him.

“I’m pretty sure we’re wearing too many clothes to have sex,” you told him, a soft laugh escaping you, and he grinned, winking playfully at you.

“That we are, little bunny,” he agreed, tugging lightly on your ear. “But I’m gonna take care of that right now, don’t you worry.”

You wrinkled your nose at him, and it twitched a bit, the movement involuntary. Pulling your ear from his hold, you frowned up at him. “You’re a bunny too, y’know.”

“Ah, yes, good catch! I, however, am not small, in any sense of the word. So you’re my little bunny.” His smile sharpened into a smirk, and the sight, combined with the implications of his words and the outline of cock that had been pressed against you mere moments before, had heat stirring in your belly. 

When you offered no further comments of protests, Satoru got to work ridding you of your clothes, so quickly you were worried he might tear them in his haste to have you naked beneath him. By the time he reached your bra, though, you batted his hands away.

“I’ll do this part, if you ruin this I’ll be very upset with you.” The bra wasn’t anything especially fancy, but you still took care of it as best you could, because you liked the way it made you look. “Besides,” you added, reaching around to undo the clasps. “Don’t you also have to be naked for us to have sex?”

Satoru pulled his shirt over his head as you spoke, and he huffed quietly when it got stuck on his ears for a moment. He smirked at you again afterwards, though. “Hmm, not necessarily, no. But I’ll be nice and get naked anyways.”

You rolled your eyes at his words as you tossed your bra off to the side, presumably in the direction all your other clothes had ended up. As you settled back against the pillows, you went to cross your arms over your chest out of habit, but stopped when you caught Suguru staring at you. He said nothing, but his meaning was clear: there would be no hiding from either of them tonight, or ever. You were theirs now.

In just a few seconds, though, your view of the fox was interrupted by your fellow bunny, who looked like he was ready to go all night with you and completely ignore his partner sitting in the chair across the room. “Lay back and spread your legs for me,” he encouraged. “I’m dying to taste that pretty little pussy of yours.”

His words came as a shock, and you felt your face burning all over again. “You don’t, uh. I mean, you don’t have to do that. Really.” You pressed your knees together as you spoke, unsure how to proceed. None of your former partners had ever expressed interest in going down on you, so you weren’t sure if Satoru felt obligated to do this, or what, but you didn’t expect him to frown at you.

“I know I don’t have to,” he confirmed. “But I want to. Like I really want to, if you’re comfortable with that.”

All you could do for a few long moments was stare at him, as if waiting for him to laugh at any second, for him to tease you for falling for such a silly prank, but he never did. His eyes were focused on your face, though they were now more black than blue because of how dilated they were.

“You can tell him no, little one,” Suguru assured from his seat across the room. “You’re calling the shots here. If you say no, it doesn’t happen.”

Once again comforted by his words – and baffled that you had so much control over this situation – you let out a soft, trembling breath, before looking back to Satoru. “If you really want to…” you agreed quietly, hesitating a moment longer before you complied with his earlier request, leaning back against the pillows and spreading your legs.

“I really do,” Satoru confirmed yet again, and as you spread your legs, his gaze instantly dropped to his prize. He was quick to settle down on his stomach, wrapping his arms around your thighs once he was eye-level with your cunt. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re dripping for us already.” He sounded almost in awe of you and your body as he spoke, and if his hold on your thighs had been any less sure, you would have slammed your legs shut again. As it was, you squirmed uselessly in his hold, face burning in embarrassment.

“Stop staring,” you whined, hoping you didn’t sound as flustered as you felt. “If you’re gonna use your mouth on me then get started already.” The attempted scowl on your face vanished as he bit down on the plush of your thigh, and you yelped. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Isn’t it?”

“Satoru,” Suguru chastised, and both of you froze at his tone. “Don’t be mean to them. Do what you promised, or I’ll have to punish you.”

Satoru’s ears dropped at the mention of a possible punishment, and he nodded slightly. “Yes, alpha,” he said, then pressed a gentle kiss to the spot he had bitten. “Sorry, little bunny,” he apologized quietly, holding your gaze as he spoke.

Still feeling a little baffled by how quickly Satoru had obeyed Suguru, you simply nodded your forgiveness.

He seemed to relax a bit then, and he dropped his gaze once again. His intense focus on such an intimate part of you had you feeling beyond flustered, so you leaned your head back into the pillows, staring intensely at the ceiling. You could feel his hot breath against your slick soaked skin, and you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what he was waiting for.

“It’s not very polite not to look at someone when they’re pleasuring you, little one.” Suguru’s voice had a teasing lilt to it, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely kidding.

Is that seriously what’s stopping him? you thought to yourself, but you didn’t say the words out loud. Instead, you replied, in a voice much smaller than you expected, “I can’t look at him.”

“Why not? Is something wrong?”

“No? I-I don’t… I don’t know,” you stammered. “Nobody’s ever gone down on me before. I can’t look at him while he does it.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

“Can you look at me instead?”

That caught your attention. You lifted your head from the pillow once again, though this time you focused on the alpha across the room, rather than the omega between your legs. This is manageable.

“Hmm, there you are,” the fox hummed, giving you an encouraging smile. “Better?”

“Much,” you agreed quietly, and you were surprised to find that meeting his gaze was exactly the thing you needed to ground you.

“Good, I’m glad. You can start now, Satoru.”

The first swipe of his tongue up your folds had your whole body trying to jerk away from the touch, though the movement was involuntary. It didn’t feel bad – in fact it felt good, really good, as he pressed in closer, his tongue exploring places even your fingers had rarely touched. When he moaned against you, your head dropped backwards at the intensity of the feeling.

“Ah ah, little one.”

Suguru’s voice had Satoru stopping his movements, despite the fact that he wasn’t the one being spoken to. You whined pathetically as his tongue pulled away from you, and you couldn’t help but pout.

“Eyes on me,” Suguru continued, the words clearly directed at you, “or you don’t get to cum yet.”

Instantly your head shot up, and you stared at the alpha wide-eyed, breathing a little heavier than you had been before.

His expression was smug once you met his gaze, and even if you hadn’t been able to see his smirk, you would’ve been able to hear it in his voice. “Very good,” he praised.

With the confirmation that you were doing as you were told, Satoru was quick to get back to work, moaning into your skin as he licked up your slick. Some part of your brain was insisting that no omega should enjoy the taste of another omega’s slick, but Satoru had never been what an omega should be, so you shoved the thought aside.

Just as you pushed the thought from your mind, the bunny between your legs wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked. It felt as if all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and your thighs clenched around his head, though that only made him moan louder into you.

Somehow, you managed to keep your eyes open and locked on Suguru, even if your vision was a little fuzzy around the edges. When he spoke to you again, though, it took a bit more focus to really hear him.

“You can touch him, you know.”

“Wh— oh my god — what do you mean?”

A small chuckle escaped him, and he tilted his head slightly as he gazed at you. “You can touch Satoru, if you want to. You won’t get in trouble, or anything like that. In fact,” he glanced down at the other bunny’s fluffy white head, “I can confidently say he wants you to touch him. Isn’t that right, pretty boy?”

“Please,” Satoru whimpered, barely pulling away from your cunt long enough to speak, and he was quick to dive back in, this time working his tongue into you.

You weren’t sure what the noise you made was, but you didn’t really care; all you could focus on was the feeling of his hot, wet tongue working you open. Without even thinking about it, your hands flew from the bedsheets to his hair, tangling the strands between your fingers and pulling, much harder than you’d intended to. There was no room for you to even attempt an apology, though, because the sensation had him moaning louder than before, and he rutted his hips down into the mattress.

“Told you,” Suguru chuckled, but neither of you really heard him, too lost in the way Satoru had his mouth on you, licking up your slick like he’d die without it.

When the other omega pulled his mouth away from you, you whimpered, dropping your gaze from Suguru’s to Satoru’s. Before you could form any sort of complaint, though, you watched as he released his hold on one of your thighs and pushed one of his long fingers into you.

Your brain short circuited at the sight, and you let out a strangled moan, unable to tear your eyes away from his hand. He worked you open carefully, first with one finger, then with two, and before you knew it he was curling three fingers into your sweet spot, the pleasure of it so intense you were nearly cross eyed, especially with the way he was still sucking on your clit. 

“I told you to get them ready for me, didn’t I, pretty boy?”

“Yes,” Satoru answered instantly, the word muffled against your skin; the vibrations of it had you moaning quietly.

“And do you think your fingers are going to be enough for that?” His voice was a little darker than before. Not scary or overtly predatory, just… more intense, more focused; hungrier.

“N-no, alpha,” Satoru panted, thrusting his fingers faster, panting heavily into your pussy. “Want to taste them first, please? Wanna make them cum all over my face…”

There was a pause, somewhat tense as both you and your fellow bunny waited for the fox’s answer.

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” he practically purred. “Go ahead, Satoru. Make a mess out of them.”

That was all the permission Satoru needed. He latched onto your clit once again, alternating between sucking and tracing patterns against it with his tongue, his fingers abusing your sweet spot until you were seeing stars.

You barely recognized the scream that tore its way out of you as your own voice, too busy thrashing in his hold, thighs clamping down around his head once again. You gushed slick everywhere – all over his fingers, all over his mouth, all over the sheets – until everything was wet and almost sticky with it. 

Though you had no memory of closing your eyes, it wasn’t long before you heard Suguru’s voice, now much closer than before, gently calling your name, asking you to open your eyes for him. Eventually you managed to comply, slowly fluttering your eyes open to look up at the fox.

“There you are,” Suguru praised quietly. “Pretty boy really did a number on you, huh?” He brushed your hair out of your eyes as he spoke, and you weren’t really sure if he expected you to answer him or not. You stayed silent, more focused on catching your breath and coming down from the most mind blowing orgasm of your life, and your silence didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“What about you, pretty boy. How’re you feeling?” You managed to follow the alpha’s gaze – albeit a bit sluggishly – as he turned his attention from you to the other omega, and what you saw had your face burning all over again.

The lower half of Satoru’s face was absolutely drenched in your slick, and you could see how it was beginning to run down his chin and jaw to his neck. His hand wasn’t any better off, either: there was slick coating him well past his wrist. You were mildly horrified that you’d done that to him, but it was clear by the look on his face that he was thrilled that you’d made such a mess of him. “Feelin’ really good,” he answered, a dopey grin on his face as he sat up. The bunny leaned over you a bit then, getting as close to the fox as he could without actually moving from his spot kneeling between your legs. “Wanna taste?”

Suguru smirked slightly at Satoru’s question. “Of course I do,” he replied. Then, he reached out, lightly threading his fingers through the hair on the back of Satoru’s head, pulling him into a messy, heated kiss; a kiss that he absolutely dominated, without any sort of protest from the other man.

As you watched them, still somewhat dazed, you realized that, at some point between getting up from his seat across the room and joining the two of you on the bed, Suguru had stripped himself of his clothes, leaving him just as bare as the two bunnies waiting for him. There was a part of you insisting on looking down, on getting a good look at his cock while you could, but you were too caught up watching the two men kiss.

Some time later – minutes or hours, you weren’t sure – they broke apart, both of them panting against each other. “Delicious,” Suguru murmured after a moment, licking the last vestiges of your slick from around his mouth. “I’ll have to get a taste first hand next time, but for now, pretty boy, you need to finish preparing them for me.”

Satoru nodded obediently, though a soft squeak escaped him as the other man reached around and tugged lightly on his tail, just to tease him a bit. The bunny huffed indignantly, but the effect of his reaction was lost when you saw that his pupils were still blown wide and his eyes were still slightly glassy as he focused on you.

“You ready for more?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at you. “Or do you need more time to catch your breath?” As he spoke, he reached down and began to stroke himself with the hand still coated with your slick, his breath stuttering a bit at the touch.

Thankfully you had managed to catch your breath by this point, and you nodded dumbly for a moment. “Yeah, I’m ready,” you confirmed, sounding more steady than you had expected, given your brain was still catching up to your body. 

“Thank god,” Satoru sighed, then shuffled into a better position, hovering over you and propping himself up on the hand not currently occupied. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, his voice gentle and sweet. 

You nodded again, trusting him to keep his word, and spread your legs a bit wider to better accommodate him. A gasp flew from your lips as he lined up with your entrance and slowly began to push forward. You’d known he wasn’t small, but feeling the outline of his cock against your back was not the same thing as feeling it pushing its way into your body. Your hands shot up to his shoulders, nails digging into the pale skin there as he slowly filled you, inch by impossible inch. 

When you felt his hips finally meet yours, you both let out a shaky moan, and he dropped his forehead to yours for a moment, now propping himself up on his elbows so he wasn’t fully crushing you into the bed.

“Can I have a kiss?” he asked quietly after a few moments, and the question caught you a bit off guard, especially since he seemed a little nervous to ask.

Pushing on his chest a bit so you could get a proper look at him, you scanned his face to figure out what, exactly, his goal was, but all you found in his expression was earnestness and hope, and the tiniest hint of worry. “...Yeah,” you agreed after a moment. “Yeah, you can have a kiss.”

The little grin that tugged at his lips was more adorable than it had any right to be while he was buried balls deep in you, but you found yourself smiling back anyways, allowing your eyes to slip shut for a moment as your lips made contact.

Though the kiss started as a soft, chaste press of lips, it quickly devolved into deep, sloppy kisses, barely enough time to breathe in between each kiss. Your ability to breathe was well and truly stolen for a moment as Satoru began to move, gently rocking his hips up into you at first, then eventually beginning to properly thrush, pulling out a bit before pushing back into you again.

Each movement had you panting and moaning beneath him, one hand still gripping his shoulder as the other trailed up his neck to tangle in his hair. “Ho— o-oohhh — h-how is this preparing me for Suguru?” you asked, doing your best to focus on the omega above you, despite how good he was making you feel.

“He’s bigger than I am,” Satoru answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He noticed the way you tensed slightly and shuddered at his words, and he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay,” he soothed, and you could hear a quiet purr rumbling in his chest as he spoke. “That’s what this is for, ‘kay? I keep making you feel good, make sure you’re nice and ready for our alpha when it’s his turn.”

Apparently still able to scent your apprehension, the bunny pressed a few more soft kisses down the side of your face, still purring quietly all the while. “It’s ok if you don’t think you can take him,” he murmured. “If you need to tap out after me, that won’t hurt his feelings. He’s gonna fuck me either way. After you and I are done you can participate as much or as little as you’d like, little bunny. Whatever you say, goes.”

Something about the tenderness underlying his words, and the sweet way he called you “little bunny” had you practically melting beneath him. “Okay,” you murmured, turning your head to catch his lip in another soft kiss, letting the touch linger longer than was strictly necessary, simply enjoying the intimacy while you could.

“Satoru?”

“Yes, bunny?”

“I appreciate how gentle you’re being with me right now, but my guess is Suguru won’t be as gentle.”

A small laugh escaped him, and he shook his head slightly. “You’re right,” he confirmed.

“Then I really think it’ll be better for all of us if you stop moving like you think you’ll break me and just fuck me.” Even as you spoke the words aloud, you felt flustered, but Satoru just smirked.

“Your wish is my command.”

He shifted his position slightly, guiding your legs up to wrap around his waist. Once he was confident you were settled, he started moving again. The sharp shift in the way he was fucking you was enough to make you yelp, though the sound dissolved into an unabashed moan, your grip on him tightening everywhere, desperate not to get jostled away from him.

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to feel another orgasm building, but you were powerless to do anything but hold on for the ride and moan the omega’s name as he brought you to new levels of ecstasy.

Satoru’s pace faltered a few moments later, his hips stuttering to a stop as he gasped. You whined softly, but shifted until you could look over his shoulder to see what had happened.

Suguru was kneeling on the bed behind Satoru, a hint of a smirk on his face as he gazed down at you. “Please,” he said evenly. “Don’t stop on my behalf. It’s absolutely delicious to watch.”

When Satoru shivered and moaned loudly in your ear, you looked down from the alpha’s face, not entirely unsurprised to see he was currently fucking Satoru’s pussy with his fingers.

“Awe,” Suguru taunted. “Is this too much for you, pretty boy? Do you need me to stop?”

“No!” Satoru answered immediately. “N-no, feels good… wan’ more, please, alpha?”

The fox seemed to consider for a moment, his ears and tail twitching in sync, before he came to a decision. He withdrew his fingers and landed a solid smack to the omega’s ass. “Make our little one cum first.”

“Yes, alpha.” 

Clearly not wanting to disappoint Suguru, your fellow bunny resumed his relentless pace from before, hips stuttering a bit as Satoru began to fuck him with his fingers again, but he didn’t stop this time, and was easily able to regain his rhythm. 

Ever a quick study, it wasn’t long until Satoru found your sweet spot, and once he found it, he adjusted his hips to make sure he nailed it with every thrust. He nibbled and sucked at your neck as you whimpered and writhed beneath him, thighs beginning to tremble where they were locked around his waist.

“You gettin’ close, little bunny?” he asked breathlessly, barely biting back a moan of his own as he waited for your answer.

“Uh-huh,” you whined, tilting your head to grant him further access to your neck. “Need more, ‘Toru, please…”

“I got you,” he promised. One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his palm resting on your lower belly as he reached down with his thumb, rubbing slow circles on your clit, the pace of his thumb a stark contrast to the pace of his hips.

“Cum for us, little one,” Suguru encouraged from above.

That was all it took. You wailed as you tipped over the edge into pure bliss again, your vision whiting out for a few moments as you shook almost violently in the throes of pleasure. Satoru was still rock hard inside you when you came back to yourself, though his thumb was – thankfully – no longer on your clit. His movements were more subtle now, more of a rocking motion as he moved back and forth into the wet heat of your cunt and the welcome intrusion of Suguru’s fingers.

“Please,” he whimpered, looking over his shoulder at the alpha. “Please, wanna cum, need to cum, please…”

“Shh,” the fox soothed. “No need to beg this time, pretty boy. You’ve done very well.”

The bunny whined at the praise, blush instantly coloring his cheeks as he rocked back onto the fingers in his cunt.

“Want you to cum inside them, yeah? Get them nice and wet for me…”

Satoru moaned the loudest he had all night at the command, and he nodded, moving his hips with purpose again now, though his movements were a bit uncoordinated. That didn’t matter, though, because soon enough he was pressing his full length into you one last time before spilling into you, simultaneously gushing slick over Suguru’s hand.

The sudden warmth filling you made a shiver run down your spine, and you moaned quietly at the feeling; it was much more pleasant than you would’ve expected. You were a bit surprised Satoru didn’t fully collapse on top of you then, but when you felt a larger, more calloused set of hands gently unwrapping your legs from around the other bunny’s waist, you realized it most likely because Suguru was planning to move him out of the way.

Your theory was proven right when, rather than falling down on top of you, Satoru flopped onto his back beside you on the bed, breathing heavily and staring almost unseeing at the ceiling. A moment later, a curtain of dark hair encroached on your vision, and you turned to look up at Suguru.

His narrow eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled down at you. “Feeling alright, little one?” he asked gently, ghosting his fingers along the hickies Satoru had left down one side of your neck.

You hummed softly, giving him a slight nod, lashes fluttering and goosebumps raising your skin at the featherlight touch of his fingers on your throat.

“Good, I’m glad. How about a little breather, hm? Pretty boy over here will get all pouty if I don’t pay attention to him, too.” Though his words teasing in nature, almost taunting, the affection in the alpha’s voice was unmistakable.

His comment made you giggle softly, and you nodded. “Breather sounds nice,” you agreed. “I just get to lay here and relax?”

“Yeah, just relax,” he confirmed. “Roll over for me, I’ll help you get comfortable.”

You did as you were asked, flipping over so you now laid on your stomach, rather than your back. You jumped slightly as you felt him lift your hips with one hand, but quickly mellowed out when you realized he was just sliding a pillow under you.

“Comfy?”

“Very,” you hummed, unable to stop the purr that began to vibrate in your throat. “Go get him off before he starts whining.” You gestured in Satoru’s direction, eyes half closed as you allowed yourself to really relax.

That made Suguru laugh softly, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek before moving over to the other bunny, who seemed to be more coherent now, given that he looked displeased, and his bottom lip was jutted out.

“I don’t get whiny, and I don’t pout,” Satoru insisted.

“You’re pouting right now, pretty boy,” Suguru teased, smiling down at him.

Satoru said nothing, just huffed and looked away from the alpha above him. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Ah, but you like when I’m mean to you.”

“In bed.”

“Yes, pretty boy, I know. Only in bed.” Suguru began to press soft kisses down Satoru’s body then, pausing at his chest to take one of the omega’s pretty pink nipples between his teeth and tug lightly. 

Satoru squeaked at the feeling, body jerking and gracelessly trying to swat the alpha in retaliation. “No fair! You promised you wouldn’t use teeth on them anymore.”

“Sorry,” Suguru apologized, not looking particularly sorry at all. “Won’t happen again.”

As they bantered back and forth, their affection for each other rolling off of them in waves, you watched silently from the sidelines, a soft, if slightly sad, smile on your face. Though you’d been in relationships before, you’d never had anything like what the two of them had, either romantically or platonically. Not until you’d met them, anyways.

They had always been so sweet to you, welcoming you into their world so quickly. You knew they never needed to pretend to be anything they weren’t when they were together, and the more time you spent with them, the less you felt like you had to pretend around them, too. It was nice to have people you trusted so much, and who trusted you the same; to love someone and have them love you in return.

Because really, you did love them, and you’d told them that before, more than once. It was a sentiment you knew they returned – they’d said it to you more than enough times for you to believe them – but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized that the line between romance and friendship with them had long since blurred, and that began to weigh on you.

Do I want what they have, or do I want… them?

Almost as soon as the thought crossed your mind, you shoved it aside; now was certainly not the time to be unpacking all of that.

You were quickly pulled back into the moment and out of your thoughts when you heard Suguru say your name. Only, he wasn’t talking to you, but about you, as he ground his hips into Satoru’s, buried to the hilt in the omega’s pussy. It took you a moment to realize what he was talking about, but eventually you realized he was talking about… biting you.

“They’d look so pretty with my mark on their neck, don’t you think, pretty boy? Let everyone know who they really belong to, who loves them more than anyone else.”

Satoru whined, though the sound wasn’t entirely pleasurable. “You said you’d bite me first,” he replied, voice quiet and smaller than you were used to hearing. “You promised, promised I’d be first, even when we fell for them. You promised.”

The pain that laced the edge of Satoru’s words nearly broke your heart, and before Suguru had a chance to say anything, you decided to cut in.

“Bite him first,” you said quietly, meeting the fox’s dark, steady gaze. “Keep your promise, bite him first. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes flashed at your words, and an almost hopeful look crossed his face, before he looked back down at Satoru. “You heard them, pretty boy. They’re not going anywhere.”

The bunny smiled at the news, letting out a little chirp – the single most adorable sound you’d ever heard him make – at the news, though soon enough he was gasping and moaning again as the fox fucked him a little harder, kissing and sucking down his throat and pumping his cock in time with his thrusts.

“F-Fuck, alpha, gonna cum,” he whined, bucking his hips up into Suguru’s fist.

“Cum for me, pretty boy,” Suguru cooed. “Cum for me and I’ll bite you.”

The words had barely left the alpha’s mouth before Satoru was crying out, writhing and bucking his hips as he spilled over Suguru’s hand, coating his fingers in white.

At that same moment, Suguru fulfilled his promise, biting down hard on the curve of the bunny’s throat, sinking his teeth into the scent gland there and thoroughly claiming Satoru as his. Satoru tensed as he was bitten, but it was only for a split second before he went completely boneless beneath the alpha, whining and babbling his name until the alpha released his hold on his neck.

“Look at you, pretty boy,” Suguru murmured affectionately. “Even prettier now that you’re mine…”

Satoru’s answering hum quickly morphed into a whine of protest as Suguru pulled out, still rock hard and covered in the other man’s slick; he hadn’t knotted Satoru, which struck you as odd.

“It’s ok, baby,” Suguru rushed to soothe him, brushing the hair from his forehead and pressing a soft kiss to the sweaty skin there. “I’ll knot you later, alright? Gotta make sure little one’s all taken care of first.”

The words seemed to do the trick, and Satoru quieted down, nodding slightly as he rolled over to lay on his side, now facing you. “He’s gonna make you feel really good,” he murmured, reaching out towards you and taking your hand. “His knot feels incredible.”

You giggled softly at his words, though you were sure he was being entirely sincere as he spoke. You squeezed his hand gently, only pulling away when Suguru removed the pillow from beneath your hips and rolled you over onto your back once again.

“Hi,” he greeted with a small chuckle. “You ready to take me?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words died in your throat as you finally got a good look at him, your eyes going comically wide. 

His cock was huge. Maybe not quite as long as Satoru’s was, but it was much thicker, which reignited your worries from earlier in the evening.

“Hey, look at me,” Suguru called, gently tilting your chin up until you met his eyes again. “We can stop right here if you want. If you’re not ready to take me, that’s okay. And if you don’t want to have sex but you still want me to claim you, we can do that too.”

Knowing you still had the option to back out, even now, and knowing neither of the boys would be upset with you if you did was enough to bolster your confidence. “I want to keep going,” you told him. “Want you to knot me, claim me as yours.”

“I can definitely do that,” he said, purring a bit as he leaned down and kissed you. Much like your kisses with Satoru earlier, the touch went from sweet and chaste to desperate and devouring in just a few short moments. 

As the alpha broke the kiss and shifted to sit back on his knees, you whined and attempted to follow him, but he kept a gentle hand on your stomach to keep you down where you were. “Wanna see what a mess Satoru made of you,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eye.

You swallowed thickly and nodded, not protesting as he placed his hands on your knees and pushed your legs apart, staring down at your messy, dripping pussy. When he let out a low whistle at the sight, you whined in embarrassment and covered your face with your hands; you couldn’t believe he wanted to see all that, couldn’t believe you were letting him, couldn’t believe he was enjoying it.

“Pretty boy sure did a good job getting you ready for me, I’ll give him that,” Suguru said, wanting to have just a bit more fun teasing the two of you, his two bashful omegas, before he gave you what both you and he wanted so badly. “That’s good, though. It’ll make it easier for you to take me.” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs for a moment, waiting until you peeked through your fingers at him. 

“It will?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “The glide will be nice and easy, no dry friction or anything to worry about causing any pain. It’ll still probably be a bit of a stretch,” he added. “But it’ll be much easier on you this way.”

The tension bled from your shoulders at his words, and you nodded again, slowly pulling your hands away from your face. “What are you waiting for, then?” you asked him, biting your lip lightly after you spoke; you normally weren’t one to tea or speak so playfully in bed, but these two brought out a different side of you than any of your previous partners, and for that, you were glad.

“Well when you put it like that,” Suguru replied with a grin, spreading your legs a bit wider so he could settle between them more comfortably as he leaned down over you once again. He pecked a quick kiss to your lips as he lined himself up with your entrance. “I’m not waiting for anything anymore.”

He pushed in slowly, just as Satoru had, but you could feel your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You clenched around him involuntarily, and he hissed at the feeling. 

“Deep breaths, little one,” he murmured, helping you breathe in time with him, which in turn helped you relax and release the tension in your body. Before you knew it, he was fully seated inside you, and you cradled his face in your hands as you both took a moment to breathe.

“Suguru?” “Yes, little one?”

“If you don’t knot me soon I think I might combust.”

A small laugh burst out of him then, and he easily captured your lips in a kiss. “I don’t think you’ll have to wait long,” he assured you. “I’m as desperate for this as you are.”

And desperate you were. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as you pulled him into another kiss, your fingers slipping through his silky black hair as you attempted to find something to hold onto, something to ground you as he fucked you, every movement deep and intentional, as if he had a mission to accomplish, because he did. Both of you were eager for him to knot you, to bite you and claim you as his just like he had done with Satoru a bit before.

You whined against the fox’s skin as you buried your face in his neck; he was making you feel amazing, but it wasn’t enough.

The feeling of another set of lips trailing down your arm to your shoulder had you gasping in surprise, and when you turned to see what was happening, you were pleased to see that it was your fellow bunny coming to help. He twitched an ear affectionately in your direction, and you did your best to return the gesture, a sweet – if somewhat fucked out – smile on your face as you looked at him.

Taking the gesture as an invitation, he leaned in and kissed you slow and sweet, his light purrs vibrating into the kiss and making you scrunch your nose as the feeling, but it wasn’t unpleasant. You allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss and the feeling of Suguru’s thick cock filling you better than anything or anyone else ever had, so when you felt two of Satoru’s dexterous fingers land on your clit and start tracing little infinity symbols, you gasped, beginning to writhe under the pleasurable stimulation. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you warned, the words escaping you on a high pitched, whining moan, and you clenched around the cock inside you.

Suguru moaned in return, licking up the side of your neck left unblemished by Satoru before he spoke. “That’s okay,” he mumbled into your skin, placing hot, wet, openmouthed kisses haphazardly across your skin. “Let us make you feel good, don’t worry about anything else.”

You could only nod in response to his words, and seconds later you were falling apart, moaning high and breathless as you clenched around him, shuddering and shaking with pleasure. “Bite,” you begged quietly. “Please, alpha, claim me…”

A low, possessive growl rumbled in Suguru’s chest at the sound of you referring to him as “alpha”, and almost instantly he was sinking his fangs into your neck, in the exact same spot he had bitten the other bunny.

The breath was stolen from your lungs as you felt him puncture your scent gland, and while your prey instincts stiffened every muscle in your body for a split second, preparing you to flee for your life, the tension disappeared just as quickly, leaving you practically a puddle underneath your fox.

Just when you thought everything was done, that it couldn’t get any better, you felt Suguru slam into you one last time, flooding your insides with warmth; you also felt the way his knot swelled, stretching you out impossibly more and locking you together for a while.

You wailed at the feeling, nails scraping at his scalp until he released your throat from between his teeth. It was as if all the adrenaline and pain bled out of you from the new bite mark in your neck, and you certainly weren’t complaining.

A soft grunt slipped from your lips as Suguru collapsed on top of you, though he did what he could to keep his full weight off of you. When he deemed that task too difficult, though, he wrapped his arms around you, carefully rolling both of you onto your sides. Satoru was quick to snuggle up behind you, reaching across your body until he could rest a hand on your shared alpha’s hip; Suguru quickly did the same, and once they were touching each other again, they relaxed. You were sure their purring was involuntary, but it was genuine.

You’d certainly slept worse places than between two purring men who loved you.

yeah i.... don't really have anything else to say. this was not proofread so i apologize for any glaring errors. also i don't know how dicks work.

tagging: @lorelune @yutaleks @dr-runs-with-scissors @kentohours @fushigurro (not tagging my usual taglist bc uhh. this is not what y'all signed up for lmao)

dividers by saradika-graphics

[vampsywrites]

forest boy. PT.2

synopsis: while tending to neteyam and ao'nung's injuries, neteyam proposes that you learn some omaticayan healing techniques from his mother. ao'nung does not like this at all and informs his mother. now, both neytiri and ronal are trying to win you over.

pairing: ao'nung x fem! metkayina! reader x neteyam

tags: fem! metkayina! reader, neytiri and ronal fighting for their future daughter in law🤷, tradition being challenged, neteyam pining so hard, jealous ao'nung crumbs, arguments, adding some tension hehe, bonus sweet scene with neteyam

a/n: there are so many fics where reader pins for neteyam who's promised to another, but what if it was the other way around?

w.c: 2.6k | part 1

"Ah! Are you trying to heal me or finish me off?" Ao'nung grunts, flinching instinctively as your hands press against his cut lip. Rolling your eyes playfully, you dip your hand into a bowl filled with cool paste, smearing it across his bruised cheek.

"You can take it," you grin mischievously, applying a bit more pressure to his cheek, eliciting a wince of pain from Ao'nung. Tsireya giggles from behind you, her hands busy crushing a cluster of corals into a fine powder. "You could have used Rubrum coral instead of Heliopora. It stings less."

"It does, yes, but I think this ass deserves it after what he's done," you remark with a playful smirk. Then, you turn your attention to Neteyam, who sits in the corner. "Oh, and don't think you're exempt from this," you grin.

Neteyam chuckles in response. He leans back against the woven walls of the hut, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Yes, ma'am," he concedes with a playful tone. You smile back, holding his gaze for a moment longer.

Ao'nung notices this and huffs, trailing his fingers up your jaw to turn your gaze back to him, "Can you just focus on patching me up?"

"Alright. Alright. I'm on it!" Shifting in his lap, you scoff and continue to apply the healing paste into his cuts and bruises.

Ao'nung watches intently, his breath held in anticipation as your lips clamp down on your bottom lip. Your brows furrow as strands of curled hair cascade over your face, framing your features. The focused and slightly disheveled look on your face draws him in, and he finds himself leaning closer and closer until his lips were hovering over the shell of your ear.

"You would make a great Tsahìk one day," he murmurs lowly, large hands running up the curve of your hips. Snorting, you continue to massage the paste into his chest, "Ah, shut it. You're just saying that."

"No. He is right. You would," Neteyam affirms, shifting closer until he was flush against Ao'nung's side. The Metkayinan boy shoots him a blank stare, shuffling away awkwardly with you still on his lap.

Ignoring the tension, Neteyam continues, his gaze fixed on you, "In fact, maybe you'd like to learn some healing techniques from my mother? It would be a nice way for you to—"

"We've been over this, forest boy," Ao'nung grumbles, his voice laced with annoyance. He leans back, distancing you from Neteyam's proximity. "She doesn't need healing techniques from your people. My mother offers her all the knowledge she needs."

You roll your eyes good-naturedly at Ao'nung's response. "Alright, alright, no need to get all worked up about it," you say with a playful tone, giving him a light pat on the shoulder before turning to Neteyam.

"I would love to! It would be nice to know how Omaticayans practice healing," you smile, earning a giddy grin from Neteyam in return.

Ao'nung raises an eyebrow, seemingly taken aback by your genuine interest. "Really?" he questions, a mix of surprise and skepticism in his tone.

With a nod, you maintain your smile. "I mean it. Learning about healing practices from different cultures can be valuable. Besides, it's a chance to bond and share knowledge."

Ao'nung's face contorts with a mix of unease and discomfort at the mention of the word "bond." His brows furrow, lips drawn into a tight line as a fleeting flicker of insecurity passes through his eyes.

Neteyam chuckles and nudges Ao'nung roughly. "It is her decision," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The Omaticayan's words hang in the air, and Ao'nung's expression shifts. He didn't like the idea of you getting close to Neteyam's family at all, especially considering how forest boy over here looked at you with heart-eyes every time he saw you.

Ao'nung avoids your gaze, silently contemplating his next move. A plan begins to take shape in his mind, and he smirks.

Bathed in the gentle moonlight that filters through the walls, you find yourself inside the Sully's marui pod, accompanied by Neytiri and Neteyam. Excitement and curiosity brims up within you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in closer to observe Neytiri's actions.

With a wry grin, he murmurs, "Sure, a collaborative effort sounds… nice."

She delicately scoops up some of the wax, cradling it in her hands. Then, with a gentle motion, she holds it up to the light, revealing its mesmerizing luminous properties. The soft glow of the orange wax enchants you, and you marvel at the beauty of this exotic substance.

Neytiri smiles at you softly, moving the wax down so you could prod at it. In the few weeks that they've been here, she has already grown a soft spot for you. Every day, as you spend more time together, she finds herself drawn to your endearing child-like curiosity.

For a fleeting moment, her gaze flickers towards her son, a knowing smirk gracing her lips as she notices the warm expression on his face.

She did not miss how Neteyam's golden eyes remained fixed on you as you engaged in lively conversation with her.

There was a flicker of longing evident in Neteyam's eyes as his mind begins to wander. He weaved fantasies of a future where you would be by his side.

And although his family has left the forest, turning the likelihood of him becoming Olo'eyktan nonexistent, his daydreams persist.

Vivid images fill his thoughts: images of you adorned with his clan's ornaments, draped in hues of greens and browns that contrast with the cerulean of your skin. He envisions you seamlessly blending with his culture, embracing the natural and tribal aesthetics that define the Omaticaya.

The warmth in his chest intensifies as he thinks and longs for all the possibilities, momentarily escaping the reality that lies beyond his control.

However, Neteyam's thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a figure emerges from the entrance, drawing his attention away from you. His gaze shifts to the imposing presence of Ronal standing by the door.

The Metkayinan Tsahìk regards them with a stony expression, emitting a low greeting. As she saunters into the room, hips swaying, she circles around Neytiri.

"I have heard from my son that you are teaching ways of the forest," Ronal speaks, clicking her tongue.

"I highly doubt such techniques would be of any practical use," The Tsahìk remarks with a hint of skepticism. Her eyes narrow slightly as she fixes her gaze on Neytiri. "Moreover, even if they were viable, where would you source the necessary materials? These are the reefs, not the jungle, after all."

Despite her agitation, Neytiri remains composed, meeting Ronal's gaze with unwavering resolve. "I am simply sharing my knowledge. Eywa provides for us abundantly, Ronal. Nature's resources are vast, and the variety of trees on this island offers a wide array of barks that can be utilized."

Ronal's expression twists into a sneer, her dissatisfaction evident. "My methods have served us well thus far. The ways of the water have their own wisdom," she retorts, her words laced with venomous pride.

As the tension lingers in the air, you shuffle forward, gesturing towards the vacant spot next to you. With a reassuring smile, you interject, "Exploring new methods can expand our knowledge and enhance our capabilities, my Tsahìk. It wouldn't hurt to embrace different approaches and learn from one another."

Your words hang in the air, offering a gentle invitation to Ronal, despite the resistance she displays. Shaking her head, Ronal moves squat by you. "Is that so? Well then what exactly have you learned so far?"

With critical eyes, she watches as you scoop the orange hued wax into your hands.

As you begin to explain, your words tumble out in a blurred speech, as you find yourself overly eager to share your newfound knowledge.

"This is Yalma bark," you beam. "It possesses remarkable healing properties. And the best part is, it barely stings when applied!"

You then pause for a while, your enthusiasm momentarily waning. A hint of upset crosses your features, before you quickly continue, "Unfortunately...the materials needed for it are found only in the forests."

"Which is why I truly wish for an end to this conflict," Neytiri sighs, her voice filled with longing. Her warm hand clasps over yours. "There is an abundance of it back home and I would love to show you more about our ways. My mother, the Tsahik, would be delighted to have you."

Ronal's eyes widen in alarm as she takes in Neytiri's words. The room falls silent as their gazes lock, the tension palpable. A stern expression settles on Ronal's face as she clears her throat, moving to stand before you two.

"Let me remind you, Neytiri, that this girl is under my supervision," Ronal asserts firmly. Her tone carries an undertone of warning. "She is Tsakarem. A position not to be taken lightly. She is my chosen successor."

Silence falls once more and Neteyam keenly senses the escalating tension in the room. With a nod of understanding, he swiftly makes his exit, recognizing the need to give you all space to navigate the delicate topic.

WIth the departure of her son, Neytiri moves to stand, her eyes meeting Ronal's with unwavering resolve. "Tsireya, your daughter, is also Tsakarem, is she not?"

With deliberate steps, Ronal saunters over, reaching out to place a hand against your head, a gesture that carries both possessiveness and authority. "Tsireya studies as well, but Y/N here has excelled in her learning. And I hope you have not forgotten that she is promised to my son."

"Oh, you have made that abundantly clear. I don't need to hear another one of your lectures," Unyielding, Neytiri stands her ground, her eyes narrowing at Ronal's admonishment.

"Then you would know that their path has already been laid out before them! I do not need outsiders like you meddling in," Ronal snarls, fangs bared.

"You hinder them," Neytiri counters, her voice growing more impassioned.

"A-Ah, it is very late at night," you say with an awkward laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm sure we are all exhausted. Why don't we take a moment to rest and gather our thoughts?"

Despite your attempt to diffuse the tension, the underlying apprehension remains palpable, casting a shadow over the situation.

With a huff, Ronal turns to leave the pod, bidding Neytiri a curt "Goodnight." Neytiri, clearly displeased, scoffs in response and moves further into the room.

With a sigh of resignation, you bow apologetically to the Omaticayan woman and obediently trail behind your Tsahik.

As you walk together along the intricate woven paths, Ronal turns to you, her expression grim.

"You understand where your duty lies, don't you?" she asks, her voice firm.

The moon casts its gentle glow upon the sandy beach, and a symphony of nocturnal creatures fills the air. Lost in your thoughts, you stroll along the shoreline, unaware of the soft patter of feet approaching, and the presence that looms closer.

Letting out another weary sigh, you nod your head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Tsahìk."

"Hey," a low voice greets and you turn to see a familiar forest boy before you. Smiling at him, you slow down to stroll by his side, "Hey you."

Neteyam smiles bashfully, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. A comfortable silence settles between you before he finally speaks, his accented voice carrying a slight tremor. "Do you usually take walks at this hour?"

"Mhm," you affirm, pausing briefly before answering in a hushed tone. "I do. It's peaceful at night… The air feels cooler, and it's a chance for me to unwind and let my mind wander."

"Especially since there's a lot of thinking going on up here," you chuckle, tapping the side of your head with your knuckles.

"And what about you?" you question.

Neteyam perks up, his tail swishing behind him anxiously. "Ah, I just happened to spot you from afar. I thought I'd join you…If that's alright."

"Of course, it's more than alright," you reply with a warm smile, genuinely pleased by his company. The moon's soft glow highlights his sharp features, casting a dreamlike aura around him. The two of you continue your leisurely stroll, side by side, as the rhythmic crashing of the waves provides a soothing backdrop.

Curiosity dances in Neteyam's eyes as he gathers the courage to ask, "What were you lost in thought about earlier?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, a tad bit touched by his attentiveness. "Oh. I'm just reflecting. The…'conversation' I had earlier with both Neytiri and Ronal left me in deep thoughts, pondering the choices and paths that lie ahead."

Returning the curiosity, you inquire, "What about you, Neteyam? Has something been occupying your mind lately?"

Neteyam lets out a soft hum, and the words escape his lips before he can fully comprehend their weight, "You."

As you take a moment to process his unexpected response, your heart flutters at his confession. The poor boy's face instantly flushes into a deep rich indigo, and his nervousness becomes palpable. In a hasty attempt to backtrack, he stumbles over his words, looking utterly endearing in his flustered state.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, breaking the tension that lingers between you. "No need to be so nervous, Nete," you reassure him, a warm and genuine smile forming on your lips. "Your answer simply caught me off guard, that's all."

The boy clears his throat, a hint of awkwardness lingering in the air as you continue your walk together. After a few minutes of ambling along the shoreline, a subtle change in the atmosphere prompts you to halt in your tracks. Looking up, you realize that you have arrived at the entryway of your marui pod.

Turning to face Neteyam, you feel a tender smile grace your lips, a silent acknowledgment of the connection that has grown between you.

In a swift motion, you close the distance between you two, leaning in to press a delicate kiss upon his cheek.

Then, drawing back slightly, you maintain eye contact, savoring the lingering intimacy of the moment. Neteyam's bright eyes were blown wide open, pools of golden bronze and sunshine yellow piercing through you.

"Thank you for the walk," you murmur, your voice tender and sincere. "I will see you tomorrow, yes?"

Dazed and pleasantly surprised by the sweet gesture, Neteyam hastily nods his head, a blush still lingering on his cheeks.

With a final, gentle glance, you turn away, stepping towards the entrance of your marui pod. The soft crunch of sand under your feet accompanies your departure, while Neteyam stands there, gazing after you with a mixture of awe and disbelief, his heart still running wild from the tenderness of your gesture.

As you enter the sanctuary of your marui pod, the fabric flaps fall shut behind you. And just as you begin to settle into the comforting embrace of your hammock, Neteyam's triumphant shout echoes through the air.

taglist. @iheartamajiki @mashiromochi

You can't help but let out a soft chuckle, the sound muffled by your palm as you cover your mouth, trying to contain the infectious delight that fills you.

[mrpenguinpants]

LORD GIVE ME ONE MORE CHANCE

— "I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

In the cold cell, another stranger visits Sunday.

— Sunday

[Masterlist]

Not me dredging up the remains of my HSR creativity juices to squeeze out a Sunday fic as an offering. This fic is literally one big meme disguised under 20 trench coats. Happy 2.7 everyone and good luck in your rolling!

Sunday does not slouch. His posture is as unyielding as his will, spine rigid as he awaits the inevitable. There is defiance in the tension of his muscles, an unspoken challenge to the forces that brought him here. He will not bow. They’ll have to drag him, force him, twist his broken neck to fit it through the guillotine’s hole. He imagines the hands that will do it trembling with effort as his ambition burns hotter than any fire they could wield against him.

But the cell is cold. Far colder than Sunday has ever experienced in his life on Penacony. The chill bites deeper than the winds of dead planets and even the defeat that landed him here. The stone walls seep an icy dampness, as though the prison itself is alive, drawing warmth and hope from its captives. How could it be that while reigning over this dreamful planet, bound to it only by misplaced duty, he has never felt so cold? His thoughts drift unbidden to Penacony's open skies, once a reminder of freedom now as unreachable as a distant star. A lingering dread whispers that it doesn’t matter. This chill feels personal, like a punishment carved into the very marrow of his existence. Even the chains binding him are crude, iron and purple venom biting into the skin that has never known injury, pushing past the small protection of his clothing. Every subtle shift sends fresh waves of pain radiating from his wrists, a sharp contrast to the numbness settling into his legs from the unmoving hours spent in the same position. The metal feels like it’s becoming a part of him, fusing with his flesh in a union of cruel irony. The air is no better. It's stale and stagnant, as though even time refuses to move forward in this forsaken space. Each breath feels thick and heavy with the scent of rust, decay, and despair. Sunday briefly wonders if the air has always felt like this around him. Has he been too preoccupied to notice?

His only hope, a fragile, fleeting sparkle, is that Robin will escape their hate. The idea of her, untethered and free, burns like a flicker of warmth in the ice-caked confines of his heart. If she survives, it will be enough.

“You only get five minutes. Be careful,” the guard’s gruff voice echoes from beyond the door, dripping with unease. The tension in the words is sharp enough to cut, underscoring a danger even they don’t fully understand, “We still don’t know if he still retains THEIR power in his voice. If he pulls you under, we can’t guarantee your safe passage out.”

Another guest? Again? Sunday’s lips curl into a faint wry and bitter line. It’s almost laughable. He’s already endured Lady Bonajade, the IPC’s well-polished substitute with her cloying charm that masked sharp fangs. Her diplomacy dripped with venom, thinly veiled promises woven into her words like poison-laced silk. He can still recall her presence heavy with expensive perfume and arrogance. If it’s that gambler next, with their cavalier smirk and penchant for empty bargains, perhaps Sunday will do them all a favor and ask for an expedited execution. Better to end this circus on his terms than dance further to their tune.

Who could they have sent this time to join him in this suffocating void?

The heavy door groans open, the sound grating against his ears. A slice of harsh light invades the cell, stabbing his eyes with unrelenting brightness. He squints reflexively, but it’s no use; the light feels like a blade carving through his defenses. Surrendering, he shuts his eyes tightly, the glow painting the back of his eyelids a fiery red as it burns into him. Then, as abruptly as it came, the light is swallowed when the door slams shut. Darkness reclaims the space, and he’s left adrift once more. Though this time he isn't alone. The shadows press closer, heavier, as though they’ve taken on a sentient weight. It’s not the barely above-satisfactory solitude he’s come to accept but a suffocating presence that lingers just outside his range. Sunday opens his eyes slowly, the dim light of the cell revealing the shape of... a doctor? The figure before him is unassuming, dressed in a pristine white medical coat that seems to glow faintly in the oppressive gloom. The sight doesn’t trigger any immediate alarm in Sunday’s mind, but that only deepens his unease. They stir no recognition, not from Penacony’s ever-shifting guest lists, nor from the IPC’s infamous rogues gallery. Whoever this person is, they carry no air of importance.

But no one sent to this place is ever what they seem. This stranger is either far more dangerous than they appear, their unassuming facade concealing power that could rival or even dwarf Miss Jade’s manipulations, or they are an ordinary person—an idea Sunday dismisses outright. No ordinary doctor would be granted access to this place, to him. In Penacony, there is no place for neutrality. There is no shortage of monsters who hide behind well-tailored costumes. Sunday would know; once, he wore such a mask himself. He doesn’t call out. He refuses to give them that satisfaction. They are not a guest but an uninvited visitor. So, he remains silent, his breath steady and measured, his posture unyielding. The figure shifts slightly first, their coat whispering against the still air. Their posture is calm, expression unreadable in the darkness, and yet Sunday doesn't feel threatened. No sense of being grounded into the dust under someone's thumb.

The wings at the sides of his head twitch, a brief flutter betraying his agitation.

For now, the stranger remains a mystery. Their gaze drifts lazily over him, studying every detail. Their eyes linger on the chains digging into his flesh and the halo above his head, its once-radiant light now reduced to a faint, erratic pulse of THEIR power. The stranger moves with maddening indifference, as though the ticking clock means nothing to them. Despite their limited time, they saunter, unhurried, as though they could stretch five minutes into five hours. Sunday meets their stare, unblinking, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of a reaction. To his irritation, the stranger smiles a slow, pleased curl of the lips that feels entirely too knowing, as if they’re privy to a secret he hasn’t yet uncovered.

"I'm quite sad that you lost,” they say at last, their voice soft, almost conversational as if they were discussing the weather rather than his downfall, “I think I would’ve enjoyed living indefinitely on a rest day.”

Their quiet laugh follows. A muted, understated sound that drifts through the stale air like smoke, curling and lingering in the space between them. Sunday doesn’t respond. The stranger’s tone, smooth as silk and disturbingly casual, grates against him. They sound exactly like Ms. Jade.

They want to use him yet have no courtesy to say please.

He replies flatly, his voice cold, “If you’re here to appeal to my ego, you should turn around now.”

The doctor chuckles softly again, a sound that feels too intimate for the sterile air of the cell, as if it belongs to a private moment and not this standoff. Without hesitation, they begin to circle him, their steps measured and deliberate, their gaze fixed on the faintly glowing halo above his head. Sunday feels the weight of their scrutiny, the way their eyes trace the gentle flicker of light as though searching for hidden truths. Yet, to his surprise—and mild unease—the halo remains steady, its weak pulses undisturbed by the stranger’s presence, as if indifferent to them entirely. He doesn’t move, his stillness a deliberate choice. His silence is his armor, and he wears it with practiced precision. But the doctor seems utterly unbothered, their serene demeanor bordering on infuriating. The chains biting into Sunday’s flesh, the damp chill that clings to the air, the oppressive darkness of the cell, none of it seems to bother them. As if they've been in this same position before. Instead, they hum softly, a tuneless, meandering sound, as if they were lost in thought rather than examining a chained prisoner. Their head tilts slightly as they move as if searching for something intangible, something that only they can sense. Each step carries a deliberate weight, each moment of their low, aimless hum digging under his skin like an itch he cannot reach. When they finally come to a stop, their eyes meet his once more. There’s a glint in them now, something quiet and unreadable. Sympathy? Understanding? Or perhaps, something more insidious, like pity disguised as interest.

“So,” they murmur, their voice almost gentle as the pure white coat they wear, “Have you accepted your burden of guilt?”

Sunday’s jaw tightens imperceptibly, the only sign of the tension building beneath his outward calm. There is no accusation in the doctor’s tone, just a quiet curiosity, its softness more insidious than any harsh reproach. It’s not meant to provoke, he realizes, but to probe. The question feels like an outstretched hand, seeking not an answer but an opening, a crack in the armor of his resolve. He scoffs, the sound sharp and derisive, cutting through the stillness. It’s not loud, but it carries weight, a dismissal. The faint light of the halo above his head flickers, its weak glow casting fleeting shadows across his face, deepening the sharp contours of his jaw and the unyielding steel in his gaze.

The doctor, however, doesn’t flinch. Their composure is maddening, as steady and immovable as stone. They tilt their head slightly, studying him as though his reaction is a puzzle, a piece of data to be cataloged and analyzed. The only betrayal of their reaction is a subtle twitch at the corner of their lips, a movement so small it could be missed, but Sunday sees it. He knows it for what it is: the beginnings of a smile. Not a full grin, not even an expression of amusement, but a faint, restrained elation that feels far too calculated. It’s the look of someone who has just confirmed something they already suspected. A twinge of annoyance kindles in Sunday, though he douses it immediately. He won’t crack, won’t falter under their probing gaze. If they expect him to stumble, they’ll be disappointed.

“Guilty? You’re mistaken.” Sunday’s voice burns through the stale air, steady and resolute. He straightens slightly, his chains clinking softly with the movement. The sound is faint, but it reverberates in the oppressive silence of the cell. “There is nothing to feel guilty about. I did what I thought was right.”

The words land like stones, heavy and unyielding, filled with a conviction he's cultivated and forged. Yet, despite his defiance, Sunday can’t shake the sense that something about the doctor has shifted. They almost seem proud, as if they're happy about Sunday's unremorseful response. Their silence stretches, unbroken, as though they are savoring his answer. The doctor’s eyes never leave his, unblinking, as if peeling back layers to see the truths buried beneath his words.

Finally, they tilt their head slightly, their voice soft but probing. “And yet, here you are. The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sunday. And you? You’ve committed enough sins to pave it twice over—more than enough to last a hundred lifetimes. Perhaps even a thousand. You’re certainly going to have a hard time atoning for them. Tell me, does being ‘right’ bring you peace?”

The words are sharp and deliberate, meant to sting, yet they lack the malice that would make them truly dangerous. There’s no fury in their expression, no glee in their cruel words. There’s no gleam of a scalpel in their hand, no syringe hidden in the folds of their coat. This isn’t the cold, clinical sadism of someone ready to dissect his body or tamper his blood. No, this doctor is not here with the tools of physical torment. The doctor’s presence looms over him, palpable, like a weight settling into the stale air of the cell. He feels it—the pressure of an unspoken expectation, like a string pulled taut between them. He can sense it in the way they watch him, the way they wait. There’s only one answer they are fishing for, the one that will justify whatever lies ahead, whatever they plan to do to him next. The cold yet whimsy nature of their approach mirrors something he knows all too well, he just experienced it an hour prior. Miss Jade had played the same game, her words sharp but veiled, wrapped in the trappings of diplomacy. She had presented accusations like a ledger of business transactions, always with that smile of hers, so polished, so perfect, a lure. And when Sunday had refused to take the bait, she had simply smiled and said she could wait.

He’s not afraid of their games. They can play all they want, but they’ll get nothing from him. His silence is his shield, just as it was with Miss Jade. The doctor can wait too. He knows better than to speak too quickly.

But Sunday is so, so tired. Tired of these people and their endless games. Tired of their riddles, their insidious questions designed to unravel him piece by piece. Tired of their quiet cruelties, masked with words that sound too polite to be anything other than weapons. They think they can break him like this—one question at a time.

It all feels like waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“The one who will decide if I am guilty of my sins is not you, nor any other mortal,” Sunday says, his voice steady. The weight of his words fills the small cell, challenging the doctor's expectant gaze. “I have lived my life according to my beliefs, and I stand by every decision I have made. If THEY deem me unworthy, then so be it. I will accept THEIR judgment with humility.”

Sunday keeps his posture firm, unbowed, his muscles tense, as if preparing for a blow that might never come. He steels himself, accepting that what comes next is inevitable, like the guillotine poised above him. His hands clench into fists, but they remain steady, unshaken by whatever may come. He has nothing more to offer. If his words do not satisfy them, they can leave. He will not grovel, will not entertain their games any longer. He closes his eyes for a moment, retreating inward. His thoughts are calm and resolute, as though his body and mind are two separate entities, perfectly still. The waiting has become familiar now, a grim ritual he has endured countless times before. In the end, they will act, or they won’t. It no longer matters.

The doctor does not respond immediately. They remain still, a silent specter. The only sound is the faint rustle of their coat as they shift slightly.

And then, the doctor’s hand comes to rest lightly on his shoulder.

The touch is not harsh or commanding, but it is deliberate. A quiet, calculated assertion of presence. Despite the sudden gesture, Sunday does not flinch. Still, the cold weight of their hand lingers, sending a subtle unease coursing through him. It is not physical pain, but something deeper—a sensation of being measured in a way that makes him feel exposed despite the darkness.

It is not the guillotine. But it feels no less final.

"I'm not here to disregard your hope, angel," the doctor says softly, their voice like a balm—calm and soothing, yet something about it unsettles him further. Sunday bristles at the nickname, his jaw tightening, but the doctor doesn’t pause. Their voice presses on, smooth and unyielding, like water slipping through cracks.

"I'm merely giving you a perhaps."

The hand on Sunday’s shoulder squeezes briefly, firm enough to remind him of its weight, before withdrawing. The absence feels oddly pronounced, a phantom pressure that lingers even as the doctor moves. Standing before him now, framed by the faint, pale light from his flickering halo, their smile is gentle. Yet it does nothing to soften the unease that coils in Sunday’s gut. The doctor’s gaze, steady and piercing, seems to strip him bare, as though it peers through flesh and bone and into the very fabric of his soul. Sunday feels exposed, and vulnerable, as if the very walls of the cell have dissolved, leaving him standing alone in front of a vast, uncharted abyss. Yet he meets that abyss head-on, as he always has. He has lived in the dark long enough for its weight to feel familiar. Fear had been a companion of his youth, a shadow he had learned to outrun. Now, it is a distant memory.

The doctor’s tone sharpens, each word precise and deliberate, as they step closer. Their eyes never leave Sunday’s—dark, enigmatic, like deep pools where the bottom remains hidden no matter how far one leans to peer in.

“You’re an ordinary person, Sunday. A man, just like the rest of us,” they continue, their voice low but cutting, each syllable landing with unnerving clarity. “And everything around you, everything you once believed in, is falling apart. You can see that, can’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with implication, settling on Sunday’s shoulders like a weight he cannot shrug off. Their gaze drills into him, unrelenting, and for a fleeting moment, the hum of his halo grows louder, almost as if reacting to the tension. Yet Sunday does not waver. He meets their stare, unblinking, though his jaw tightens as the words burrow deep, hitting a nerve he’s tried desperately to protect.

“Your ideals, your mission, all of it is gone. Nothing but shattered dreams, scattered like dust in the wind.”

The doctor’s smile stretches wider, but it holds no comfort, no reassurance—only a wet chill that seeps into the cracks of the words they weave. The pools in their eyes seem to deepen further, the ripples folding in on themselves, twisting into a current that spirals downward into unseen depths.

“And now you’re faced with a choice. A tough one. One that will define what little you have left. Will you continue to try and burn as bright as a little star, shining alone in the dark, fragile, flickering, doomed to fade away when the inevitable cold comes?”

The pause that follows is deliberate, the stillness amplifying the weight of their words. The water is starting to overflow, spilling past the rim, lapping at the wood and kindling that's kept Sunday alive from the harsh winter.

“Or will you choose to become something greater? A planet. Cold, distant, unmoving—but vast. A foundation. A force. Unstoppable."

The doctor steps back slightly, letting the weight of the decision settle. The water slowly retreats yet still surrounds him on all sides. The stillness stretches again, the words sinking into the space between them. The doctor tilts their head, studying Sunday’s expression as if searching for the faintest crack in his defiance. Their final words fall like stones into the darkness. “The star may dazzle, but it is the planet that builds. Which will you be?”

The silence that follows is thick, and suffocating, as Sunday’s mind races. The words hang in the air, their weight crushing, each one a reminder of the choice he must make. The doctor watches him with that same unnervingly calm expression as if they know exactly what Sunday is going through. They’ve seen it before, the internal struggle, the battle between the remnants of pride and the pull of cold reality. Sunday’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching at his sides. He wants to resist, to reject the notion that he has to choose between these two bleak paths. He wants to believe in the ideals he once held, to believe in something greater than survival. But the truth gnaws at him. The world has already rejected him. His dreams are shattered.

But have they really?

“The world has fallen apart. People like you, like me... we don’t have the luxury of holding onto idealistic dreams anymore. The reality is harsh and unforgiving. You can either fight to keep burning out, or you can accept that the world has moved on and adapt. Become something that doesn’t need to rely on hope. Become something that will outlast it all,” they pause, their eyes narrowing slightly as if waiting for Sunday to come to his conclusion. “So, Sunday... will you hold onto your dying star, or will you choose the cold, inevitable truth of being something greater?”

Sunday sits motionless, the weight of the doctor’s words pressing down on him like a mountain. The cell is silent, save for the faint hum of his halo and the rustling of the doctor's coat as they wait. His mind spins in a desperate frenzy, struggling to piece together some semblance of resistance, some last thread of hope. But the doctor’s words have struck too deep. He feels them in his bones, in the places where his ideals once lived. A small, bitter laugh escapes him, but it’s hollow, devoid of any real amusement.

“A planet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Cold, unfeeling, and distant... But it endures. Doesn't it?”

“It shapes the world around it, whether it wants to or not. It doesn’t fade into nothingness. It stands firm, no matter the storm," the doctor easily agrees. Sunday can feel the pull of the doctor’s words, like a gravity he can’t escape. The halo above his head hums softly, as if reacting to the intensity of the moment, vibrating with the tension building inside him. He looks up at the doctor then, eyes narrowing, his gaze hardening. The chains on his wrists shift slightly as he stands straighter, every fiber of his being screaming with the desire to reject what’s being offered. He wants to defy it, to shout that he won’t become that thing, that lifeless entity, that thing the doctor’s trying to turn him into. But he knows, deep down, that the fight is slipping from his hands. He's so tired. The idealism he clings to, the belief that there’s something worth saving, something worth fighting for, feels more fragile with each passing second.

What would Robin think?

The doctor’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, soft but insistent. “I know it’s a difficult one. But the world won’t wait forever. You have to choose: a flicker that will vanish in the next gust of wind or a force that will remain, unchanged, no matter the storm.”

Sunday’s fists tighten again, his knuckles white. “I never asked for this,” he mutters, more to himself than to the doctor.

“No one asks for it,” the doctor responds smoothly, “but the truth remains. The world has no room for weakness, for those who cling to ideals that no longer have meaning. What matters now is what you choose to become. You can keep trying to burn as a star, but that won’t stop the darkness. Or you can let go and rise, like a planet, indifferent to the storms around you. You'll be alive to try again."

Sunday closes his eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of his halo pressing against his skull, the faint hum like a heartbeat in his ears. He can feel it. This tug, this pull, deep inside him. The pull to embrace this cold, inevitable truth, to give up the battle and accept what the doctor is offering. There’s something comforting about it. Something that promises survival. The question still hangs in the air, like a blade poised above him. He’s running out of time. His heart beats louder now, thudding in his chest as he realizes—he may not have a choice at all.

Slowly, he exhales, his breath shaky, but his voice is steady when he finally speaks. “And if I choose the planet... what then?”

The doctor’s smile widens, a gleam of something darker lurking behind it. “Then you will embrace the power that comes with it. You will shape the world as you see fit. You will no longer be bound by the past. The future will be yours to command. No more waiting, no more being preyed upon. You will become the force that others bend to. And you will never have to feel the sting of hope again.”

The words are tempting, soothing, like cool water to a burn he never knew was there. Sunday’s pulse quickens. His breath comes more shallow now, as the weight of the decision presses down on him. For a moment, he simply stands there, lost in the quiet hum of his halo, feeling the coldness creep up his spine. He’s so, so tired. Tired of fighting, tired of waiting, tired of being crushed by the weight of his choices. He can feel himself sinking deeper into that black water.

“You are Sunday. The man who almost became an Aeon, only for it all to fall apart. The dream of a world free from the harshness of reality cannot comfort you down here. Not anymore. Right now, you are alone.”

No. That's not true. It's not-

Their words scrape against him. The mention of the Aeon—of his failed rise—stirs something deep within him. The memory of what he almost was, the power he almost held, flashes in his mind like a fading echo. For a moment, he feels the ache of that loss, the hollow sting of what could have been. But just as quickly, he shoves it down. That doesn't matter anymore. Three footsteps echo through the cell, slow and deliberate, the sound amplified by those previous words. Before Sunday can react, he feels the faintest pressure, arms wrapping around his neck in a cold, hollow imitation of a hug. The touch is freezing, sinking through his skin and into his very bones. It makes his muscles tense, his breath catching for just a moment. It is not the warmth of an embrace but something far more alien, far more wrong. The doctor’s voice comes next, soft and intimate, a whisper so close it brushes against his ear.

“But it’s okay,” they murmur, their tone almost tender. “We can be alone together.”

The words, as quiet and soothing as they are, carry a weight that sinks into Sunday’s chest. There’s something deeply unsettling about the doctor’s closeness, their coldness wrapped around him, suffocating him with an intimacy that has no place here. The promise of shared isolation is chilling in its own right, an offer too twisted to accept. Sunday’s muscles tighten instinctively, the discomfort gnawing at his composure. The prickling sensation that crawls up his spine cannot be ignored. This is not a comfort. This is a reminder of his solitude, his isolation, twisted into something almost mocking. His heart beats just a little faster, and he fights the urge to shudder. The doctor’s words echo in his mind, lingering in the empty space like an unsettling shadow. He knows now, that this is not a game. This is something far more dangerous.

"The dream of the Order has dissipated," the doctor says, their voice calm, almost mournful. They run their hand through his hair, almost like a mother attempting to soothe their child. "Yet there are still those who will not relinquish their original intent. To the traveler whose wings were clipped…" Their head tilts slightly, the words deliberate and heavy. "Whereto shall your footsteps lead?"

The air in the room feels heavier now, charged with the energy of the decision that’s been made. A faint vibration courses through the halo above Sunday’s head, a subtle tremor of something. Its light pulses unevenly, responding to the storm of his emotions. Sunday’s lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening as the words settle over him. The air thickens, and for a moment, the world outside the cell feels distant, as if the very walls are closing in. His mind races, skimming the edges of memories he’s long buried, of battles fought and lost, of promises broken by those who swore loyalty. His fingers twitch slightly, the chains around his wrists clinking softly. The doctor’s question lingers, floating in the air like a thread ready to be tugged, pulling him toward some deeper hole. The halo above him flares briefly, its light flickering erratically as if responding to the emotion rising in his chest. Sunday’s eyes narrow, just enough to show his growing irritation.

He’s had enough—enough of the chains, the suffocating cell, the endless waiting for a sentence that looms but never falls.

“Then… I choose,” Sunday says, his voice low but wavering. The doctor’s smile deepens, and they step back, giving him space to breathe, to make the final step. Yet close enough to loom over him, their invisible shadow smothering him. "I choose..."

And most of all, he’s had enough of these strangers—these meddling interlopers who waltz into his prison with their veiled words, cryptic challenges, and their insufferable, thinly disguised disdain. His patience is gone, frayed to the breaking point. When he speaks, his voice remains deceptively calm and steady, but the smoldering flicker of anger in his gaze has become unmistakable—a faint ember flaring into a wildfire. “Neither. I am not some helpless bird without purpose. I have always chosen my own path, and I will continue to do so—even in penance."

The hum of his halo surges, vibrating louder in the cell, an electric pulse that reverberates against the walls and into the rocks and sand. The sound is raw, and primal, matching the rage that courses through him. His fist swings, a blind, furious arc toward where the doctor stood a moment ago, but the space is empty. Of course, it is. The doctor has already moved, slipping away as though they had expected this—no, wanted this. Their entire presence feels like a calculated provocation, an engineered storm. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his muscles coiled and aching from the violence of his strike. His eyes burn as they sweep the cell, searching for the shadow that dares to mock him with their calm detachment. The pounding of his heart is deafening in his ears, a counterpoint to the relentless thrum of the halo above his head. Anger courses through him, sharp and unrelenting, demanding action, demanding release. The weight of his declaration hangs in the air, heavy despite being simple words he’s repeated in his mind countless times. Yet, they feel different now—sharper, more potent—carried on the air for another to hear. He doesn’t feel strange letting them out, even though doing so feels oddly like exposing something raw and unguarded. Sunday doesn’t know what comes next, but he knows this: the small flicker of his old self is fading, and something else—something more unyielding—is beginning to rise. In contrast, the doctor hums again, their voice eerily in sync with the faint vibrations of Sunday’s halo. The resonance feels deliberate like an unspoken language only they understand. The sound threads through the space between them, burrowing under his skin. Their gentle smile lingers, unshaken, as though they had been expecting his answer—or perhaps even orchestrating it. The way their gaze rests on him feels less like scrutiny and more like careful calculation, their expression distant yet unnervingly focused, as though assembling a puzzle only they can see. Sunday’s fingers flex against the chains that bind him, the faint creak of metal grounding him as time stretches unnaturally. He wonders, not for the first time if the allotted five minutes have passed. It feels like far longer, the oppressive air in the cell distorting the flow of moments into something alien and unrecognizable. Finally, the doctor’s smile shifts into that soft, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there smile. It’s not a smile of triumph, nor one of satisfaction, but something more elusive. Almost… admiring.

“No...no, you are not some caged bird,” the doctor murmurs, bringing their hand up to feel the vibrations of their voice through their lips, the words rolling out with finality. As if they're talking to themselves rather than him. Then, suddenly, the air lightens. The weight that had hung between them vanishes as if it had never existed at all. The water recedes, growing calm and quiet, as though it was never trying to drown him in the first place. The doctor's smile becomes unexpectedly kind, even a little silly. It's disorienting—this sudden change from the sharp, probing presence to something almost affectionate. They step a little closer, their expression now open, becoming someone simply offering comfort rather than delivering an execution.

"I'm glad," they say, voice lighter, warmer now. Even the light in their eyes has returned, "When I heard Ms. Jade had come to speak with you, I was worried you would accept her offer. I’d hate to see you make the same mistake as the others. After all, you’ve been alone long enough, haven’t you?”

The change is subtle but undeniable—the sharp edge in their demeanor has dulled, replaced by an almost maternal kindness, as if they're genuinely concerned, even protective. Sunday feels the shift, though he can’t fully understand it. The calm in their presence is unsettling, and yet, for a moment, it feels less like manipulation and more like... care. A care that feels strange coming from someone who only moments before seemed intent on breaking him. Sunday's muscles remain tight, still coiled from the tension that had just been released. His mind races, trying to decipher the sudden shift in the doctor's demeanor. The warmth in their voice, the ease in their smile—it feels foreign, out of place. He’s been surrounded by manipulation and false kindness long enough to know better than to trust a sudden change. But the doctor’s presence is no longer suffocating. There is no sharpness in the air, no tension laced into their every word. It's almost... normal. And that’s what unnerves him the most. He takes a slow breath, pushing the unease back down, and forcing his body to relax, though his mind remains wary.

“Alone?” He repeats the word, tasting it on his tongue as if it might reveal something deeper. The doctor’s gaze doesn’t waver, holding his attention with that same unsettling steadiness.

“Yes,” they nod, “Alone. You’ve been isolated long enough to start thinking your only options are escape or destruction.”

They step back, creating just a little more space between them, “But that’s not all that’s left, Sunday. You don’t have to keep fighting against the tide, drowning in the same thoughts over and over. There’s another way. You don’t have to be the only one holding yourself up.”

They turn slowly, their coat trailing behind them, their presence still palpable even as they begin to walk away. Sunday’s gaze follows them, his chest tight with a mixture of uncertainty and something else he can’t quite name. The hum of his halo pulses faintly in his ears, but the oppressive stillness of the cell settles back in, thick and heavy. The doctor pauses at the door, their hand resting on the cold metal, and turns their head just enough to meet Sunday’s eyes once more.

“I’ll leave you with this. What you do with it is up to you. I know you won’t make it easy, Sunday, but I hope you will come to visit sometime. Perhaps even later today if you're feeling generous?" the doctor laughs lightly at their joke yet it carries a weight that lingers. The doctor slides a sleek paperslip colored in a luminous palette of metallic gold and red out of their pocket. The top section of the paperslip is adorned with geometric and circular designs, with small circular holes on the bottom line. A subtle rainbow light emanates from its edges and central emblem.

It's a train ticket. It flutters in the wind, landing gently on top of his hand.

And with that parting gift, they step through the door, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty space. The door clicks shut with a finality that feels too real, too absolute. Sunday remains still, the silence pressing down on him like the weight of an unspoken truth. The offer- no - the perhaps lingers in the room, intangible but undeniable, swirling in the corners of his mind. The weight of his decision, of what comes next, rests heavily on his shoulders. His fingers curl around the ticket, shining brightly in the middle of his palm. The choice, the path he will take, is entirely his. The possibility of something other than solitude, other than endless struggle, hangs in the air like a question he has yet to answer. But for now, there is only silence and the slow, steady pulse of his halo, waiting for him to make his next move.

[some-bunniii]

Consoling Lucifer on Charlie’s first day of school

・❥ Charlie’s growing up, and Lucifer isn’t taking it well. Luckily, you’re there to keep the King of Hell standing on two feet.

x: just a short fic about a super soft lucifer who loves his daughter, i had some fun with this haha. reader is g/n and also has a parental role. no use of y/n.

~ 1.5k words

warning: tooth-rotting parental love

“Are you crying, Daddy?” The tiny apple-cheeked figure asked, her head tilted curiously up towards the almost identical-looking porcelain face standing a few feet away from her, his hand over his eyes as he rubbed at them feverishly. 

“No,” He lied, his lips curved into a tight-lipped smile as he bit back tears, “It’s just allergies, Apple Pie.”

Lucifer’s eyes trailed back onto the poofy red dress Charlie wore. The intricate, black lines and little hearts woven into its soft fabric made her even more adorable in the outfit. She also sported snow-white stockings, and a pair of sparkly red shoes that glinted in the light as Charlie smiled giddily, excited about the new adventure.

A small red bowtie was nestled into her hair, which was styled in a large braid that ended at the middle of her back. It swayed softly as the young girl bounced in place, becoming antsy by the second. 

You stood right beside him, smiling happily at Charlie as she looked up at the two of you. It was you who had gotten her ready, no doubt did you think she looked like a beautiful little princess. However, you were not expecting such an emotional reaction from your husband, Lucifer Morningstar, when you presented her outfit to him. 

It was Charlie’s first day of lessons, which means—in Lucifer’s opinion—she was finally leaving the nest. Except for the fact she was still considered just a youngling when it came to being Hellborn, and Charlie still needed her father to read her a story every night before bed. She still has trouble reaching items on the counter, and remembering all the letters of the alphabet. She was far from flying off on her own, she was still her father’s little duckling.

He was already nervous the days leading up to this morning, and you had watched him flip through baby book after baby book. Each contains hundreds of photos depicting from when Charlie was a newborn, and through last Sunday. 

Whenever Charlie so much and breathed cutely, Lucifer was pulling out that camera and saving it for the album. Especially when he got a hold of a yellow duck onesie? The man was a goner, and the bookshelf was beginning to fill with rows of binders filled with polaroids.

Yesterday, you had been in the process of cleaning out a closet of rarely used items, when you stumbled upon a pair of Charlie’s old baby boots. 

Lucifer had just walked into the room when his eyes landed on the tiny boots. They obviously wouldn’t fit the girl now, as she had grown out of them long ago. It definitely stirred something inside the fallen angel when his lip began to quiver from the doorway, and slowly walked over to you sitting on the edge of the bed.

He took the boots from your hands, his thumb brushing softly over the small velcro straps. Charlie was old enough to start wearing laces, and she needed his help getting tying her shoes less and less as the months went by. That thought made him collapse onto you, tears brimming his eyes. 

“She had such adorable little feet!” Lucifer wailed in your lap, as you soothingly petted his hair. There were multiple photos in his hands, all of baby Charlie, “Her toes just don’t look like little sausages anymore, it’s not as cute!”

“At least she’s not a hobbit,” you replied, brushing a stray tear from his face.

“I don’t even know what that means!” He had sobbed.

It wasn’t like she was going off to college or anything, yet the way Lucifer clutched her baby blanket in his free hand—which she only stopped sleeping with 2 days ago—made it seem like the girl was not coming back from a few hours of teachings. 

“I packed you some snacks. Apple slices, and some funnel cake. Eat the fruit first, it’s healthy for you. Want to grow up big and strong, don’t you?” 

“Uh-huh!” Charlie nodded with enthusiasm, smiling brightly.

“That’s my girl,” Lucifer choked back tears, nodding approvingly. 

“Honey, she’s going to be late, hurry up and say goodbye,” you prodded gently, smiling warmly with clasped hands. You had been silently on standby, this was a much more emotional moment for Lucifer than you, he needed the space and time with his munchkin.

“You’re right, you’re right,” he growled softly at himself, “look at me, all worked up over nothing. What a joke of a King.”

Lucifer lowered himself to one knee and reached out a hand, and Charlie walked forward returning the touch. Her tiny hands were engulfed in his palm as he curled his fingers tenderly around them. The fallen angel met his daughter's gaze, before taking a deep breath.

“I love you, Charlie.” 

“I love you too, Daddy,” Charlie laughed, before leaping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. Lucifer pulled her in, nuzzling into her hair as she squeezed him tightly. 

Even if Charlie grew apart from her father as she got older, you’d know she’d always be a daddy’s girl. It was Lucifer whom she invited for tea time among her stuffed animals, and it was he she asked to dance with when the radio’s soft melodies filled the lounge during the evenings as the three of you relaxed by the warm fireplace. 

It made your heart flutter with how similar the two were, and the way Lucifer fawned over Charlie like he’d never seen a more beautiful soul. 

“My best creation,” he had whispered with a smile one night, while the two of you were sitting on the balcony, the alcohol buzzing inside your mind as you held his hand from across the small table. Those words had made your love for him continue to grow, if that were even possible in the first place.

Lucifer and Charlie stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments on the floor before the girl released him, and Lucifer’s arms slowly lowered from her abdomen as she took a few steps back towards the door.

“Go on, now! Don’t let me keep you waiting, just remember to crush it.” Lucifer waved his daughter off, and she jumped with joy.

“Okay! Bye, Daddy!” Charlie giggled, her little red dress bouncing along with her toes as she quickly turned away towards the open door of her room. 

“Have fun, Charlie!” You called after her, as Lucifer slowly rose from his position near the floor.

“I will! Bye!” She replied, running down the hall, her little bag bouncing in her hands as she scampered away to…

…her private tutor’s small classroom at the end of the long hallway. The three of you had been wishing the girl farewell in her large bedroom inside the family manor, which meant Charlie’s teaching wasn't even outside of the home. 

That made Lucifer’s reaction even more humorous, but it was also incredibly sweet. The ruler of Hell, a nasty, bitter place, was a cinnamon roll behind the bad-boy act that he played so well in front of the rest of the realm.

When Lucifer stood straight again, you turned your head to face him. The sight before you caused you to clamp your lips shut tight, trying to suppress your laughter at Lucifer’s disheveled figure.

His hair looked messier than before he had said goodbye, and his face was soaked with tears. Lucifer’s lip quivered, and he quickly averted his gaze, slamming his hand over his face to contain his quiet sobs. The man was practically in shambles. 

“What’s wrong with me?” He groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “I can’t control my emotions when it comes to Charlie.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Your Highness, but you’re in love,” you cooed, shaking your head with a smile as Lucifer sniffled beside you. He pulled a hand-embroidered handkerchief from his waistcoat, dabbing underneath his eyes to clean the fresh tears. 

“Come on, Lou. How about I make you some pancakes for breakfast?” You said softly, lacing your fingers with his as you tugged him towards the opposite end of the hall. 

“Really?” He sniffled, looking at you with glistening eyes.

“Mhmm,” your hands lifted to cup his face, tenderly squishing those small red spots as you replied with a honeyed tone, “Heaven knows how the ‘Big Boss of Hell’ can be such a softy. Don’t worry, Charlie will be back by lunchtime, and maybe we’ll go on a picnic, hm?”

Your free hand went up toward the fallen angel’s head, and your nails softly grazed his scalp as you pulled his hair back into a more uniform appearance. After fussing with it for a moment, you leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“A picnic sounds nice, I have no idea how you always have a remedy to everything,” He said softly as you pulled away, an adoring smile on his lips as you turned to tug him down the hall.

“Years of practice,” you laughed, as the two of you walked towards the large kitchen, passing loving glances between the other. 

At least, with Charlie away for a few hours, you and your husband could get some alone time together. God knows the poor man needed it. 

lucifer is just so soft for his little princess whether it’s beating the shit out of adam or playing tea party it makes me just 🤭🥴 like damn

hope you enjoyed the lil snack, have a great day! 🤍

tags 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0

[chlerc]

— summary; he believed you when you said you would fly over to celebrate his birthday with him, excited to see your face. but he didn’t know it’d be that easy for you to leave him without a trace.

pairing — jude bellingham x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 1630.

content — angst, like bad / sad ending. they don’t get a happy ever after ending. long distance friendship, she’s always here and there for him but never stayed long enough. secretly pining over each other

NAVIGATION + author’s note: wrote this when i was sick, the motivation and inspiration always strikes here. always putting my boy jude through the angsty stories lol

song recs for this fic — no one noticed.

The glow of Madrid’s street lights flickered in the corners of her vision as she adjusted her scarf, weaving through the late-night crowds that filled the cobblestone alleys of the city. Her heart beat in time with her steps, a rhythm that both grounded and unsettled her as she drew closer to his building. It felt surreal to be here — a place she’d only known through pixels and video calls, a place that lived solely in the stories he’d woven for her across distant lines.

The door swung open, and there he was — his face breaking into a grin, eyes bright with delight and something softer, something she couldn’t name but felt resonate in her chest. Without a word, he pulled her into an embrace, his arms wrapping around her so tightly that she could feel his heartbeat against her cheek. “Didn’t expect you’d actually come,” he teased, though his eyes held a glint of something softer, something more grateful.

“Best birthday gift I could ask for,” he added, his tone light, yet his hold unwavering as though he feared she’d slip away. Pulling back, he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his gaze lingering, studying her as though to make sure she was truly there.

“Well,” she murmured, brushing past him with a faint smile, “someone’s got to make sure you don’t spend your birthday alone.” She took in the room with its modest decor, the hints of his presence scattered in the form of art pieces, records stacked near the player, and an open notebook on the desk. He chuckled, closing the door behind her. “I told you, I don’t mind being alone.”

“Perhaps,” she replied, feigning an indifferent shrug. “But what if I do?” Her gaze met his, holding his for a moment before she turned away, pretending to inspect the records as though she hadn’t just travelled across countries to be here.

They settled into the evening slowly, an awkwardness blanketing them at first, a product of shared screens finally giving way to physical space. But eventually, laughter eased through the gaps, filling the quiet corners of his small apartment. They shared stories, exchanged quiet jokes, and lingered over glasses of wine that made the room feel warmer, the air laced with the scent of familiarity and anticipation.

As the evening deepened, they ventured out onto his balcony. The city lights stretched before them, bright and steady, twinkling with the same allure that had first drawn her to his words, to his enigmatic charm.

“Look at this view,” she whispered, her voice softened by awe. He shrugged, gazing at her instead of the skyline. “It’s just a city. It’s better with you here.” She smiled faintly, caught between the quiet euphoria of his words and the nagging reality that lingered at the edges of her mind. She knew she would leave soon, knew that this moment would end. The thought hung heavily between them, unspoken.

“Will you stay long?” he asked, finally breaking the silence, his voice a low murmur against the hum of the city. She exhaled, her breath curling in the cool night air. “I don’t know. Long enough, I suppose,” she replied, her words as carefully crafted as they were vague.

He reached out, catching her hand in his, a simple touch that anchored them amidst the unsteadiness of whatever this was. “You’re always like this,” he said, half-smiling. “Appearing out of nowhere and then vanishing like you’re a dream.”

“Maybe I am,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. “Maybe that’s all this ever was.” For a moment, the conversation hung heavy between them, layered with questions and fears neither dared voice. But then he laughed, and it softened the tension, bringing them back to a more familiar, playful place. “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I should make the most of this dream while it lasts.”

Jude draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer, the silence between them thick with unspoken sentiments. “You know, I don’t say this enough, but I’m glad you’re here,” he admitted, his voice a murmur in the cool night air. She looked up at him, searching his expression, and a pang of something bittersweet tugged at her. She wanted to stay in this warmth, this certainty, but she knew that come dawn, she would have to slip away.

“I’m glad I came too,” she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper. Jude’s gaze was soft as he looked down at her, thumb brushing her cheek as though memorising the contours of her face. For a brief, irrational moment, she wanted to tell him everything — that she wished she could stay, that she didn’t want to leave this, leave him. But she said nothing, instead resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, each beat a fleeting reassurance she knew would fade by morning.

They leaned into the quiet closeness, the moments blurring together as the evening stretched on, her laughter mingling with his in the warm light of the city. Time drifted, unbound, until the faintest hint of dawn crept across the skyline. She glanced at him, seeing the calm softness in his eyes as they drifted shut, his breathing even, and she knew that she’d fulfilled whatever it was she’d come to do.

When he finally awoke, the first rays of morning spilling through the curtains, he found himself alone. Her scarf was still draped over the back of a chair, her perfume lingering faintly in the air. He blinked, sitting up and looking around, the remnants of last night’s laughter still fresh on his lips. But the silence pressed in, weighted and still, like a final goodbye.

On the table, she’d left a small note, folded neatly with her handwriting sprawled across the front:

“Happy Birthday. See you in the spaces between.”

He laughed quietly, though it sounded more like a sigh, tracing his fingers over the words. The irony wasn’t lost on him. She’d become his obsession, his mystery, a presence as elusive as the dreams he could never quite hold on to. And though he didn’t know when — or even if — he’d see her again, he couldn’t shake the feeling that wherever she was, some part of her would always be right here, lingering in the traces she’d left behind.

With a soft sigh, he let the silence settle around him, her absence heavy in the early morning light. Her scarf, still draped over the chair, seemed almost like a placeholder, a faint whisper of her presence against the cold, hard truth of her departure. She’d left, slipped out as quietly as she’d arrived, like a carefully crafted illusion dissipating with the dawn. He ran his hand over the note she’d left behind, her familiar handwriting tracing the words: Happy Birthday. See you in the spaces between.

He let out a quiet laugh, though it sounded more like a sigh, his thumb brushing over the ink, her words as gentle and evasive as she’d been. There was a charm to her mystery, an allure to the way she moved in and out of his life, almost as though she existed just beyond his reach, a mirage in a desert he didn’t know he’d been wandering. But this time, there was an ache behind his eyes, a quiet longing that tugged with a new intensity, as though some part of him had grown tired of the chase, of these small doses of her presence that he could never quite hold onto.

A sudden impulse tugged at him. He grabbed a pen from his desk, leaning over the small note she’d left. His fingers brushed the page as he wrote, the words forming slowly, deliberately, almost as though he was afraid of what they might reveal. 

“Don't leave me without a trace; it can’t be that easy please,” he wrote, his handwriting messy and sprawling in contrast to her neat scrawl. He paused, watching the ink dry, knowing she’d never see his reply, yet there was a strange comfort in writing it all the same, as if committing his thoughts to paper might somehow reach her, wherever she was.

He lingered over the note a moment longer, then folded it carefully, tucking it into a drawer with a sense of finality he didn’t quite feel. The silence that filled the room felt heavier now, loaded with the words left unsaid, the moments that had slipped through his fingers like sand.

In her absence, he found himself tracing back through their time together, each memory sharp and vivid, yet fleeting, like flashes of light in a darkened room. He recalled the way she’d laughed under the city lights, the way her voice had softened when she’d whispered, “Maybe I’m just a dream.” It was as if she’d known she would leave, had planned it all along, and he couldn’t decide whether to be grateful for the moments they’d shared or resentful of the empty space she’d left behind.

Yet he knew that her departure, as difficult as it was to accept, had always been part of her. She was as unpredictable as the wind, as elusive as a distant star, and perhaps that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes drifting to the window, to the soft glow of morning light that seemed to fill every corner of the room with a quiet, bittersweet warmth.

And though he knew he would miss her — miss her laugh, her voice, the quiet moments they’d shared — he couldn’t shake the sense that some part of her would always linger here, an unspoken promise hanging in the air, caught between the spaces of their fleeting time together.

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

synop: viktor chases after a beloved memory with you.

wc: 614.

includes: nothing but love and fluff.

author's note: season 2 destroyed me enough to make a fic blog, so that tells you just about all you need to know. i'd like to think of this as a memory viktor looks back on while he's up in astral la-la-land, in a world where you are his "only you."

this is the 2nd person POV version of this fic. if you'd prefer 3rd person POV, you can find that here.

“This should do it,” you murmured. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Viktor replied warmly, stepping beside his beloved and wrapping his arm around your waist. The newest development in Hextech sprawled over the table before you, ready for its final test. It was an attempt to recapture a memory you held close to their hearts: the night you first tested Hextech, where you were left floating among stars. You were chasing after something personal, so this was little more than a side-project; but funding after the Hexgates’ success was vast, and what was life without a little fun?

You turned the dial and watched as the gemstone spun into the air, capturing sparks from the arcs surrounding its divot. Slowly, you turned it up to its full capacity, until the gem whirred with great intensity and it grew difficult to look at the bright sparks of light. There was always the fear this would kill you—but the thrill of discovery always overcame it.

The noise and light peaked with an innocuous explosion. The pair opened their eyes.

A sea of stars floated alongside you within your high-ceilinged lab; a globe of runes rotated around your cores. You laughed when you caught Viktor’s gaze, his own joy apparent. You quickly became accustomed to your weightlessness and floated towards each other, guided only by your wants and the arcane’s willingness to give it to you. You met above the spinning crystal and embraced. Viktor kissed you softly, and you returned it in kind.

It was only a few minutes before you donned the harnesses that would allow you to stray from the crystal’s initial field; it captured the magic and generated a sort of fuel to continue flying wherever you pleased. A single gemstone over the heart radiated light.

You're first to test it. You opened the window and jumped off the balcony; the force of your plummet gave you incredible lift, and you whooped as you shot into the air. It was golden hour, and the sky was filled with the biggest, fluffiest clouds. It was the perfect day to go flying.

Viktor followed, linking hands with you when he met you in the air. Without weight on his leg, Viktor was giddy to lead. He pulled you along, giving you the momentum to zip through the air as fast as you pleased.

You watched over the beauty of Piltover, of its gardens and brass glinting in the setting sun. The sheer height of the glass allowed you to peer into the biodome at the heart of the university. Ships flew above you, people walked below you; you carved a new path into this life of yours.

You both slowed down to walk on air. A head on Viktor’s shoulder, his head atop yours. You glided through gardens, pink petals floating on wind, golden light sparkling off fountains, a breeze following your movements.

You hardly spoke, but neither of you had to. What was there to say that wasn’t already known?

A ding on your harnesses warned your fuel was halfway gone, yet you only smiled on your way back to their lab. What little time you spent in the air was enough to last you a lifetime. You would keep this memory even closer. Hands tightly woven, you floated gracefully down to the alabaster balcony, where Viktor landed and kissed you before you were even out of the air. Your hair wove in the breeze of your landing, haloing you as you came to rest in Viktor’s arms.

“I think we can call that a success,” he said through a laugh laced with adoration. You merely kissed him again in response.

dividers used: sparkles • star

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

my girl 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your brother’s friend from work starts hanging out a lot more often. (short!reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

After dinner, you volunteer to do the dishes. It’s an easy way out of the awkward social cues and you find, it keeps your mom off your back so you can get a chapter in. You finish up, drying each and placing them neatly in the cupboards. Having defeated the dirty plates, you grab your book and head out to the porch. 

As the sun sets, the daytime heat dissipates into a mellow coolness. The smell of dew laces the fresh air. You lay back on the porch swing, feet up on the armrest as you read, the glow of the outside light giving just enough to make out the font. 

You plunge into the fictional realm head first. The buzz of crickets gives way to the eerie atmosphere of the underworld caverns and the night shifts in time with imaginary shadows. You are there with the party, trekking through the treacherous, waiting for a beast to surprise you. 

The front door swings open and hits the end of the swing. You squeak as the book slips free of your grasp and falls to the ground. You sit up as you crane to see over your shoulder, an orc-like silhouette adding to your fright. It isn’t real.  

Your vision clears and you return to reality. It’s only Sy. His eyes look just as startled as he looks down at you then his eyes skitter over to the ground. 

Before you can reach over the edge of the bench, Sy moves to grab the book. He lifts it and smooths the pages, dusting off the cover. He examines it before he hands it over. 

“Sorry, I’m a big lug sometimes,” he says as you accept the book and search for your place. 

“It’s fine,” you smile and keep your thumb between the pages. 

He reaches to rub the back of his neck then drags his hand over his beard. You noticed the same gesture several times during dinner and before that. It seems a habit that betrays a thoughtful mind. 

“Good book?” He gestures towards the novel. 

You look down and tilt your head, “it’s alright. Typical fantasy, you know?” 

“Ah,” he nods as the porch light leaves his features in darkness. 

“Mmhmm,” you smile and sit straight on the swing, your legs dangling over the edge. 

He steps closer and puts his hand on the post that holds the bench aloft, “erm, dinner was good.” 

“Oh? Yeah, it was.” 

“I know ya made some of it so... wanted to say so.” 

“Uh, right,” you laugh nervously, “yeah, guess I did.” 

He’s quiet and you’re just as speechless. The night breeze does little to cool the scald of tension all around you. Why is he talking to you? He should be grunting at Isaac’s dumb jokes. 

“Anyway, gotta head out,” he shifts on his feet, “you have a good night.” 

“Er, sure, you too,” you cheep. 

“Mmm, sure will,” he answers and lets go of the swing, turning to continue to the stairs. He stops at the top and looks back, “don’t stay out here too late. Thunderstorm coming.” 

“Is there?” You wonder as you look up at the sky, the moon clear. 

“So I heard,” he shrugs and sets off down the stairs with clomping steps. 

You stare after him as he stalks off, following the path down to the long driveway and to his large truck. The street light illuminates his silhouette as you feel the dampness woven into the wind. You sit back and let out a ‘huh’. You hadn’t noticed it until he said something, then again, you hadn’t been living in that world. 

💕

“Peanut!” Your mom calls to you from down the hall. “Little help!” 

You sigh and finish the sentence. You roll your eyes up and mark your page. You sit up, frustrated as each page seems to be interrupted by one thing or another. You roll of the bed and leave the book on your pillow. 

You open your door and a roiling wall of heat blasts you in the face. You head down the hall and find your mother a humid mess as she works in her apron, her forehead sticky, and a pan in her hands. She drops it with a clang on the stove top and puffs. 

“Ugh, these things are never going to cook,” she tuts and shakes her head. 

“Mom?” You cross your arms and lean in the doorway. Even with central air, her broil has the house as hot as Mordor. “What’s up?” 

“Well, I was hoping you’d make your apple blossoms for dessert but I just got a call from Isaac,” she shakes her head and wipes her sweaty brow. “He forgot his lunch.” 

“Oh,” you purse your lips and nod. 

“So, peanut, you wanna go for a ride? I’d take it myself but I’m in the middle of something,” she smiles and fans herself. “And I’m an absolute mess!” 

“Yeah, I guess I could,” you shrug, trying not to let your disappointment burn through. Considering she isn’t pressuring you to get a summer job like everyone else’s parents, you won’t push it.  

“You’re amazing, pea,” she trills and goes to the fridge. She pulls out a container of yesterday’s leftovers and shoves them into your hands, “and tell your brother not to be late.” 

“Sure,” you utter. 

“Ah, and if you run into Sy, you tell him he’s more than welcome to come by. Should be all sorts of extras tonight.” 

“Right,” you take the container and find a cloth bag to put it in. You head back to your room and swipe up your book and your phone. Just in case. 

You pluck your mom’s keys off the hook by the door as you slip into your sandals, the straps braided leather. You chose them because the little daisies reminded you of a woodland elf. You take your brother’s lunch and grumble as you cross the lawn. 

Your mother’s car is nicer than your dad’s truck. More manageable for you. You don’t need to adjust the seat very much and you can see the road, mostly.  

You take the drive slowly, enjoying the greenery of the neighbourhood. Your brother can suffer his own negligence. He’s an adult and he’s still forgetting his lunch at home. As always, someone else is cleaning up after him. 

You pull up to the shop. You’ve been there once or twice but never inside. As you get out of the car, you hesitate. Should you knock? You approach the heavy metal door and peer around.  

A whistle comes from your left and you turn as Sy appears from around the side of the building. His face is darkened above his beard and around his hairline with the residue of his work. The faint outline of safety glasses leaves a lighter patch in the middle of his face. 

“Hey,” his voice is sonorous as he holds a pair of gauntlets. “Everything okay?” 

“Um,” you blink at him then look back at the car. “Yeah, uh, my brother forgot his lunch.” 

You hold up the bag in your hand. He nods, his face placid. Impossible to read. In his leather apron and with his thick arms bulging under his sweaty tea, he reminds you of a dwarf in a Tolkien tale. You gulp and fidget. 

“Real nice of you to drop that off,” he says as he comes closer, “you’re real sweet like that.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” you clasp your wrist and sway nervously. 

“Want me to take it into him? Wouldn’t want ya ruining your clothes with all the fire.” 

“Er, I... if you don’t mind.” 

“If you’re askin’, I don’t mind,” he holds out a large hand, “I’ll get him that.” 

“Right, thanks,” you put it in his hand as he stares down at you, his gaze as hot as the torch he works with. 

“It’s nothing at all,” he assures. 

You smile nervously and back up as he towers over you. You rub your throat and look around again. You feel bad not offering now. 

“Mom said if you wanna come for dinner, we’ll have extra,” you say. 

He hums and puts his gauntlets against the bottom of the container as he holds it in both hands, making it seem tiny. 

“Won’t say no to dinner with a pretty girl,” he intones. 

Your eyes flick up and meet his. No, your mom invited him. He’s just being nice, right? The way he always is, at least when he bothers to speak up. Maybe he's even talking about her.

“I should... go,” you point with your thumb. 

“If you say so,” he agrees, “drive safe.” 

“Will do,” you spin and scurry off. Oof, you are so friggin awkward you could just-- 

You trip and stagger, keeping yourself on your feet. You cringe and turn back, giving a wave to assure him you’re not a total loss, then open the door. You keep your head down, refusing to look at him as you buckle in. 

Maybe you can convince your mom to let you eat in your room. 

[henrygrass]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag, @heartstringsduet! Once again, I am working on an Andrea-centric fic because I just can't let go of my favorite Lone Star mom. This is sort of a part two of "Love Woven Through Time." Anyway, here's the snippet:

“The lights are still on; there’s still time, mijo,” she reassures Carlos, giving his arm a gentle squeeze to calm his nerves.

Just then, the auditorium lights dim, as if to prove her wrong. She huffs, her eyes darting to the entrance, hoping that TK will burst through any moment. Knowing him, he’s likely racing through the city in the ambulance, sirens wailing, determined to reach Jonah before the curtain rises.

“Is your kid in the play?” a woman beside Carlos chirps, her voice high-pitched and piercing, rising above the chatter of the auditorium.

Andrea turns her head slightly, catching sight of Carlos meticulously adjusting the camera, his brows furrowed in concentration as he prepares to capture every moment of Jonah’s first school play.

“Yes,” he replies, his focus unwavering as he fine-tunes the settings, leaving little room for small talk.

“My Derek is playing the royal messenger,” she announces. “But all the kids playing the animal friends must be talented too,” she adds, puffing out her chest with a hint of pride in her son’s role.

Derek… Andrea’s mind races, connecting the child’s name with a conversation she had with TK last week. This must be Veronica, the mom who commented on TK's chocolate cake during the last parent-teacher meeting for the play, saying, “Good thing you’re a paramedic; you can save us from this.” Andrea can almost see the scene unfold as TK mimicked her, complete with her dramatic coughing. Although she was unaware that TK was the one who made it, Andrea still glares at her; she will remember that face.

Carlos turns to Veronica, nodding. “Oh, that’s fantastic! You must be so proud!” he responds, his voice laced with sincerity, though Andrea can detect the familiar undertone of his own chest swelling with pride. She suppresses a grin, bracing herself for what’s to come.

“Mine’s playing the prince,” he beams, his focus shifting back to the camera.

Open tag & no pressure tagging

@heartstringsduet @emsprovisions @alrightbuckaroo @nisbanisba @welcometololaland

@thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @decafdino @reyesstrand @futures-tense

@bonheur-cafe @carlos-in-glasses @theghostofashton @tellmegoodbye @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@herefortarlos @strandnreyes @carlos-tk @lightningboltreader @sapphic--kiwi

@ladytessa74 @paperstorm @chicgeekgirl89 @ironheartwriter @everlastingday

@carlossreaders @pimento-playing-hopscotch @goodways @liminalmemories21

(Please, let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[teyamsgrl]

here to help ✧ lo'ak

❗️ MDNI ❗️

this is filthyyyyyyyyy hehehe i love rut fics sm 🤭 also my apologies for not posting as frequently! i’m in uni so naturally my posting will be a bit more randomized, but nonetheless i hope everyone still enjoys!

°˖➴ warnings: fem omatikaya reader, older!reader, agedup!lo'ak, dom!lo'ak, sub!reader, younger brother's best friend lo'ak, lo'ak in his rut, messy (if that's a warning?), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, spanking, choking, l-bombs, a lot of sex period 🥴

having a crush on your younger brother's best friend wasn't necessarily ideal, but that never stopped you from fawning over lo'ak any chance you could get. he was not only pretty but also so gracious, he just never failed to amaze you. but these were feelings you restricted due to the circumstances... that is until you heard groaning from the sully hut.

upon hearing the noise your ears twitched, concerned that there may be something wrong. you do your best to announce your presence before stepping into the hut, heavily ruffling with the entrance as you opened it and calling to ask if anyone was there. all you got in response were grunts, and it all made sense once you spotted lo'ak slumped against the wall opposite the entrance, large and veiny cock engulfed by his fist, sweat coating his torso along with ropes of his own cum. he was in his rut.

any words you wanted to utter got caught in your throat, eyes frantically scanning lo'ak's current state and legs crossing subconsciously for any possible friction. his whimpers snap you out of your daze, spotting the cum shooting out of his tip. the glowing white substance drips down his stomach and joins the many other spurts that lie there. within a second his eyes are wide open and staring at you, amber eyes extremely dark and pupils dilated. "y/n" his voice is husky as he speaks, eyes devouring you as you stand a few feet away. "l-lo'ak, hi, uh-" a purple hue fills your cheeks as he eye fucks you, your pussy now forming a wet spot on your loincloth.

"come here" he orders without hesitation, licking his lips slightly. "i- lo'ak i don't know- my little brother is your best friend and-" "i don't give a fuck, come here" you whimper so softly it's barely audible, sauntering over to lo'ak and taking a seat in front of him. you knew men got sort of feral-ish while in their rut, but lo'ak's demanding nature was turning you on more than you ever thought was possible.

lo'ak's hands gripped your hips tightly and yanked you into his lap, his permanently hard cock pressing into your wet loincloth. you whimpered louder this time, resting your hands on his shoulders to stabilize yourself. he leans forward to press his face into your neck, licking and nipping it. "smell so good.. could smell you the second you were outside the hut" he groans and presses you down on his cock, your hips instinctively rolling. "fuck- gonna fuck you so hard..." he growls and runs his hands down between your legs, grabbing the section of your loincloth and tearing it open. you gasp as you hear the rip of the fabric, large hole exposing your pussy which is sopping wet.

"ride me first, pretty girl" you nod frantically, completely at his mercy and willing to do whatever he says. you line up his once again leaking cock with your entrance, sinking down smoothly due to the wetness you've expelled. the rumble that leaves his chest is loud, hands vice gripping the plush of your ass as he bottoms out inside of you. you begin to bounce on his length, bracing yourself with your hands on his chest, airy whimpers falling past your lips. your pace is decently brisk, but not fast enough for a young man in his rut. within an instant you're flat on your back, knees pushed up to your chest while lo'ak jackhammers into your pussy. your surprised gasp was laced with pleasure, squelching filling your ears quickly.

"l-lo'ak-" you whine and drag your nails along the woven mat beneath you, eyes rolling at the deepness of his thrusts, cervix getting abused each time. "so fucking good huh?" he groans, large palms holding your legs to your chest as his hips snap aggressively. you whine and lock eyes with him, drowning in the lust that cloud his. "gonna cum- fucking fill you" he moans as his cock twitches inside of you, cum shooting out and painting your walls. you gasp as he cums, watching as his abs tighten during his orgasm. you don't have much time to look before lo'ak is thrusting again, your back arching off of the mat at the sudden return of sensation. "always knew you'd have a tight pussy.." he groans huskily, pads of his fingers forming bruises on the back of your thighs as they press into your chest. "s-shit!" you gasp, knot inside of you snapping suddenly before you glaze his cock with your cum.

his chuckle is deep and his smirk is big as he brings one hand down to your clit, teasingly circling it with his middle finger while his thrusts never falter. "lo'ak-" you wince, "sensitive". "i know, babygirl.. cum again" his cock pushes even deeper if at all possible, probing your cervix while his hand strokes your bundle of nerves fiercely, second orgasm approaching quickly. "squirt all over my cock- fucking soak me while i feed your pussy again" he moans out as he releases again, stuffing your pussy with even more cum. "oh great mother!" you squeal as you squirt, covering your own thighs and lo'ak's cock, along with his abs. "good girl" he leans over you, breath tickling your lips at his proximity. you whimper softly, craning your neck to press your lips on his in a heated kiss. he sloppily kisses you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before he pulls off, manhandling you so you're now face down and ass up.

his one hand pushes your thighs apart, the other pressing your head down as he enters you again with ease. "big, big.." you babble, eyes rolling as your mind goes blank, the only thing you're able to focus on is lo'ak's cock slamming in and pulling out. his pace is quite rapid, the sound of skin slapping unbelievably loud. "fucked you dumb haven't i?" he adds more pressure to your head, other hand coming down on your ass roughly. you whine at the spank, back arching down more to push your ass out further, silently asking for more. he spanks you twice more, skin stinging yet you can't help but moan louder each time his hand comes down. "slutty girl..." he rasps, hand groping the plush of your ass now. "yes yes yes" you mewl, body rocking with each thrust. his hand on your head trails around to your neck, holding it tightly and pulling you up on your knees.

you whine as your walls squeeze his cock, milking him further. his mouth rests at your ear, breathy moans escaping as he continues to pound you. "fucking squeezing me babygirl- you want more cum? huh? say it" he grumbles, hand tightening on your throat for the perfect amount of pressure. "more cum.. more more more" you choke out through your brain fog and restricted throat, pussy clenching again around his shaft. "that's it... good girl" he moans and pushes in as far as he can, cum filling you once again. his cum is now dripping from your pussy and down your thighs, pussy too full to hold it all in. his chest heaves against your back for a moment before he's thrusting again, your head lulling back onto his shoulder.

"too much-" you whimper, weakly trying to escape his grasp but failing miserably. his free arm wraps around your waist, tugging you back to be flush against his front. "don't you fucking move, you can take it. just one more..." he nibbles your ear before starting to drive his cock inside of you once more. your jaw is slack yet barely audible whines are escaping as you take his length, his cock bringing you to your third orgasm. you shake and tighten on his cock as you cum again, squirt flowing down your thighs and onto the mat under your knees. he groans out in satisfaction and moves his hips faster, pussy being ravished farther with each movement. "you're mine, i've fucking claimed you" he grunts and presses in deeply once, twice, and on the third thrust his cock explodes for the fourth time. you hum as he adds more cum to your flowing hole, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

when he pulls out of you you sigh at the emptiness, turning around slowly as he loosens his grasp on your body. "such a good girl for me, took so much.." he smiles and kisses your forehead, gesturing for you to lie down. "rest, and then i'll take you ho-" "no! i mean- when will that-" you wave your hand around trying to find the word in your jumbled head, "how long until you feel like that again?" "hmmm.. it usually comes back every few hours.." "then, i'll stay? since you'll need help again, right?" your eyes are big as you stare up at him, hands lying against his chest. "you're perfect.." he chuckles, placing his hands on top of yours, "in the meantime, i would like to talk about... that. i really love you, genuinely..." he trails off, tail swaying in anticipation. "lucky for you, i really love you too" you giggle and lean in, kissing him more calmly now, lips moving in unison after your confessions. not only do you help lo'ak with his rut later, but you do so as his mate.

[velarisdusk]

Garden of Eden

Day 27: Tentacles | Tamlin word count: 2k author's note: this was not as fleshed out as i wanted it to be so best believe i will be writing another MUCH BETTER tentacle fic some day. forced submission is just so.. sighs lovingly. add an entity of unknown origin to that and im folding. ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the vibrant fields of the Spring Court. Tamlin moved through his lands, his heart heavy with unspoken fears and looming shadows. Thoughts of his court's safety swirled in his mind, a relentless storm of responsibility that tightened its grip with every passing day.

Today, he sought answers—felt whispers of a naga lurking in the depths of his territory. A part of him felt drawn to the hunt. But as he ventured deeper into the forest, his mind tangled in a web of thoughts, he felt the burden of his duties pressing down on him.

He followed a narrow, winding path, surrounded by wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. But as he walked, a peculiar scent began to fill the air, thick and sweet, like honey and earth mingling together. It was intoxicating, drawing him forward until he stumbled upon a sight that halted him in his tracks.

Before him stood a plant unlike anything he had ever seen, its deep emerald leaves unfurled, shimmering as if kissed by morning dew. At the center, a large, iridescent bloom swayed softly, its petals shifting through shades of violet and blue, mesmerizing in their beauty. The heart of the flower pulsed with a strange, inviting glow, as if it were alive, beckoning him closer.

Compelled by an overwhelming curiosity, Tamlin stepped forward, his instincts momentarily dulled by the plant’s enchanting presence. He reached out, fingers grazing the soft, velvety petals, and in that instant, the world around him shifted.

The ground trembled beneath him, and a low hum resonated through the air, vibrating against his skin. The plant responded to his touch, its petals curling inward while sinuous tendrils unfurled from the bloom, reaching toward him. The tendrils were glossy and deep green, glistening in the fading light, moving with a grace that made his breath hitch.

Tamlin’s heart raced. He had faced countless threats, but none like this. The tendrils coiled around his wrist and panic flared within his chest, but as he tried to pull away, the plant constricted with a force that belied its delicate appearance, unyielding as it pulled him closer.

“Let go,” he commanded, his voice laced with authority, but a flicker of uncertainty betrayed him. The tendrils merely tightened, pulling him closer as the flower opened wider, revealing a deeper, darker core that pulsed with a hypnotic rhythm. He struggled against the plant, but it only responded with a seductive caress, winding around his arm, coaxing him to surrender.

A sharp panic surged through him, primal and wild. He reached for his magic, desperate to shapeshift, but the power remained deadened, unreachable, like it had been snuffed out. He stared at the tendrils binding him, a bluish hue woven through the green, and a dawning realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

Faebane.

The tendrils pulsed with a dark energy that seeped into him, suppressing his magic and rendering him vulnerable. Desperation surged through him, and he instinctively swiped at the nearest tendril with his free hand, determined to free himself. But as he moved, another vine snaked up his arm, clamping around his wrist with a fierce grip.

“No!” he shouted, but the word came out in a breathy gasp, infused with frustration and a flicker of something deeper—a sense of vulnerability he loathed to admit. The plant tightened its hold around both arms, wrapping him in an embrace that felt alarmingly possessive, their warmth igniting fear and desire within him. 

He struggled against the restraints, feeling them dig into his skin, yet the more he fought, the more they seemed to delight in his resistance. They caressed him with a softness that belied their strength, weaving around him like an intricate web, holding him captive in a dance of temptation.

The flower’s glow intensified, and the tendrils coiled around his legs, lifting him from the ground with a disturbing ease, his body left with no choice but to surrender to it. Each one teased along the contours of his body, tracing the lines of his chest and abdomen with tantalizing touches that sent jolts of warmth coursing through him. They moved with an unsettling intimacy, slipping beneath the hem of his tunic, curling against his skin, igniting every one of his nerve endings.

Tamlin gasped, his breath hitching as he felt the fabric of his clothing begin to tear. The plant’s appendages worked slowly, shredding the material until it hung over him in tatters. Exposed to the cool air, he felt the heat of the plant’s energy wrap around him even tighter, each brush against his skin igniting a fire deep within.

“Stop,” he tried to command again, but the words came out as little more than a breathy plea, the urgency lost amidst the waves of sensation flooding his senses. The plant responded to his struggle, the tendrils flexing and tightening as if to remind him of its power. They explored him with an insistent curiosity, sliding along his thighs and brushing tantalizingly against the growing heat of his desire.

As the appendages continued their teasing dance, one curled around his nipple, squeezing gently before drawing back. Tamlin shuddered at the unexpected pleasure, a moan escaping his lips. The sensation only heightened as it returned, this time latching on and sucking softly, pulling at him with a rhythmic insistence that left him gasping for breath. Another wrapped around his neck, its touch both gentle and possessive, as if marking him as its own.

The plant seemed to relish his reactions, feeding off the heat radiating from his body. The appendages glided down his torso, wrapping around his cock with a teasing grip, stroking him slowly, eliciting soft groans that echoed in the stillness of the forest. Tamlin writhed against the bonds of the plant, frustration and arousal coursing through him. 

“Please,” he gasped, desperate to break free, but the words were little more than a whimper lost in the haze of sensation. The plant tightened its hold, squeezing rhythmically as it continued to suckle at his chest, drawing out every sound of pleasure that threatened to escape him.

Before he could process what was happening, another verdant stalk began to push at his lips, seeking entry. “No,” he managed, clenching his jaw, unwilling to yield even as his body betrayed him, aching for release. But the plant was relentless, the tendril wrapped around his cock shifting its focus, no longer just stroking but sucking with an urgency that left him breathless. Tamlin's body reacted against his will, hips thrusting forward as he sought more of that delicious pressure. His mouth fell open involuntarily, a gasp escaping as he felt the heat of the plant’s energy radiating through him.

At that moment, another—how big was this plant?—took advantage and thrust deep into his mouth, forcing him to take it down his throat. The sensation was overwhelming and invasive, and he found himself gagging around it. 

With his mouth full and his body bound, Tamlin felt utterly helpless as the plant began to thrust, pulling him deeper into its grasp. The rhythmic sucking on his cock synced with the relentless thrusting in his throat, the pleasure and pain sending jolts of arousal through him. 

As if sensing his submission, the plant began to explore further, another appendage sliding down to the only place it hadn’t yet ventured, teasingly prodding at the entrance. Tamlin's eyes widened, panic flooding his senses. He wanted to protest, but the words were swallowed by the plant, muffled in his throat as it pressed deeper, refusing to relent.

It pushed in slowly, and he felt the initial pressure, a mix of discomfort and undeniable pleasure igniting within him. He writhed against the bindings, feeling helpless and utterly at its mercy. Each inch it filled him sent waves of heat crashing through his body, forcing moans to escape past the appendage filling his mouth.

The plant’s movements were relentless, driving deeper inside him, stretching him in ways he had never thought possible. The sensation was exquisite, intoxicating—each thrust igniting a fire within him that threatened to consume everything else. 

The thrusting intensified, each powerful stroke driving deeper into Tamlin, the appendage stretching him in ways he never imagined. The appendage in his mouth thrust deeper, hitting the back of his throat with a force that made his eyes water, but it was a sensation that drove him wild, urging him to surrender. The warmth radiating from the plant enveloped him, igniting every nerve ending as it continued to coax him toward release. He could feel the heat building within him, an insistent pressure that begged for freedom, a fire that demanded to be unleashed.

“Please,” he thought, lost in the haze of ecstasy, his mind swirling with confusion and pleasure. “Not like this.”

The rhythm of the plant’s thrusts quickened as if it sensed his impending climax. The sucking on his cock grew more urgent, and Tamlin felt a wave of pleasure crashing over him, sending him spiraling into a world of bliss that consumed him entirely.

His body responded wholly, muscles tightening as he finally surrendered, a choked moan spilling from his mouth around the appendage that filled him. Pleasure surged through him like a lightning bolt, electric and all-consuming. He was lost, engulfed in a sea of sensation, the plant’s relentless movements pushing him beyond the brink. 

At that moment, the plant shuddered around him, a deep, resonating pulse coursing through its appendages as it released its own offering. Warmth flooded him, filling him with a sensation that was both foreign and intoxicating, pushing him deeper into the depths of his own climax. Tamlin gasped, feeling the weight of whatever the plant was depositing inside him, the rounded sensation stirring a mix of confusion and pleasure. He writhed against the bindings, feeling the plant continue to fill him. It was overwhelming, each wave of warmth igniting a desire that kept him teetering on the edge, even as the plant began to slow its movements.

The final thrusts were deep and purposeful, and Tamlin felt himself spilling over once more, a mix of his own release mingling with the warmth of the plant’s deposit. He was utterly spent, every inch of him humming with a strange satisfaction as the plant finally stilled, leaving him suspended in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

After a moment, the plant’s appendages began to retreat gently, loosening their hold on him. It cradled him for a brief instant, almost tenderly, smoothing down his hair as if to comfort him before allowing him to slide back down to the ground. The warmth dissipated, and he felt the cool air against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the plant’s embrace.

Tamlin scooted back, instinctively distancing himself from the now dormant flower, his mind racing as he processed what had just happened. Heart still pounding and clothes hanging precariously on him in tatters, he pushed himself to his feet, every muscle trembling from the intensity of the experience. He needed to leave.

As he walked away, a narrative began to take shape in his mind. He would tell Feyre and Lucien that he had encountered a naga. It was a simple enough tale, one that would obscure the truth of his vulnerability and the strange, intoxicating magic he had just experienced. They would accept it without question.

He couldn’t bear the thought of revealing the depth of his experience, the pleasure intertwined with the fear that had gripped him. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t understand.

Yet, as he stepped away, he couldn’t help but glance back at the plant. The flower had returned to its original state, serene and unassuming as if it had never transformed at all. The glow had faded, leaving only the soft colors of its petals swaying gently in the breeze. Curiosity tugged at him, mingling with the remnants of pleasure that still danced at the edges of his consciousness.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

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[dark-l-angel]

Can you make a Tim drake fic where the readers a black widow and they meet when she moves to Gotham after being set free to live a normal life but falls into being a vigilante and Bruce sees her struggle and everyone tries to teach her to be more merciful and she and Damian although not friends have respect for the other she’s sarcastic and blunt but can laugh with a dark past that Tim can find solace in

Shadows and Solace

Tim drake x reader

Gotham City was a labyrinth of shadows where broken souls sought redemption or ruin. For Y/N, recently liberated from a life of covert darkness, it was a chance at normalcy that quickly unraveled.

Arriving in Gotham with a wary heart and a lifetime of secrets, Y/N sought to bury her past beneath the city's grim facade. But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

It was on a crisp Gotham night, amidst the sirens and whispered threats, that Y/N first crossed paths with Tim Drake. A chance encounter in the depths of an abandoned warehouse, where they fought a common foe, forged an unlikely bond between them.

Tim Drake, Gotham's keen-eyed detective and Robin to Batman, saw beneath Y/N's stoic facade—a fighter haunted by shadows of a past she couldn't escape. Her skills were honed in survival, precise and deadly, a stark contrast to Tim's earnest desire to save lives without resorting to lethal force.

Bruce Wayne, the watchful guardian of Gotham's vigilante family, recognized Y/N's struggle. Her journey mirrored his own relentless pursuit of justice, tempered by scars that refused to heal. Determined to guide her toward a path of mercy, Bruce enlisted Tim, Dick, Jason, and even Damian in her training—a formidable ensemble of mentors, each with their own brand of wisdom and scars.

Y/N's interactions with Damian were laced with sarcasm and respect—a dance of sharp words and shared understanding born of the darkness they both carried. Despite their differences, they found solace in the quiet moments of camaraderie amidst Gotham's unyielding chaos.

Tim, however, found himself drawn to Y/N's blunt honesty and dark humor—a reflection of his own struggles with the weight of their shared burdens. In the dimly lit corners of the Batcave, they found solace in each other's presence—a quiet understanding that words often failed to convey.

As they patrolled Gotham's streets side by side, Tim learned to navigate the nuances of Y/N's past—each revelation a testament to her resilience and the shadows that shaped her. Together, they forged a bond woven with shared laughter and unspoken pain, finding comfort in the shadows they called home.

And in the heart of Gotham City, where light battled darkness in an eternal dance, Tim Drake and Y/N found solace in their shared journey—a testament to the enduring strength found in the shadows of their pasts.

☆ I hope you like it ☆

[freshbakedbreadstick]

A Game of Confession - Terzo x Reader

Papa Emeritus III “Terzo” x Reader

Summary: Terzo attempts to forgive you of your “sins”.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Reader is described gender neutrally but has a vagina. Mentions of vaginal fingering, lots of catholic imagery, ghost worldbuilding lore, mutual masturbation, edging, blowjobs, unprotected PIV (use protection irl folks!), creampies, slight breeding talk, dirty talk, Terzo talking you through it because his blabber mouth would, lots of yearning, established relationship, roleplaying innocence and confession if that makes sense, messy n wet, slight coercion, forced orgasms, glove kink/play, use of his title of Papa, degradation, name calling, rough play, hair pulling, overstimulation n post orgasm torture, very mild pain play, everything is consensual! Self indulgent PWP basically LOL not sorry ! 

Word Count: 4.7k

A/N: For the wonderful anon who wrote to me AGES ago abt writing some stuff for ghost . . .  I GOT U BABY I NEVER FORGOT U ! Anyways my catholic religious trauma absolutely came in clutch for this little work that i randomly got inspired to write ,  regrettably so LOLLLL anyways this is self indulgent as HELL bc terzo was my papa when i became a fan of the band and i miss him SO MUCH anyways enjoy besties ! 

The heels of your shoes clicked and echoed throughout the church as you approached the center aisle of the entrance. It was dark, the sun having since set that evening, leaving the stained glass windows to look as if they were covered in a sheen of ink. 

The only lights that illuminated the enormous church were the thousands of candles carefully lit by the sisters of sin who cared for the church. The outside ivory wax melted, exposing the red wax core and allowing it to bleed down the many candelabras and candle holders spread across the statues and tables within the nave. 

You paused for a second, looking out into the dimly lit darkness, feeling yourself shiver from an invisible chill that spread goosebumps across your skin. The church would feel unnerving if you weren’t as devoted to it.

With a quick sign of the unholy cross, you turned and tugged the black lace of your mantilla veil as you moved down the aisle, looking at the dark tiles of the floor as you moved. You turned sharply, weaving through the pews to glance at the dark wood of the confessional booth, tucked into the farthest side of the church and away from the altar in the center back of the whole building. 

You paused to look at the light within the booth, on the side where your papa sits. You can see the outline of him in the flicking light, a shadow casted on the woven wood of the door as he sat there, waiting. 

With a swallow sigh, you slowly approached the dark side of the booth, where the sinner would sit, carefully turning the brass knob to open it. The wood creaked loudly, making you flinch as it echoed throughout the lonely church. 

Automatically, your feet shifting inside the wooden booth to sit on the velvet covered chair that greeted your vision moments prior. The door slowly shut behind you, clicking quietly.

You wrapped an arm around yourself as you shifted on the seat, looking at the kneeling bench in front of you. The silk of your robe provided you soft comfort as you glanced at the braided wooden screen that separated you from your papa and obscured him from vision.

You didn’t realize you were breathing so raggedly until you heard him chuckle, “Breathe, my sweet, breathe…”

The smoothness of his voice made you jump for a second, the familiarity creating a rush of heat through your body. With wide eyes, your body moved automatically, shifting to turn on the gas of a small lantern attached to the side of the bench, igniting the small flickering flame to allow you to see your side of the booth better. 

You hiked up your robe and shifted to kneel at the bench, the soft velvet caressing your bare skin as you did so. The words came out of you, just as quickly as you were breathing earlier, “Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”

It was quiet as you sat there, chest rising and falling as you stared at the screen for anything, any noise or any reaction to your words. Your heart pounded in your chest as you took in the grains of the black wood, waiting. 

“Is that so?” You heard him whisper, voice rumbling. 

You nodded eagerly, forgetting that he couldn’t see you as you put your hands together in prayer.

“I… I have sinned in so many ways, Papa… please… forgive me…” you whispered, voice quivering.

“Tell me.”

Your breath caught in your throat. 

“Tell me your sins, my sweet, and I shall forgive you.”

You could feel your body shaking as you knelt there, making the wood of the bench creak beneath you. Your voice had been caught in your throat, rendering you silent as your mouth opened but nothing came out. 

He could sense your speechlessness, shifting closer to the screen to speak. You did the same, hearing the creaking on his side as a signal for you to come closer, your lips inches away from the divider in front of you. 

He spoke, softly. Soft enough to send a shiver down your spine. 

“My sweet… tell me… tell your Papa how you have made him proud…” 

“Papa…” You murmured weakly, “Forgive me for what I have done.”

You felt your lips brush against the wood as you spoke, making you inhale sharply, “I have pleased The Olde One so very much so with my sins… will you ever forgive me Papa?” 

You could hear the grin in his voice, “What is it that you did, my sweet? How is it that you have pleased him?” 

His breath fanned over the braided wood to your side, making you gasp softly as you felt it against your lips. He was close, so close to you at that moment. If that screen wasn’t there, your lips would be inches apart and your eyes would be locked together.

“Papa…” you said weakly, your voice shaking. You were suddenly aware of the silk robe wrapped around your body, the once comfortable fabric becoming too tight, too soft, and too overwhelming in an instant. 

“Tell me…” he whispered, “Tell me how you were a good little sinner for your Papa…” With a shuddered breath, you closed your eyes, knuckles pale as you gripped the bench, “Papa… I… last night I made myself cum with you on my mind…”

You couldn’t see it, but Terzo was on his knees, gripping his side of the bench with white knuckles. His fingernails dug into the wood, pushing dents into it as he eagerly awaited you to continue your words. He was holding his breath, glaring into the screen as if that would make it disappear so he could finally see you.

He could picture the way your bottom lip jutted out as you whispered your confession, eyes wide and trembling as you knelt with your hands together, uttering his title. 

Just like how he liked to see you.

“I couldn’t help it, Papa, I swear! The ache… it came back and it hurt so bad… i needed to do something, it felt like torture to just sit there and read my unholy prayer book!” You cried out, voice getting louder as you continued, “I told myself I would only take a second, it will be quick, but I spent hours teasing myself with my hand, imagining it was you instead…”

With a sob, you slumped against the bench, “My fingers weren’t enough to pretend it was you, but I cried out your name as I came anyways…”

Terzo could feel his body heating up with every one of your words. One of his hands immediately went down to palm himself through his pants, hissing quietly as his hand made contact with his clothed but aching cock. 

But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough for him in the same way that it wasn’t enough for you. 

The ache, the same ache you described, burned him. It made his cock leak into his briefs, leaving a wet stain on them where the tip pressed against the rough fabric. It made him wince as he became hyper aware of how the now scratchy briefs shifted against his sensitive skin, as he took in ragged breaths. 

His eyes shifted down to glance at his hand, unconsciously gripping his shaft, swallowing harshly as he held himself back from bucking into his hand. 

“Tesoro…” he choked out, voice deep and gravely, “Tell me how you pleasured yourself…”

On the other side of the screen, you gasped. 

“But Papa…! That’s… that’s vulgar-”

“Tell me amore, tell me… if you don’t tell me the whole truth, I cannot forgive you…”

You could feel your lips twisting into a smirk, listening to his wavering voice. You couldn’t help but flutter your lashes as your hands quickly moved to push between the opening of the robe, fingertips hitting the skin of your stomach with eagerness. Your thighs were beginning to become uncomfortably sticky with your arousal by then as you dripped, remembering the other night when you stuffed yourself full of your fingers, crying out into the darkness of your candlelit room.

“Tell your papa what you did…”

You could hear the desperation in his voice, the straining he had to do to not break the stupid wooden screen and grab at your right then and there. 

“Oh papa…” you began, shifting to make your voice sickeningly sweet, “I couldn’t take it anymore… I just had to slide my clothes off and bring my fingers down to rub at my aching clit…”

Terzo groans, so loudly that it feels like the whole confessional shook.

You bit down on your bottom lip, holding back a chuckle. Your hand had begin to slide down your stomach, slowly and carefully toward where you needed it the most. 

“Then? Tell me tesoro, tell me please…”

He was begging now. It was just too easy to get him like this. 

“I rubbed in small circles around it, pinching and squeezing. I would tease myself papa… teasing by slipping my fingers down to gather the wetness I made and use it to slide back up and around myself…” you whimpered, glaring at the screen. 

He let out a strangled groan, the sound of clothing rustling makes you perk up, “Papa?”

Your fingers had stilled, just barely grazing over your clit, throbbing between your legs. Your body was on fire, desperate for any kind of stimulation.

The light on his side suddenly was extinguished, leaving you in partial darkness as your own lantern barely illuminated your side. 

“Papa?” 

Rustling and the creaking of wood was all you heard as you knelt there. 

“Papa is everything-” 

The sound of his door scraping open was all you heard, making your voice trail off. He was silent, shifting around and exiting his side of the booth, the door swinging shut with a click.

You slowly got up, knees aching a bit and legs shaking as you turned to look at your own door.

Your eyes were trained on the brass knob, watching it jiggle a bit before it slowly began to turn. You panted softly, staring as it shifted with a calculated slowness. You couldn’t even move as you watched, frozen in place as it turned and finally stopped turning. 

Within seconds, the sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste of your Papa invaded your senses.

He shoved through the door, pushing himself into the already small section of your booth to shove his body against yours. The door had clicked shut, long forgotten by the time his mouth was on your own, making you moan into him. 

One of his hands raced to your face, cupping it with a gentleness that made your heart soar, while the other went down to roughly yank at the knot holding your robe shut. 

“Fuck this game,” he murmured as he pulled back, dual toned eyes locking with yours, “Fuck it all.”

Before you could laugh, he pushed his lips back onto yours in a sloppy kiss and you felt your robe slip like water down your arms and into a forgotten heap on the floor around your ankles. 

You could only close your eyes in bliss, the messy gnashing of teeth and lips echoing in the small booth. Small whimpers escaped you on occasion, but a wide eyed muffled scream came soon after he shoved his hand between your legs, roughly parting them as his gloved hand came into contact with your clit.

You were too sensitive for the fabric, the cotton feeling too coarse against your sensitive clit. It rubbed small tight circles, similar to the ones you described to him, around your swollen bud, making your hips buck into his hand and body arch into his. 

As he pulled away with the taste of your saliva on his tongue, he tutted, “Take it, take it for your Papa…”

“Papa! Too sensitive!” you choked, legs quivering as you braced yourself against the wall, looking at him with half lidded eyes.

But he ignored you, too busy watching the way your hips were grinding against his gloved hand, both enjoying and running from the rough stimulation. His fingers were already becoming drenched with your juices, making him grin.

“You like making a mess of your Papa? You like to tease him?” he growled, bringing his sticky fingers to press against your entrance, rubbing around it to feel it clench around nothing.

You could only howl at his words, head thudding as you jerked it back against the wooden wall. “You beg for forgiveness, but this is how you do it? By teasing your Papa like a little bitch who has all the power?” he spit, eyes now trained on your face as he began to aggressively circle your hole, feeling it drool onto his glove. 

The hand cradling your face shifted toward your neck, large, warm, gloved fingers finding its spot around you and squeezing the sides with light pressure. You gasped out, gaze shifting from the roof back down to him. 

“Terzo!” you cried.

“No, I am not Terzo, amore… I am your Papa.” he barked, cupping your pussing with his hand. The heel of his palm rubbed deliciously against your clit, quickly drenching the fabric there too. You could only choke out a moan as his fingers at your entrance pushed in, stretching you with two of them. 

You were certain that you would’ve collapsed onto the floor if it wasn't for his hand around your neck and his body partially pinning you against the wall. Every muscle in your legs ached, begging to lay down or sit on his lap but you didn’t care anymore, the only thing that filled your senses was your Papa. 

The scent of candles and sex filled the stuffy little booth, grounding you enough to make you the tiniest bit aware of where you stood but not enough to distract you from the overwhelming feel of his wet glove against your cunt and his grip around your neck.

“You tease me, amore, you tease me so with these games you come up with,” he says, voice husky as he speaks lowly to you, eyeing you as if you were cornered pray in the woods, “Leave me throbbing and desperate for you… you like seeing me like this? Seeing your Papa so desperate and needy for you?”

You couldn’t respond, just crying out as his hand thrusted his fingers into you, letting the lewd squelching noise from your pussy reverberate within the room. He pushed them in, reveling in the feeling of your walls squeezing the soaked fabric as it rubbed deliciously against you. 

The dual combination of the rough fabric around the fingers he fucked you and on your sensitive clit made your knees snap together, but he was quick. The second your legs began to close, he shoved his own leg between them to hold them open once more, moving his hand feverishly in and out. 

“Tesoro… I need to feel you cum around my fingers…” he panted, the lantern on the floor casting heavy shadows across his face. 

You could only moan and cry out as you looked at him, eyes glazing over with pleasure as you felt your body succumbing to the pleasure, getting closer and closer to the edge as he curled his fingers to hit that spongy spot inside of you that made you feel like you were going to explode. 

“That’s it, amore, cum for your Papa. Cum around my fucking fingers, drench me.” he demanded, pressing his forehead against yours. 

You couldn’t take it anymore, crying out as you came around him, walls clenching with every wave of pleasure. His glove was soaked, the stickiness sticking onto him and your thighs with every thrust of his fingers. You hadn’t even registered that your hands were now gripping his biceps, fingers clawing at the fabric of his shirt with every arch of your back and buck of your hips. 

The pleasure that overwhelmed your senses, rolling up your body like an uncontrollable fire, was all you could perceive. It made your eyes roll to the back of your head and an uncontrollable grin spread across your face. 

You howled and whined as you came down, the slowing movements of his hand making you twitch with overstimulation. You babbled, slurring your words as you spoke, “Papa… s’too much… Terzo please… no more…”

Your vision blurred back just in time for you to watch and feel as Terzo’s hand inside you stilled, letting you ride through those tremble inducing aftershocks. 

His hand slowly unwrapped around your neck too, instead shifting to gently press his fingertips against your skin. His thumb gently ran over your neck, moving to your jaw before gathering the drool from the corners of your mouth to rub it over your bottom lip. He watched with sharp eyes, focused on how your bottom lip shined in the dim light. 

He pulled his hand away from your twitching cunt, making you whine and buck at the overwhelming feeling of the gloved hand shifting from your wet skin.

He chuckled, stepping back a bit to watch as you trembled, still gripping him and leaning against the wall to hold yourself up on your shaky legs. It was humiliating, watching the way he looked at you with a satisfied look on his face while you stood there, wrecked. 

But for him, it was torture. 

Torture to stand there and watch the way you drenched him as you came, calling his name out in the darkness. Torture to feel the way your pussy clenched around his fingers. Torture that his gloves separated him from feeling your soft, gummy walls against his skin. 

It was torture.

His hands moved to grip your waist, the sticky one making you whimper and shift away from it, but Terzo could only shush you as he dropped to his knees in front of you. 

With eyes wide, you realized what he was going to do.

“Terzo, no!” you cried, voice scratchy in your throat, “I’m too sensitive-!”

But it was too late, he already shoved himself between your legs and licked a stripe up your sensitive cunt.

“Papa!”

“Take it for me, amore,” he murmured, looking up at you as his lips attached themselves to your clit, sucking it without a care. 

You shrieked, pushing your chest up as you arched away from the wall. Your hands immediately moved to push his shoulders, to try and get him away. It was all too much, toe curlingly too much. 

You bucked, moaning and whining in the delicious torture as he slobbered over you, licking up your juices as if he discovered the elixir of life and was desperate for a taste. 

He groaned, sucking and licking you up, hands gripping your hips and holding you in place so you couldn't run away from him. 

“Terzo!” you cried, hips jerking for one final time as he pulled away, lips and chin glistening with you as he knelt there, looking up at you. 

He stood up, one hand immediately moving to grip your hair, “Get on your knees to pray, amore.”

With a heaving chest, you were pushed to your knees, nearly collapsing as you did so. You gripped his thighs as you looked up at him, staring as he made you watch him unbuckle his belt, the metal clanking loudly in your ears. 

Body shivering and hands gripping his thighs, he kept his focus on his cock, the way it painfully ached under his clothes. He wanted nothing more than to stuff you right then and there, but seeing as you were so sensitive from cumming so hard moments prior, he thought he could relieve some tension and get you warmed up again all in one go. 

Efficiency is key; it’s what he was taught as he went through his training to become Papa.

So here he was, one hand in your hair and the other tugging his clothes away with a hiss to let his pulsing cock spring free. It bobbed in front of you, making your mouth water at the sight of the creamy tip dribbling with precum. 

His poor cock was all achy, twitching under your gaze. The way the veins bulge around the thick shaft made you widen your eyes, Terzo groaning above you in bliss as the pressure of his clothes was finally off his cock. 

He wrapped his hand around the base, carefully squeezing it to let some more precum dribble out dropping to the floor between your knees. He moved his hand up, rubbing his thumb over the tip to spread his arousal over him, using his soaked glove and his precum lube himself up. 

You couldn’t hide your smirk as you looked up at Terzo, watching him begin to stroke his length, very obviously putting on a show for you. 

He shifted his hand, pulling your hair to jerk your head back and toward him. He gently slapped the tip against your cheek, “Open for me, tesoro.”

With no hesitation whatsoever, you softly parted your lips, just the way you knew he liked it. 

With a satisfied chuckle, he pressed the tip onto your lips, smearing the salty precum there. He gently nudged it into your mouth, pushing your mouth wider and wider as he slid in, the warm wetness of your mouth providing him with long overdue relief.

He sighed, gently rocking his hips into your mouth without a moment’s notice, fucking himself into you. The way your soft tongue ran along the length of his cock with every movement, coating it in your saliva, made him drop his tense shoulders and let his head roll back. 

“Cazzo si….” he moaned lowly, hips bucking a bit faster, making you moan around his cock. The vibrations made him groan, inadvertently bucking roughly down your throat. 

You choked for a brief second, only able to cough and get your breath back when he yanked you by the hair back. 

Before you could look back up at him to take him back into your mouth, his hands hooked themselves under your arms and dragged you to your feet. It was dizzying, the way he moved so quickly. One second your were kneeling on the wooden floor, knees aching and body shivering as the heat of sucking his cock invaded your core, the next you were standing, panting with shiny lips and wide eyes, and finally, you were bent over, elbows on the bench and face pressed against the wooden screen. 

“Terzo… shit!” you exclaimed, feeling the soft tip of his cock pressing against your puffy lips. 

He didn’t say a word, choosing to stay silent instead as he rocked his hips to slide the tip of his cock up and down your soaked cunt, swirling around your drooling entrance before moving down to nudge at your achy clit, spreading your wetness around himself. 

“Can’t wait, need you, amore. Need to feel you clench around my cock, you have teased me for far too long…” he murmured, one hand gripping one of your ass cheeks to spread it, eyeing the way you clenched at his words. 

“Please, Terzo, please!” 

He pressed the tip of his cock, red and creamy, against your entrance, gently pushing it against it before pulling away, teasingly, “You play with your papa so evilly so… and i fucking love it.”

With that, you cried out, feeling him push his cock into you, stretching you out and filling you with pure, unadulterated bliss. You could only gasp and moan into the screen, cheek slowly getting imprinted with the braided design of the wood as you held yourself against it, nails scratching along the frame. 

“You like that, amore? Feel good to be stretched by your papa? Feel good to finally be split open by my cock after weeks of this stupid little game of denial?” Terzo rambled, too lost in the feeling of your bare cunt squeezing him to focus on what he was saying. 

Your knees shook as you bent over the bench, threatened once more to give out on you. Lucky for you, Terzo’s large hands immediately went to your hips, gripping them so hard that his fingertips were sure to leave bruises for you to trace later, keeping you up and in place for him.

“Take it, tesoro, take my cock,” he chuckled, focused on watching your body swallow him in. He shuddered, finally bottoming out. Your hips pressed against his own, making you sigh and whine as you felt the rough fabric and metal of his belt and pants press against your tender skin.

He snarled at your noises, “Don’t fucking whine, this is what you get for being a dirty little sinner and teasing me…”

His eyes traced your body, watching you shiver and twitch as he held you against him. With a smirk, he murmured to you, “Now… say your prayers.” 

His hips snapped back, beginning to thrust out and into you, roughly. The first thrust instantly winded you, making you choke out, having not expected him to fuck into you so quickly and without warning. 

But whatever grievances you had, he didn’t seem to even think about them in that moment. He just fucked himself into you, snapping his hips back before pulling you into him, meeting you halfway as thrusted into you, making you jerk back and forth.

With every thrust, you could only cry out in pain and pleasure, enjoying the way he used you and how your body reacted to everyone of his thrusts. From your fingertips clawing at the wood to your face being shoved into the screen to the metal of his belt slapping your skin with every thrust, you fucking loved it.

And frankly, so did your pussy.

Terzo reveled in the way you clenched with every thrust, pussy gripping his beefy cock like a vice as he used you like a fleshlight, all in the darkness of the confessional. With every drag backward, he could feel you tighten, almost refusing that he pull away. 

“Greedy pussy, so desperate for me to fuck it, hm? You like me fucking you this way, using your tight hole like it’s a toy made for me?” he gasped out, slamming his hips back into you.

Tears rushed down your cheeks as you bit your bottom lip hard enough for a metallic taste to bloom on your tongue. It was all too good, the shocks of pleasure thrumming throughout your body with every animalistic thrust, forcing your pussy to submit to him. 

Your whiny voice pleaded with him, begging him to make you cum as the round head of his cock mashed against your sweet spot. He only responded with slurred promises and unconscious latin chants, drooling as he felt himself get closer and closer too, eyes locked on your beautiful body as you thrived in the pleasure.

“Shhh amore, I will make you cum. Do not worry, my sweet, I will have you gushing on this fat cock in just a moment…”

He was drunk on you. Drunk on the way you would make sweet noises for him, singing for him better than anyone he had heard in the choir. He was drunk on the way your body swayed, covered in a sheen of sweat that made your skin glimmer in the low lighting. Drunk on you and his favorite cunt. 

“Gonna cum!” you screamed, throwing your head back, eyes screwed shut as you were baptized in a pool of mind numbing pleasure. 

Terzo immediately shoved his hand down, pushing his gloved fingers to your clit, rubbing it profusely as he spoke, “Cum for me, tesoro. Show me how you sin. Just like that, my sweet, what a good little sinner for me. Doing so well, taking my cock and cumming so hard, squeezing me so tight and making me feel… so… good…”

With a primal groan, he came, paying no mind to the creamy ring forming around the base of his cock or the loud squelching of you two fucking. Frankly, someone could open the door right then and there and he wouldn’t care, too focused on the way squeezed every last drop out of him. 

As you came down from your high, you could only twitch and moan, feeling the warmth of his cum inside you spread in your lower belly, only exaggerating the feeling of being stuffed full to the brim. It didn't help that with every thrust as he came down, cum dribbled out of you, either dripping down to gather around your clit or onto the floor. 

All you could hear was the sound of your joint panting, with the occasional low moan and whimper as your bodies twitched, spent. The feeling of satisfaction of being fucked silly began to seep into your bones, making you grin to yourself as you held your sore cheek against the screen.

“I will never do that stupid denial thing you made me do again.” Terzo murmured, accent thick through his heavy breaths. 

All you could do was laugh.

[tuliptired]

hi! ive read so many fics where egon's love interest is super smart and a scientist just like him but i kinda wanna reader the opposite at least once :') may i request an egon x reader where his s/o isnt super smart like him, doesnt have an interest in what he studies but is supportive, never went to college, and they're a high school drop out who got their GED through GED classes? maybe one day they're feeling self-conscious about their intelligence compared to him but he assures them that he loves them no matter what?

Please Stay with Your Own Kind (and I'll Stay with Mine)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Accidental cut while cooking (stay safe friends :[ )

Sorry this took ridiculously long, life caught up to me and I had to do this ask justice by unpacking all my junk from when I was struggling with school ( ╥ω╥ )

Better formatting on Ao3!!

 You wiped your cheek with the heel of your hand, dust left in its wake. You pushed your couch back into place with a grunt, trying your best to tune out the noise coming from your kitchen table. Normally, if anyone barged in while you were trying to clean and insisted on using your apartment for experimentation, you’d be more than ticked off. But, you were used to it by now, especially at this point in your relationship with a certain atypical scientist. How could you resist him, when he7 was muttering something about elevation and better work environments?

They say cleaning is the best way to get rid of unwanted guests, but Egon was far from colloquial, only ever sneezing as you dusted the space around him. There were bolts and screws littered all over the wood, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. He was so busy lately, either at the firehouse or the university he had a fellowship with, that any visit was one to cherish. Even if it meant your centerpiece had to be relocated to the floor.

You stood, hands on your hips as none of your under-the-sink rummaging rewarded you with the little purple spray bottle you were looking for. “Egon?” You turned, the man zeroed in on the mechanism taking up such a small spot on the table.

He hummed, referring back to a large notebook without looking at you. “Could you check the bathroom for my window cleaner?”

Another hum as he kept working. This guy.

“Egon.”

He finally lifted his head, glasses slightly askew. “Right. Sorry.” he nodded once, before disappearing down the hall.

 Your eyebrows twitched upwards as you let out a light sigh, peering down at the contraption delicately, like your gaze could shatter all of his hard work. It was barely the same size as your landline, appearing almost miniscule when in your significant other’s large hands. How could such a tiny thing hold so much of his attention? Or require all the other machinery and calculation around it? Upon further inspection you could see intricate wiring woven throughout its insides. You clicked your tongue. This was all beside you- or above you, if you were being honest. You supported Egon, you really did, but Egon was physics, electromagnetism, degrees and doctorates in studies you’d never even heard of. And here you were, worrying about which set of patterned throw pillows fit the season more. 

The phone rang, stealing you from your moment of introspection, laced with contempt for whatever it was on your table. You took a breath before answering, voice uncertain about who would be calling so close to dinner. “Hello?”

“I’m calling from Columbia- Institute of Advanced Theoretical Research. Is Dr. Spengler around? This is one of the numbers he left for us.” The caller sounded boyish, and eager, rushing through his words.

You were a bit flattered at the idea of your line being an after-hours contact for him. “He’ll be just a second,” you apologized, leaning over to look into the darkness of the unlit hallway. Maybe you forgot to pick up another bottle at the store after all.

There was a staticky silence on the young man’s end, the excited murmur of voices when you picked up now lulled. You could hear him clear his throat before he spoke again. “If you don’t mind me assuming…you’re his partner, right?” he questioned.

“Oh! I am. He passes through here from time to time with work.” Your face heated up in such a silly way in spite of how long you’d been together. 

Surprised murmuring. Did he have company? “That’s great! Dr. Spengler’s a pretty big deal around here,” he boasted enthusiastically.

“Is he?” you smiled to yourself. “I don’t doubt he’s a decent scientist.”

“Of course! We’re all admirers, here.” he gushed. “I dream of being half the scholar he is. Dozens of degrees, 2 doctorates- he’s essentially a genius.”

You shuffled on your feet, amused at his vigor, but reaching that part of conversations surrounding intelligence and tertiary education that prodded at a nastier version of yourself. “Don’t I know it.”

He continued. “We study his journals like they’re gospel. He’s made such big progress in paramagnotheric study that we’re here working for him like drones. Grateful drones.” The student took a pause for air. “That’s why I called- we have big news for him.”

“It’s great- that you’re all so dedicated,” you squinted back down the hall.

Another scratchy moment without words. “I’d be so embarrassed, if he heard me raving like this. What about you?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, Dr. Spengler must have pretty refined tastes. What’s your doctorate in?”

Your throat tightened as you involuntarily clenched your jaw. You really thought you were over this question. Where was Egon? You could live with printed-stained glass if he’d save you from the incoming conversation. You drew in another breath. “Didn’t get that far.” 

“Oh! Sorry for assuming. Your master’s? We had bets on chemistry or neuroscience. Maggie had $20 on you being Dr. Abrams from engineering.”

Does he know that’s not a thing you say to a stranger? God, this was giving you a headache. “Only a GED,” you divulged painfully, snapping in speed but not in tone. What followed was what always followed, most frequently in the early days of your relationship. It was the stunned moment of disbelief from friends and family who knew your academic history. The lingering internal question of: “how’d they get with Einstein?”

“I see,” the caller finally stammered, most likely to be polite.

“Different things…it got away from me. If I could’ve, I would’ve,” you trailed off, not finishing your thought as you cringed at the idea of trying to explain your lack of a traditional diploma to someone who didn’t sound old enough to be far into their graduate schooling.

He cleared his throat. “I get it.” Did he? He’s got handfuls of degrees to add to his name. In the bitter respite of dead air, a venom uncoiled inside of you that was reserved to classmates in the gifted and talented program. But it wasn’t his fault, really. He was only a young adult going down the path that was open to him. And fangirling over your boyfriend, you thought to yourself as you wordlessly rewound it.

Finally, finally , Egon returned, with a clear liquid that wasn’t your window cleaner. But his presence didn’t make you feel any sort of reassurance. “Cladosporium growing in your grout. I made a fungicide for it.”

You furrowed your brows, pressing the phone into his chest and stalking off, leaving him to nearly drop the landline and whatever solution he was holding.

You resigned yourself to stewing in your misery and chopping carrots. You weren’t an exemplary chef, but you both needed to eat. Feelings that you’d be harboring in the back of yourself were boiling inside of you like oil, hotter than water. Egon appeared in the kitchen, having hung up.

“That was Lucas, from the university,” you heard behind you.

“I gathered.”

Egon must’ve failed to pick up on your tone. “He’s a bright young man. He manages the lab well when I’m gone.” You grabbed another vegetable before he settled at your side. “What’re you making?”

“Stew- rice- something. Could you get the stock out the fridge?” You cut awfully close to the tip of your pointer finger.

He tried handing it to you gently, and you grabbed it without looking, ducking into the cabinet by the oven for your measuring cup. Holding it up to the light, you cursed at the odd units of measurement. “ 15 fluid ounces,” you read the chipped red lettering, “how many cups-”

“1.87.” You didn’t turn to face him, letting a puff of air escape your nostrils. “Or 1.9,” he added quickly.

You poured it into the pot, steam rising into your face. Egon was quiet, until he leaned against the counter, taking up a much duller knife to help you get through all the vegetables before the broth burnt out. “About the mold in your bathroom,” he started. “I can remove it for you, but I’m worried about your respiratory health. Untreated fungi that you can see means untreated fungi that you can’t.” Wasn’t that reserved for roaches? Your skin crawled at the thought- of mold and an infestation. “Pathogenic diseases from mold are nothing to play around with.”

“It’s fine,” you uttered, checking on a pot of rice, fingers carefully holding onto the protected part of the hot metal handle.

“Killing it? I have sodium bicarbonate and trisodium phosphate back at the firehouse, it’ll only take-”

You grip the wooden spoon in your hand tightly, nails digging into the flesh of your palm. “No, I mean- don’t do anything! To my bathroom. Or my house. Please.” you nearly pleaded, shutting your eyes and stirring the contents of your dinner. 

Egon complied, wordlessly giving you a bit of space as he added the last potato. You chewed your lip.

“You usually ask for all the details from school.” his voice was barely audible.

A deep weight settled in your stomach. “It slipped my mind.” You spotted a bundle of thyme that never made it in, mindlessly plucking it from the countertop and going back to chopping. “What happened?” you breathed out.

His eyes were on you. “They’re making good strides. Lots of excitement, since they got the cells they engineered to detect psychokinetic energy in electromagnetic conditions. I don’t like leaving them alone, but this was nowhere near an actual challenge- it’s simple trigonometry.” Any other day, the “respected professor” thing would be hot. If you weren’t so focused on finely dicing the herb, you’d have seen his smirk to himself. “They were so happy- to get through the easier part of research.”

“Shit,” you hissed. The knife must’ve slipped, probably from how tense your hands were, or how thin you were slicing, or from how your vision clouded with tears of frustration. Regardless, it nicked into your flesh, quickly drawing blood. You brought the junction between thumb and pointer finger to your lips, before Egon seized your wrist. 

Egon herded you to the sink instead, his talk of “700 different types of bacteria” and “immunocompromised from mold inhalation” lost on you. You drew your wet hand back, lifting both to your eyes, now squeezed shut as you turned away. This whole thing was so, so stupid. It had been so long, and you still felt so angry. The outside world was tuned out from the rushing of water out of the faucet, until Egon’s voice broke through, even if it sounded far- as if he was on the other side of your apartment. 

“I’m sorry. You’re upset, and I don’t know how to help you.” 

A quivering air left you after you shut the sink off. He didn’t deserve your bad mood- or years worth of a bad mood. If you weren’t mad at the boy over the phone, or Egon, the only person left to scorn was yourself. Your vexation crumpled inward, turning into sadness. Self-pity. Resentment. Guilt. 

A thick swallow. “No- I’m sorry that I’ve been short with you today. It’s just- I’m- I don’t-”

Egon’s hands were guiding you to your table before you could break. In between joining you in the kitchen and taking the phone, he must’ve packed up what was left of the work he brought over, something you silently thanked him for. You sat in silence, not knowing how long you must’ve taken to steady your breathing and clear your head. Regardless, he sat with you the entire time, never once pushing you as his hand rested in yours, thumb laid clinically over your pulse point. He’s a creature of habit.

You looked to him, eyes a tinge red. “We’re getting older.” You lifted your gaze fondly to a familiar notch in between his eyebrows. It was only faint, something you’d teased him about because of his lack of efforts to stop or delay aging, but it wasn’t always there. “Much, much older.” Egon’s expression was neutral, something that brought you comfort when it should’ve worried you. “I admire you. So much. And so does everyone else- which you deserve. You’ve worked so hard, for so long, and you’re somebody, Dr. Spengler .” You gave him a weak smile that melted away as you blinked . “ And I’m awful for thinking it, awful for feeling it, but you don’t deserve an idiot who couldn’t even make it to graduation.” Hot tears gathered in your eyes again as your voice was shaky. “I’m holding you back from something bigger.”

His face was softer. “And, I feel like garbage. Utter and complete garbage because so much has happened since then and it still feels like I failed.” You could remember the first time Egon urged you to let him know how you felt, after every confession of unpleasant feelings felt like an unbalanced apology. He was allowing you to feel, without guilt. “It’s this nagging and incessant idea that I’m nothing.” You let your chest fall and rise. “Dr. Abrams wouldn’t do this.” a pitiful attempt at a joke. 

The ghost of amusement. His thumb gently caressed your pulse point, the heartbeat that was once in your throat resigned back to being a dull throb in your chest. He took a moment before speaking, voice small. “It’s not untrue that I value education.” Egon’s eyes rose to your own. “But I’d be closer to an idiot than you’ll ever be if I valued it over you, and your presence in my life.”

 “I’m sorry if I failed to notice how you’ve been feeling.” Egon took your other hand, the one that laid limply on the tabletop. “Do you think I’d be with anyone else just because they had a doctorate? A PhD?”

You shook your head, growing red under his sudden passion. “Egon, I-”

“It doesn’t matter to me, because they wouldn’t be you. You are so much more than an abbreviation.” Tears flowed freely from your eyes, and he gently wiped them away every time, hands cradling your wet cheeks. “Besides. Dr. Abrams isn’t half as interesting as you are.”

Egon smiled at you, eyes crinkling as you returned it. 

There was a hiss of smoke from the kitchen that made him flinch, the threat of fire making you scramble back to the stove. As you cut the heat, you winced at the sight of liquid and vegetables burnt black and stuck to the bottom of the pot. 

“Ah, man. I’m sorry,” you frowned, switching on the fan.

“Things get away from us,” Egon held your shoulders, smiling as he pressed a kiss into your hair.